The damp autumn air clung to my coat as I wandered aimlessly through Londons bustling streets, lost in thought. And thenthere she was.
Two years since the divorce, and in an instant, I understood everything. But when I begged for another chance, she only smiled and shook her head.
When our second child was born, Emily stopped caring how she looked. Before, shed change outfits three times a dayevery stitch perfectly tailored, every curl in place. But after leaving the hospital, it was as though her wardrobe had vanished, replaced by an old t-shirt and worn-out joggers.
She wore them day and night, sometimes even to bed. When I asked why, shed shrug. *”Its easier when the boys wake up.”* Fair enoughbut where was the woman who once swore *”a lady should always carry herself with grace, no matter what”*? The salon visits stopped. The gym membership lapsed. And yesforgive the detailsome mornings, shed pad around the house without a bra, her body sagging, indifferent.
Time had reshaped her. Her waist, her thighsnothing was as it had been. Her hair, once glossy and styled, was now a tangled mess, thrown into a haphazard bun with strands escaping like afterthoughts. I remembered how men would turn their heads when we strolled through Chelsea. Back then, I swelled with pride. *Beautiful. Mine.*
But that woman was gone.
Our home mirrored her exhaustion. The only thing she kept impeccable was her cookingevery meal still a masterpiece. But the rest? A shadow of what wed been.
I begged her to snap out of it, to remember herself. Shed only smile faintly and whisper, *”Ill try.”* Months passed. The stranger in front of me never left.
ThenId had enough.
The divorce was quiet. No screaming, no theatrics. She pleaded with me to reconsider, but when she saw my resolve, her voice turned hollow.
*”Do what you want I thought you loved me.”*
I said nothing. What was the point? Love wasnt the issue. A quick trip to the solicitor, some signatures, and it was done.
Was I a good father? I sent the child support. Nothing more. I couldnt bear to see hernot like that. Not the ghost shed become.
And thenBristol, two years later. Golden leaves crunched underfoot as I turned a corner, and there she was.
The way she movedconfident, effortlessdrew every eye. Her stride was elegant, self-assured. And when she came close enough, my chest tightened.
*Emily.*
But not the one Id left.
This woman outshone even the one Id married. Stiletto heels, a dress that hugged her curves, hair sleek and polished. That perfumethe one that used to drive me mad.
I must have gaped, because she laughed.
*”Cat got your tongue? I told you Id change. You just didnt believe me.”*
We walked to the gym where she now trained daily. She spoke of the boyshow bright they were, how happy. Of herself, she said little. She didnt need to. Her pride radiated from every step.
And I
I remembered.
The mornings Id scoffed at her messy hair. The nights Id rolled my eyes at her exhaustion. The moment I decided she wasnt enough.
The moment I walked out on my own children.
Before we parted, I choked out the words:
*”Can I call you? I get it now Maybe we could”*
Emily cut me off with a serene smile. A single shake of her head.
*”Too late, James. Take care.”*
She vanished into the crowd.
I stood there, frozen.
Yes.
I understood.
Far too late.
