Emily, you and your husband share equal blame for the breakup, the therapist said, fixing me with steady eyes.
Me? No! Hes the one who tore the family apart, I snapped, my voice trembling.
Emily, in a divorce fault is split, fiftyfifty. Not ninetyten, not sixtyforty. You simply couldnt build a proper partnership, she replied, calm as a pond.
What should I do? I have two daughters. My husband loves them, but I loathe him. What now? I clung to her words as if she held a wand that could set everything straight.
First, take a breath, Emily. Dont rush headlongyoull shatter. Who will look after the girls? They need a sane mother, not a hysteric one. Are you planning to enter a new relationship?
Never! Not after another disappointment, I whispered, tears spilling.
Dont be hasty. Youre still young; life lies ahead. Why did you marry?
For happiness, I answered, sobbing.
Everyone chases huge happiness, yet divorce is common. School teaches arithmetic, not marital wisdom. She sighed heavily. Youth burns bright, then fades.
I tried for the family! Fifteen years I endured him while he sniffed flowers and never smelled the scent of love. He became passive, stale. I cant bear to see him. Our love is in shards, I vented, emptying my soul.
I have a proposal, Emily. Are you willing? the therapist smiled mischievously.
What kind? I leaned forward.
Soon youll crave a new bond. Let there be a boy for practice, so to speak. Train on him, hone the art of living with a man. Find comfort, she asked, eyes sparkling.
And where will I find such a fool? I asked, bewildered.
You neednt search. That boy for practice could beyour exhusband.
How?
If youre indifferent to him, if his departure doesnt sting, then experiment. Its a guaranteed win, Emily.
I decided to try. After all, I had nothing to lose. I felt no pity for Peter; let him drift away.
Peter had become such a nuisance that I packed my daughters, Poppy and Mabel, and slipped into a flat in Camden. The court soon followed, divorce papers, and Peter pleaded for a pause, but I burned every bridge.
No men hovered around; after fifteen years of marriage I craved solitude. Peter turned frantic, sending cheap gifts, bouquets, even inviting me to a spa. A belated flicker of attention from him left me exhausted. He still refused to accept the end.
When I moved into the rented flat, relief flooded me. I sighed, feeling like Id finally reached paradise, soaring above clouds.
But the girls pulled me back to earth:
Mum, why is our dad at fault?
I was stunned. How could I explain to them that life with their father was over, that his words were wind, that existence felt cramped and nauseating, painted in grey tones? Thats when I returned to therapy, hoping for guidance.
Thus began the experiment. A month after the split I called Peter:
Hey! How are you? Fancy meeting? I have a few questions.
Emily? Of courseanytime! Peter gasped, his voice bubbling with joy.
We met on a bench in HydePark. He kept edging closer, reaching for my hand. We talked about nothing; no questions rose in me. He escorted me home, planting a warm kiss on my cheek and handing little treats to the girls.
Inside the flat, I glanced out the window. Peter lingered outside. I waved, and he sent an airy kiss back.
These occasional rendezvous with the ex felt perfectly satisfactoryno fights, no shattered dishes, life now splashed in bright, juicy colours.
We settled into a rhythm: meetings once a month at cafés, the cinema, the park. My days knit together from joy, and I began to weave a shared path with Peter.
A year slipped by.
Peter, are we meeting today? I asked, hopeful.
Sorry, Emily, Im swamped. Ill call when Im free, he replied, cutting off the line.
That happened three or four times. Anxiety gnawed at me. Had someone else taken his place? Was he truly engrossed elsewhere? Jealousy flared, demanding answers.
I rang him again:
Peter, the girls miss you. Lets take them to the zoo.
Alice, I have a wife in the maternity ward, Peter exhaled.
What wife? Are you joking? This is absurd! I shouted.
Not a joke, Emily. Were expecting a son with Lily.
I was speechless, words tumbling away. All I could manage was:
Goodbye. I wish you cloudless happiness.
