I Never Loved My Wife and Always Told Her So: It Wasn’t Her Fault We Lived Well Enough
I never loved my wife and told her as much, over and over. It wasnt her doingwe lived reasonably well.
My name is Edward Whitmore, from the quiet, rain-washed streets of York, where the past clings like damp fog. I never loved my wife, Margaret, and confessed it to her like a bitter truth I could barely carry. She didnt deserve itno theatrics, no scolding, always tender, thoughtful, almost saintly. Yet my heart stayed cold, like the Thames in January. There was no love, and it hollowed me out.
Every morning I woke with the same thought: leave. I dreamed of a woman whod set fire to my soul, leave me breathless. But fate played a cruel trick, turned everything upside down, left me adrift. Margaret was comfortable as an old armchair. She kept our home flawless, turned heads wherever she went, and friends would say, Whered you find her, you lucky sod? I never knew why I deserved her loyaltyjust an ordinary bloke, nothing special, yet she loved me like I was her whole world. How?
Her love choked me. Worse still was the thought that if I left, another man might take my place. Someone more successful, handsomer, wealthiersomeone whod treasure what I couldnt. Imagining her in anothers arms filled me with blind fury. She was mineeven if Id never loved her. This possessiveness ruled me, stronger than sense. But can you live a lifetime beside someone who doesnt make your heart race? I thought I could, but I was wronga storm was brewing inside me, unstoppable.
Ill tell her tomorrow, I decided before bed. At breakfast, I mustered what little courage I had. Margaret, sit down, we need to talk, I began, meeting her calm gaze. Of course, darling. Whats the matter? she replied, ever gentle. Suppose we divorced. I leave, we live apart She laughed, as if Id told a joke: What strange thoughts! Is this some game? Listen, Im serious, I cut in. Alright, suppose it happens. Then what? she asked, still smiling. Tell me honestlywould you find someone else if I left? She froze. Edward, whats gotten into you? Why ask this?concern creeping into her voice. Because I dont love you, never have, I blurted, like a blow.
Margaret paled. What? Youre joking? I dont understand. I want to leave, but the thought of you with another drives me mad, I said, voice trembling. She fell silent, then answered with quiet sorrow: Id never find anyone better than you, dont worry. Go. Ill stay alone. Promise? I slipped out unwittingly. Of course, she nodded, eyes steady. Waitbut where would I go? I hesitated. Dont you have somewhere? she asked, surprised. No. Weve always been together. Seems Ill have to stay nearby, I muttered, feeling the ground vanish. Dont fret, said Margaret. After the divorce, well sell this house, buy two smaller ones. Really? I never thought youd help me. Why? I stammered. Because I love you. When you love someone, you dont chain them, her words fell like a verdict.
Months passed. We divorced. Then came the whispers: Margaret lied. Shed found anothertall, confident, with a warm smile. The flat she inherited from her grandmother? Never considered sharing. I was left with nothingno home, no family, no faith in people. The betrayal cut deep, a knife in the back, and still I hear her voice: Ill stay alone. A lie. Cold, calculating, and I believed it, like a fool.
How can I trust women now? I dont know. Life with her was comfortable but empty, and now even thats gone. Im in a rented room, staring at the wall, replaying that conversation. Her calm, her wordsall a mask. Friends say, Your fault, Edward. What did you expect? Theyre right. I didnt love her but wanted to keep her, like a thing. And she left, abandoned me to the loneliness I feared most. Maybe this is my penancefor the coldness, the selfishness, for never valuing her heart. Now Im alone, and the silence hurts more than her leaving. Whos the greater foolme or her? Even I cant tell.
