Mate, Im 55 now, and about two months back, my wife asked me for a divorce. She told me she needs to feel alive again. She said it straight to my face one completely ordinary afternoon, while we were just sitting at the kitchen table. Our tea was going cold, and the cockerel was crowing in the garden, as he does every day.
Shes my second wife, you know. Weve been together for fifteen years. I never could have children of my own, something medical apparently, but she came into my life with kids from her first marriage. I raised them as if they were mine, honestly. Never treated them one bit different. Gave them a home, made sure they got a proper education, kept them fed, tried to give good advice when I could. Now theyre all grown and living in London. We stayed out in the countryside a modest but lovely house, with a vegetable patch, some chickens, a couple of dogs, and a quiet routine. I always thought a peaceful life like ours was more than enough.
Our days were simple. Breakfast together, then work, evenings watching something on telly, and early nights. At the weekend, maybe wed nip into town for a bit of shopping or go visiting a mate. I never cheated, never put her down, nothing like that. Im your typical family bloke up before dawn, working hard, doing what needs to be done. Thought thats what love was, you know?
But a few months ago, she started to change. She kept saying she felt stuck, that the village life was suffocating her, that she longed for the buzz of the city the crowds, the noise, a different pace. I always said, look, weve got everything here the house is paid off, clean air, peace and quiet. Wed argue about it, more than once. She kept pushing. Id just clam up. I wanted to stay put. She wanted to leave.
Then, one day, she just stopped arguing. Looked me in the eye and said, I dont want to fight anymore. Im leaving. I have to do something different before I get old.
So I asked her if there was another bloke. She swore there wasnt. She said she was leaving for herself, not for anyone else that she just needed to feel alive, have a fresh start in the city.
That night we still slept in the same bed, but it wasnt the same. Next day, she packed her clothes, took a few mementos, and left. No shouting matches, no drama. I just stood there and watched as the bus drove off towards London, my heart in my throat and my hands shaking.
Now, the house just feels massive. Im still living in the country, just as I always wanted only now its just me. I get up early, make tea for one, chat to the dogs. Sometimes, I wonder if I messed up should I have listened to her more, made a few compromises instead of being so stuck in my ways, thinking love was just about steady routines and doing your duty?
Why did this happen to me? Was it because I tried so hard to be a good man?
