Two years after we called it quits, I ran into my exwife on the high street in Manchester. Everything suddenly clicked into place, but she only gave me a bitter smile before brushing off my desperate plea to start over
When our second kid arrived, Poppy completely stopped caring about herself. She used to change outfits five times a day, hunting for the perfect detail, but after coming back from her maternity leave in Leeds, it was as if shed wiped her memory of anything other than a threadbare hoodie and sagging joggers that hung on her like a mournful flag.
In that lovely attire she didnt just lounge around the house she practically lived there, collapsing onto the bed still dressed in those rags, as if theyd become a second skin. When I asked why, she mumbled that it was easier to get up at night for the babies. Theres a dark logic to that, Ill admit, but all those lofty principles she used to chant A woman must stay a woman, even in hell! had evaporated. Poppy seemed to have forgotten everything: her beloved salon in Bournemouth, the gym she swore was her sanctuary, and, forgive my bluntness, she didnt even bother putting on a bra in the mornings, wandering the house with a sagging chest as if it mattered not.
Naturally, her body followed the same downhill path. Her waist, her belly, her legs, even her neck slumped, becoming mere shadows of what they once were. Her hair? A living disaster: one minute a wild mass like a stormtossed field, the next a haphazard bun with rebellious strands sticking out like silent screams. The worst part was that before the baby, Poppy was a tenoutoften beauty. When we strolled down the promenade in Brighton, men would turn and stare. It puffed up my ego theres my goddess, just for me! And now that goddess was reduced to a dim silhouette, a relic of past splendor.
Our home reflected her decline a gloomy, oppressive mess. The only thing she still commanded was the kitchen. I swear on my heart, Poppy was a wizard with the stove, and complaining about her cooking would have been blasphemy. Everything else? Pure tragedy.
I tried to shake her, begged her not to sink further, but she only offered a wistful smile and promised to pull herself together. The months wore on, my patience wore thin watching that parody of the woman I once loved every day became unbearable. One stormy night I dropped the final word: divorce. Poppy tried to hold me back, spouting empty vows of redemption, but she didnt scream, didnt fight. When she realized my decision was final, she let out a gutwrenching sigh and said,
Your call I thought you loved me
I didnt waste time on a sterile debate about love. I filled out the papers, and soon, in a solicitors office in Bristol, we each signed our divorce certificates the end of a chapter.
Im probably not a stellar dad aside from child support, Ive done nothing for my former family. The thought of seeing her again, the woman who once dazzled me, felt like a knife to the chest Id rather avoid.
Two years slipped by. One evening, while wandering the bustling streets of Liverpool, I spotted a familiar stride graceful, like a dance in the crowd. She was heading my way. When she got close, my heart froze it was Poppy! But not the Poppy Id known. Shed risen from the ashes, looking more radiant than ever, the very picture of femininity. She wore skyhigh heels, her hair styled to perfection, every detail dress, makeup, nails, jewellery in perfect harmony. The scent of her old signature perfume hit me like a wave, pulling me back to buried days.
My face must have said it all shock, desire, regret when she let out a sharp, triumphant laugh,
Dont you recognize me? I told you Id get back on my feet you never believed it!
She kindly invited me to her gym, gave me a quick update on the kids theyre thriving, full of life, she said. She didnt say much about herself, but her confidence and new sparkle shouted louder than any words could.
My mind darted back to those dark days: her dragging herself around the house, broken by sleepless nights and everyday weight, draped in that cursed hoodie and joggers, her sad bun a flag of surrender. It used to infuriate me elegance lost, flame snuffed out! That was the same woman Id abandoned, and with her, Id turned my back on our children, blinded by selfishness and fleeting anger.
As we said goodbye, I stammered a question could I call her? I confessed Id finally understood everything and begged her to start anew. She answered with a cold smile, shook her head firmly and said,
You figured it out too late, love. Goodbye.
