I ran into my ex-wife two years after our divorce. In that moment, everything became clearbut she only smiled and shook her head when I suggested starting over.
When our second child was born, Emily stopped caring about her appearance. Before, shed change outfits several times a day, always impeccably dressed, polished, with every detail perfectly matched. But after coming home from the hospital, she seemed to forget that her wardrobe held anything other than an old T-shirt and worn-out joggers.
She wore them all day, often even going to bed in the same clothes. When I asked why, she said it made it easier to get up at night for the children. It made sense, but what happened to the woman who always insisted that a lady should always look like a lady, no matter what? She never said it anymore. Neither did she mention her favourite salon, the gym, or her hairstylist. And yesforgive the detailsometimes shed even forget her bra in the morning, walking around the house without a care.
Her body had changed too. Her waist, her stomach, her legs none of them were the same. Her hair, once glossy and styled, was now a messeither a tangled heap of curls or a hasty bun with stray strands sticking out. And to think back when we strolled through London, men would turn to look at her. I used to feel proud. Beautiful. Mine.
But that woman was gone.
Our house mirrored her state. The only thing Emily still did flawlessly was cook. She never let that slip, and her meals were truly delightful. But everything else was depressing.
I tried to make her see she couldnt let herself go like that. That she needed to find herself again. Shed only smile sadly and say shed try. Months passed, and every day, I saw a stranger in front of me.
Until one day, Id had enough.
I made my decision: divorce.
There were no shouts, no scenes. She tried to talk me out of it, but when she saw my mind was made up, she just sighed and muttered weakly:
*Do what you want I thought you loved me.*
I didnt answer. There was no point arguing about what love was or wasnt. I went to the courthouse, and soon after, we signed the papers.
I dont know if I was a good father. I sent child support, nothing more. I didnt want to see her. Not like that. Not as the woman shed become.
Two years later
It was an autumn evening in Manchester. I was wandering aimlessly, lost in thought, when suddenly, I saw her.
There was something in the way she moveda confidence in her stride that caught my eye. Her steps were light, elegant, full of assurance. And when she got close enough, my heart stopped.
It was Emily.
But not the Emily Id left behind.
This woman was even more radiant than when Id first met her. High heels, a dress that hugged her figure, flawless hair, manicured nails, subtle yet striking makeup. And that perfume the same one that used to drive me wild.
I must have gaped, because she laughed.
*Whats wrong? Dont recognise me? I told you Id change, but you didnt believe me.*
I walked her to the gym where she now trained daily. She told me about the kids, how well they were doing, how happy they were. About herself, she didnt say muchbut she didnt need to. Her gaze, her posture, her presence said it all.
And I
I remembered.
I remembered those mornings when Id grumble at seeing her in pyjamas, hair a mess, irritated that she didnt dress up anymore. I remembered the days when her exhaustion frustrated me. I remembered the exact moment I decided to leave, when my selfishness convinced me she wasnt enough for me anymore.
And I remembered that by leaving her, Id also left my own children.
Before we said goodbye, I gathered the courage to ask:
*Can I call you? I I finally understand. Maybe we could try again.*
Emily looked at me calmly. Then she smiled, shaking her head.
*Its too late, James. Take care.*
And she walked away.
I stood there, frozen, watching her disappear into the crowd.
Yes.
I understood.
But too late.
