FORGET IT ALL FOR GOOD
“I never loved you,” my ex-wife confessed, staring at me with mocking eyes.
“I had a feeling, Emily,” I replied calmly.
“Youre strange. Were you really fine with unrequited love? I dont get it,” she went on.
“I loved you. Still do. Sorry I made you suffer. You lived with a husband you despised. But I was happy with you.” The words stuck like a lump in my throat.
“Happy with a bitch like me?” Emily scoffed.
“Enough. Goodbye. Visit Archie,” I snapped, standing abruptly from the bench and walking away.
That meeting in the park happened after our divorce. Emily had been my everything.
Before her, there were other womenpassing flings, temporary distractions. But Emily changed everything. I fell for her instantly, hopelessly. I charged ahead without a second thought, never bothering to ask how she felt. Maybe I should have.
We planned the wedding. She was ten years younger. I doubt she even understood how shed ended up engaged. But I wanted to shout to the world, “Look at my gorgeous bride!”
The wedding was loud, crowded, joyful. I invited every relative, even those Id fought with. Call it forgiveness in the name of my future happiness. My “happiness” had just turned eighteena silly girl, but breathtakingly beautiful.
The wedding march faded.
“Do you love me, Oliver?” my young wife would ask.
“Of course, darling! Youre my air, my light, my life!” Id gush, drunk on my own conquest.
It never crossed my mind to ask, “And how do you feel about me?”
Did it matter? I loved her. I was happy. What else was there?
Maybe I was afraid. What if she just shrugged, shook her head, and murmured, “I dont know if I love you”?
I spoiled Emily rotten. Designer clothes, spas, hairdressersanything she wanted. I even bought her stubborn mother a flat. Every year, “Mum” vacationed at a seaside resort.
She warned me endlessly, “Son-in-law, youve got a young wife. Watch out, or someonell steal her. Take care of our Emily.”
I did. I cherished her. And Emily blossomed, turning heads wherever she went. As her husband, I basked in the attention.
Then our son, Archie, was born.
From the start, Emilys indifference chilled me. She barely noticed him. Archie quietly moved in with his grandmother. Emily never warmed to him. It broke my hearthis own mother rejected him.
Her mum adored Archie, taking full charge. I just handed over money. Babies werent my forte.
When Archie grew older, I tried stepping in. His grandmother resisted. “Why dyou need him? Youll have more. Hes my joy. Leave him be.”
Emily never fought for him. She was contentno fuss, no mess.
Then, one day, Emily lost her head to passion.
I often lent her my company carwith a driver. And thats who she fell for. At first, I thought itd pass. But no.
The affair dragged on. The driver, Ryan, wasnt sharing. “Its me or nothing,” he told her.
Emily wavered. Financial security or fiery love? She lied, hid, but you cant sit on two chairs forever.
I fired Ryan with a warning: “Emilys a high-maintenance bird. Shell fly off before you blink. Can you handle her?”
“She played you, but she wont play me. Ill clip her wings,” Ryan sneered.
Thats when Emily and I met on that park bench. Her confessionshed never loved me. Only endured me, resented me.
She married Ryan. Had a daughter. Now he drinks, hits her, cant hold a job. But Emily loves him desperately. Her swollen eyes brim with bitter happiness.
They live with my ex-mother-in-lawin the flat I bought. Were neighbours. I took Archie in.
Every day, I see Emily, sunglasses on, pushing her daughters pram. The worlds vast, but with her around, it feels suffocating.
Once, I “accidentally” approached her.
“Hows life?”
“Brilliant. You?” she replied indifferently.
“Fine,” I lied.
And we walked away.
After losing Emily, I just existedno joy, no peace.
At first, I drank myself blind. Lost track of everything. My ex-mother-in-law would sigh, take Archie away.
There were unwanted women, drifts of drunk visitors, shady types urging me to sell the flat
“Dad, pour me some vodka,” eight-year-old Archie once asked.
“Why? Its bitter. You wont like it,” I slurred, nursing a hangover.
“You like it,” he shot back.
That was the last time I drank.
Years of loneliness. Waiting for Emily. Willing to take her back, even with Ryans child. Naïve. Shed erased me for good.
When Archie married and moved out, I finally thought about starting over.
Emily still lived in my heart, stubbornly. I couldnt evict her.
But life went on. I decided to find someoneanyoneto dull the pain.
Brides dont knock on doors. So I went online.
Lucy was married, living in a remote village, a days train ride away. Didnt bother me. I fell for her. Her husband was bedridden.
She needed a helper. A friend had nudged her: “Lucy, lets find you a decent bloke online. Plenty of single men out there. Hell fix the fence, tend the garden. Maybe even warm your bed”
Lucy half-heartedly agreed. The ad read: “Could love a lonely man. Dont expect love back.”
Perfect. A woman whod give affection without demands. I packed eagerly.
Lucy and I clicked instantly. I craved tenderness; she craved a mans presence.
At first, we couldnt stop. Mad with passion.
Her husband lay in the next room. It felt like he was in bed with us.
“Lucy this feels wrong,” I muttered between kisses.
“Dont worry. Hes deaf,” she reassured.
Days in the garden, nights in reckless passion. Emily faded. My heart lightened.
I even patted myself on the back. “You loved again!”
Turns out, it wasnt so simple. Lucy was a witchliterally. Shed “bound” me to her. I had no will left. Followed her like a calf on a rope.
“Lucy, Id like to visit home for a week,” I ventured one winter.
“No need, Oliver. No ones waiting. Waste of money,” she dismissed.
So I stayed. Didnt dare disobey.
Lucy turned me against family, even Archie. I grew uneasy.
Three years in a fog. Lucy was a thorn in my heart. I couldnt break free. Even nursed her husband.
“You think Im deaf?” the frail man wheezed.
I recoiled. Imagined him lying there, hearing us at night, powerless.
The village scorned us. Once, an old woman spat, “Got no shame, you cur? Her husbands dying, and you carry on! Disgusting!”
Whispers followed: “Let him in to warm up, and now hes baptising babies”
Lucys husband rasped, “Shes a witch. Cursed me for leaving her. Run, while you can.”
I didnt hesitate. Packed, fled.
Back home, I recovered slowly. Shook off the spell.
Then Lucy called. “Oliver, whered you go? Come back. My poor husbands dead. Im all alone”
“Lucy,” I said flatly, “forget this number. Forget me. For good.”
