“Who would ever want you, Clara? Toothless, childless, common Clara,”
“Who would want you?” shouted Paul before spitting out the words and walking away.
I watched him from the window, the man I’d lived with for fifteen years. I always believed we were two souls with one heartbeat. Only as he left did I realise that for him, it had just been convenient.
Our family photos were more show than substance.
My flat was comfortable, I cooked well, was a tidy homemaker, ready to do anything for him.
For a moment, I thought about opening the window and begging him not to go. I almost did, ready to humiliate myself, just to allow him to stayeven as he spent days away, with her, that other woman.
Anything seemed better than being alone and abandoned at forty-five. I was about to call out when my eyes fell upon the portrait of my father in his army uniform, chin lifted proudly, eyes alight with resolve.
Suddenly, I was ashamedashamed of my weakness.
I peered again, watching my once-dapper husband, his overcoat smart, loading his things into an impressive car and driving away.
I wandered to the kitchen, passing through the hallway, where my grandmothers old dresser stooda full-length mirror reflecting a plump, worn-out woman with greying hair and lifeless eyes.
I knew I wasnt beautiful. My health was declining and my teeth crumbling, with no money for new onesPaul needed a new car, after all, and his work called for snazzy clothes.
“What a silly sight! Your Paul struts about dressed like a film star, while youre in stretched jumpers, a prehistoric skirt, a couple of old blouses, battered shoes, and those slippers instead of boots. Even your coat, my gran wouldn’t wear it. He asks for restaurant menussteak, steamed cutlets, filled pancakes, roast meats. Honestly, why do you put up with it? Stop following that man about,” my colleague Lucy would chastise me.
But I always did as I thought best. Then he said he was leaving me for a twenty-seven-year-oldwith four children.
“Shes young,” I sighed, trying to forgive.
But Lucy, my friend as well as colleague, did her sleuthing online, asked neighbours and discovered the truth:
“Shes rough as old boots! And he called you common? You come from a decent family! Shes never worked a day in her life. The kids have different fathers. She was practically drunk all through her last pregnancy. Her mothers no better. So dont talk to me about youth. But some men love that sort, for obvious reasonsstill, you cant build a family on that! Im shocked by your Paul. Just keep your chin up, Clara!”
I tried to keep going. My lovely, spacious flat in central London was a lifeline, a gift from my parentsand my father, wise as ever, had put it all in my name, ensuring Paul could never lay claim to it. Eventually, I decided to let a spare room out to help with money.
Construction was booming around us. One day, an engineer moved ina gentle, bearded, intelligent man named William. He looked at me carefully before quietly offering,
“Let me pay upfront, Clara. You can get your teeth sorted. Such a lovely lady deserves better.”
I blushed; I never saw myself as attractive, but I did want to fix my teeth.
He gave me even more than expected, urging me to pay him back if I wished. Later, his brother arrivedone of a kind, really. He introduced himself as Cyril, a stylist, decked out in a canary blazer, purple trousers, hair styled to perfection.
Hed come to visit William, saw me hosting guests with my homemade pies, and took me “under his wing.” Cyril insisted on an image overhaul.
And he managed it. My newly-coloured hair gleamed, his make-up enhanced my features, my teeth fixed. I started walking to work. The excess weight melted away. I even jogged in the park each morning.
Suddenly, I was a sweet, smiling woman with dimples, transformed from a drab cocoon into a vibrant butterfly.
One day, the doorbell rang. William was nearest and called out,
“Clara, someone for you!”
There, at my door, stood my ex-husband. I hardly recognised himPaul was greyer, thinner, drawn, his bags at his side, all of his former confidence gone.
“What do you want?” I asked, coolly.
I remembered calling him in those early months, desperate, but he ignored me. Later, hed even blocked me.
Now he had returned.
Clara, youve changed…! he gasped.
His flattery made no impression. I remembered the sleepless nights, that urge to give up, endless tears, panic.
“Oh, Clara, youve no idea what Ive been through. That viper only wanted my money. The kids seemed okay at first, but… wild, always shouting. She never tried to raise them, always buried in her phone, never cooked, just bought ready meals. Once, she served me instant noodles! She even ruined my shirts in the wash. I never bought myself anything; everything was for them. It was like a madhouse. Clara… Please lets start over?”
But I only heard his old words,
“Who would ever want you, Clara? Toothless, childless, common Clara.”
Just then, William appeared in the hallwayconcerned and attentive.
“Clara! Do you need help? Sir, can I ask your business?”
Paul rose to his feet and snapped,
“Who are you?”
“This is my husband, William,” I answered. “Dont come here again!” And I shut the door, leaving Paul speechless.
I apologised to William for calling him my husband. But he just sighed and said,
“I think its time I said this, ClaraI love you. How anyone could leave such an incredible woman, Ill never understand. Will you marry me, for real?”
He was a widower, and I agreed. Within two months, roses overflowed every week, and together, we bought a cottage.
Sometimes, Id notice Paul watching us from around the corner, cursing himself for chasing a hollow dreamending with nothing.
But William and I stroll hand in hand down the street, happy and in love. Soon, Ill be welcoming a child.
Looking back, I realise: the respect you show yourself sets the value others will see in you. Never settle for being loved just for someone else’s convenience.
