Two years after the divorce, I ran into my ex-wife: I finally understood everything, but she only gave me a bitter smile and brushed off my desperate plea to start over
When our second child was born, Catherine completely stopped taking care of herself. She used to change outfits five times a day, obsessively chasing the perfect look, but after coming home from the hospital in Manchester, it was as if shed forgotten everything except an old jumper and saggy sweatpants that hung off her like a flag of surrender.
In this «glorious» ensemble, my wife didnt just move around the houseshe lived in it, day and night, often falling asleep in those rags as if they were a second skin. When I asked why, shed shrug and mumble that it was easier when the kids woke her at night. There was a grim logic to it, Ill admit, but all those lofty principles she used to preach»A woman must always remain a woman, even in hell!»had vanished into thin air. Catherine forgot everything: her beloved beauty salon in Liverpool, the gym shed once treated like sacred ground, andforgive me for saying itshe didnt even bother with a bra most mornings, shuffling around the house with no care at all.
Of course, her body fell apart too. Everything saggedher waist, her stomach, her legs, even her neck lost its shape, becoming a shadow of its former self. Her hair? A complete disastereither a wild, tangled mess, as if shed been caught in a storm, or a hasty bun with strands sticking out like a cry for help. The worst part? Before the baby, Catherine had been stunninga perfect ten! When we strolled through London, men would turn their heads, their eyes glued to her. It fed my prideshe was my goddess, mine alone! But now that goddess was gone, just a faded echo of what shed once been.
Our home mirrored her declinea dreary swamp of chaos. The one thing she still kept up was her cooking. Hand on heart, Ill say it: Catherine was a magician in the kitchen, and complaining about her meals wouldve been a sin. But the rest? Pure tragedy.
I tried to wake her up, begged her not to let herself go like this, but shed just smile apologetically and promise to do better. Time passed, and my patience wore thinwatching this ghost of a woman every day became unbearable. One stormy night, I delivered my verdict: divorce. Catherine tried to stop me, repeating empty promises, but she didnt scream, didnt fight. When she saw my decision was final, she sighed in pain:
*»Fine I thought you loved me.»*
I refused to get dragged into a pointless debate about love. I filed the papers, and soon after, at the registry office in Birmingham, we got our divorce certificatesend of story.
Im hardly father of the yearaside from child support, I did nothing for my ex-family. The thought of seeing the woman whod once dazzled me with her beauty again felt like a punch to the gut, one Id rather avoid.
Two years passed. One evening, wandering the bustling streets of London, I spotted a familiar figure in the distanceher walk was unmistakable, light, almost dancing. She was heading straight for me. As she got closer, my heart stoppedit was Catherine! But what a Catherine! Reborn from the ashes, more radiant than in our earliest, most passionate daysthe very picture of elegance. High heels, flawless hair, every detail in perfect harmonyher dress, her makeup, her nails, her jewellery And the scent of her old perfume hit me like a wave, dragging me under forgotten memories.
My face must have given me awayshock, longing, shamebecause she burst into sharp, triumphant laughter:
*»What, dont recognise me? Told you Id get myself togetheryou just didnt believe me!»*
Catherine graciously let me walk her to the gym, briefly mentioning the kidstheyre thriving, full of energy, she said. She didnt say much about herself, but she didnt need toher glow, that unshakable confidence, her breathtaking charm spoke louder than any words.
My mind flashed back to those dark days: how shed dragged herself around the house, broken by sleepless nights and the weight of daily life, wrapped in that cursed jumper and sweatpants, that pathetic bun her badge of surrender. How it enraged methe lost grace, the extinguished spark! This was the same woman Id abandoned, along with our children, blinded by my own selfishness and passing anger.
As we said goodbye, I stammeredcould I call her? I confessed I finally understood, begged for a fresh start. But she just gave me a cool, victorious smile, shook her head with unyielding resolve, and said:
*»Too late for that, mate. Goodbye. The door of the gym closed behind her, leaving me standing alone on the pavement, the city noise swallowing my silence. I watched her reflection fade in the glasspoised, untouchable, freewhile the weight of my choices pressed down like stone. The woman Id walked away from had not just survived; shed outgrown me, and there wasnt enough regret in the world to earn a place back into her life.
