Margaret was getting ready for a spa retreat. A retired woman now, her eldest son, Edward, had bought her the trip and said:
“Mum, you need to go and relax. I don’t like how you’ve been looking lately—you used to seem happier, more at ease. Don’t worry about Dad; he’ll manage. He doesn’t appreciate you, I can see that. It’s obvious now, the way he lives only for himself. Especially since me and Charlie moved out. And trust me, Charlie feels the same.”
“Oh, Eddie, you’re so right. I thought you boys wouldn’t even notice. Thank you, love. Of course I’ll go—when else will I get such a chance?” She smiled, grateful for his kindness.
“Whenever you want, Mum. Charlie promised he’d pay for the next one,” Edward laughed.
“My boys are so good to me. The best sons in the world!” She hugged him and kissed his cheek.
“Mum, you’re the best too. Never forget, me and Charlie are always on your side. If you ever need anything, just ask. Who else would you rely on?” He gave her a fond smile. “Right, I’d better get home—no time to wait for Dad. Got to pick up little Tommy from nursery. Give Dad my regards.” With a wave, he left.
Margaret and Gregory lived in a village, in their own home. Married young and for love, they’d had a decent life—raised two sons, sent them out into the world. Now it was just the two of them, though somehow, over time, things had changed. Or rather, Gregory had.
Margaret had been retired for two years, while Gregory still worked. Free time was new to her—before, it had always been work, chores, tending to the smallholding: a pig, chickens.
Gregory hadn’t helped around the house in ages. He’d come home, eat, then flop on the sofa. Occasionally he’d fix something, hammer a loose board, but that was it.
Margaret went into town to the shopping centre, bought two dresses and a blouse. After all, she was going to the spa—her wardrobe needed updating. Most of her clothes were from her working days, things she’d planned to wear into retirement. But now, this trip called for something nice. She stood before the mirror, trying them on, while her husband watched with disinterest.
“Twirl all you like, love—won’t make you prettier. Who’s even going to look at you? Who’d want to?”
“Don’t judge by your own standards. I didn’t buy these for attention. It’s just indecent to go out looking shabby.”
“Out in society, is it? Don’t make me laugh. Village girl then, village girl now.”
“And you’re the city gent, aren’t you? Why’d you marry me, then?”
“There you go—always the ‘why’d you marry me.’ Young and daft, wasn’t I?” His tone was meant to sting.
But Margaret was used to his jabs. Age had turned Gregory bitter—discontent with everything, not just her. Though he still fancied pretty women, eyes always wandering. She suspected he’d been unfaithful but never caught him. Not that she kept tabs.
“A man who wants to stray won’t be held back. He’ll find a way.” That was how Margaret saw it.
Still, it stung, his words as she’d tried on her new clothes. She put them away and busied herself in the kitchen. Work kept her mind off things, gave her space to remember, to dream.
Margaret was still a lovely woman. Once a beauty, now elegant, refined in her age. She’d never bothered with salons or treatments, seeing herself as past such things. But to others? She was still striking.
Gregory, though, had grown distant. Handsome in his youth, now he was just weary, aged. As she cooked, Margaret thought:
“We’ve become strangers. He doesn’t even give me housekeeping anymore. Yet I cook, clean, dust, sometimes even buy his clothes. Does he not see that? To him, I might as well be furniture—just another thing in the room. But I’m still a woman. I still want his attention. We don’t even share a bed anymore.” She stepped outside to feed the pig.
Gregory truly was like that. Once he stopped caring for his wife, he didn’t even notice. Yet his eyes still roved—flirting, even in front of her. No guilt.
Margaret knew.
“He notices other women, jokes with them, laughs, even hugs them right in front of me. But me? I’m invisible.”
“Marg, your Greg’s been off to town again—got some floozy there,” her neighbour Vera said bluntly.
“And how’d you know? Been holding a candle for him?”
“Not me, love. But we work together. Saw him with that accountant, Lucy—all dolled up, pretty little thing. Your Greg strutting around her like a prize rooster, then whisked her off to a café. You can guess the rest. Girls at work say he’s always sneaking off to town now.”
“What can I do? Let him sneak.” She kept her voice flat, though inside, she boiled.
Vera frowned. “Cold as ice, you are. I wouldn’t stand for it. I’d have given him a piece of my mind…”
It hurt, hearing this from a neighbour. Worse were Gregory’s own barbs after all these years. They’d loved each other once.
Margaret left for the spa. She settled in fast—befriended her roommates, joined them for meals, treatments. She loved it.
“I never imagined it’d be this lovely. So peaceful. I haven’t even thought of Gregory, not once. Just… free.”
Three days in, a pleasant-faced man approached her.
“Evening,” he said. “I’m William. And you?”
“Oh, no mystery—Margaret.” She offered her hand.
Soon they were strolling together evenings, talking.
“Been on my own five years now. Lost my wife—long illness, I cared for her. Good life, happy. But that’s how it goes. Daughter’s far off, hardly visits.”
Margaret shared her own story. William was easy to talk to—she even wanted his sympathy. She felt they understood each other. Didn’t want to part. Every evening, they walked, talked.
She sensed his growing fondness, noticed his admiring glances. He complimented her often. Soon they were on first-name terms.
“Margaret, you’re lovely. Graceful, radiant—I can’t look away,” he admitted.
She hadn’t realised how she’d blossomed, refreshed, falling for him in quiet, measured ways. Her husband had convinced her she was plain, but with William? She felt beautiful. Alive.
William was respectful, never overstepping. By the fortnight’s end, Margaret was serene, glowing.
“Margaret, honestly? First woman since my wife who’s moved me, who I’ve loved. I need you in my life. If things are truly over with your husband… leave him. Marry me. Let’s be happy. Here—let’s swap numbers. I’ll call.”
Parting was hard—but necessary. Margaret returned home renewed. Her sons visited, thrilled for her. Only Gregory lurked, sullen, gaunt. Looked like no one had fed him well.
Days passed. William called daily, Margaret sneaking conversations.
“Margaret, I’ll come for you soon. Just sort things with your husband.”
“I will. I’ll think it through.”
Then, the unexpected. One night, Gregory entered her room—they hadn’t shared one in years. He looked at her, almost tearful.
“Marg… I know about him. The calls. I hear. Might’ve even eavesdropped. I know. But no—you’re my wife. I love you. No one could love you like I do. Forgive me—my cruelty, my stupidity. You’re the best woman alive. No one else. I thought… maybe you’d fight for me. But you never even cared when I flirted. Didn’t you?”
She almost confessed how much it had hurt, how she’d hidden it. But he’d been wounded too?
He knelt, pressed his face to her knees, trembling. Then pulled her close. Warmth flooded her—she loved him, still.
Later, she called William. Asked him to stop.
Somehow, a first love is divine. Forgiveness comes easier. Life goes on.
Margaret and Gregory live well now. He sees what he almost lost. Doesn’t understand his past self. Now, he won’t let her holiday alone—they go together.
