Tonight I came back to the flat on Baker Street and found Claire setting the table in the kitchen. I slipped my hand around her wrist, asked her to pause and sit with me for a moment I had something important to say. I want to file for divorce. She stared at me, then after a breath asked why. I had no answer; my silence only made her unravel. We didnt even start dinner. She began shouting incoherently, then fell silent, only to start up again. By the time the night was over she was sobbing uncontrollably. I understood her pain, but I could offer no comfort my heart had left her and found someone else.
Feeling guilty, I handed her a separation agreement, promising to leave her the flat and the car, valued at a few thousand pounds. She tore the paper into shreds, flung the pieces out the window, and began to weep again. All I felt was a dull ache of conscience; the woman with whom Id spent ten years felt suddenly foreign.
I mourned the decade wed shared and yearned to cut the ties, to fly toward a new, genuine love. The next morning, a note lay on the nightstand outlining her conditions for the divorce: she asked me to postpone the filing for a month and, during that time, maintain the façade of a happy family. Her son, Oliver, had upcoming exams, and she reminded me that on our wedding day I had carried her into the flat in my arms. Now she wanted me to carry her out of the bedroom each morning for the whole month.
Since the other woman entered my life, Claire and I had almost no physical contact breakfast together, dinner together, sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. So when I lifted her for the first time after such a long pause, a strange turmoil rose inside me. Our sons cheers snapped me back to reality; Claires face held a forced smile, while I felt an inexplicable sting. The distance from the bedroom to the kitchen was about ten metres, and as I bore her, she closed her eyes and whispered so barely audible that I should not tell Oliver about the divorce until the agreed date.
On the second day the role of the cheerful, loving husband came a little easier. Claire rested her head on my shoulder, and I realised how long I had stopped noticing the little features I once adored, how they had changed since those early years of our marriage. By the fourth day, lifting her, I thought of the ten years she had given me. On the fifth day, a pang of vulnerability rose in my chest as she clung to me, trusting me with her fragile form. Each day the task grew lighter.
One morning I caught her staring at her wardrobe, realizing that after all this time her clothes seemed far too large. I finally saw how thin she had become, how her shoulders had slumped. It explained why the burden grew lighter with each passing day. A sudden insight struck me like a blow to the solar plexus. Without thinking, I brushed her hair back. She called Oliver over, drew us both into a tight embrace. Tears rose in my throat, but I turned away; I could not, and would not, change my decision. I lifted her again and carried her out of the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and I pressed her close to my chest, just as on the first day of our wedding.
As the agreed month drew to a close, a storm of emotion roiled inside me. Something had shifted, something I could not name. I went to the other woman and told her I would not go through with the divorce.
On the way home I reflected that the monotony of everyday married life does not stem from love fading, but from people forgetting the significance they hold for each other. I veered off the road, bought a bouquet of roses, and attached a card that read, I will hold you in my arms until the very last day of your life. My heart hammered as I entered the flat, bouquet in hand. I searched every room until I found Claire in the bedroom she was dead.
For months I had floated in a cloud of infatuation with the other woman, ignorant of the serious illness that had been draining Claires strength. Knowing she had little time left, she used her final reserves of will to spare Oliver the stress and preserve the image of a caring father and loving husband in his eyes.
