Under the first blush of dawn, I bid farewell to the home that held memories of my failed marriage.
I was returning to my prenuptial haven – an apartment I'd kept wisely.
The haunting silence of the previous night lingered, shrouding the air with a rising sense of finality.
Charles had disappeared hastily after taking an unexpected call.
The irony wasn't lost on me - my wedding ring, the only tangible proof of our five-year union, was now abandoned on the bedside table.
Charles didn't return that night, suggesting an implicit acceptance of our impending divorce.
The only casualty of this fallout - an expedient marital arrangement.
The curveball came as Charles texted that evening,
"I'll pick you up for tonight's party."
He took over the usual corporate communication, breaking the norm.
I declared in my response my decision to move out and attend the party solo.
His silence revealed the gravity of our situation.
Just as I was beginning to adjust to this newfound silence, an unexpected visitor appeared - Charles.
His appearance, so alien in its weariness and reddened eyes, surprised me.
I saw a vulnerability that I hadn't seen before.
Noticing my bare finger spurred a passionate discussion about our impending divorce.
Amid my confusion regarding his sudden resistance, he made his stance clear:
"Dagny... I don't want a divorce."
There it was. Charles' stand.
He didn't want a divorce, which left me grappling with a whirlwind of unexpected emotions.
Amidst our abruptly interrupted conversation, I tagged him for the party.
I was surprised to find the backseat of his car filled with pink gift bags and, much to my astonishment, stocked sugar in the glove compartment - catering to my hypoglycemic needs.
I hesitated at the efforts he started making to accommodate my preferences.
As if his sudden attentiveness wasn't shocking enough, he promised to compromise, to adjust – share meals, respect my social boundaries,
and confirm a united front in case of misunderstandings.
His voluntary disclosure of the ongoing scandals involving a confident Betty and his reassurance of her insignificance in our lives left me reeling.
"Dagny,"
he prayed, coming clean about his self-realization following a night of deep introspection.
He confessed his failures as a husband and requested a chance to mend our damaged relationship.
YOU ARE READING
Love After Marriage
RomanceI was the perfect wife for five years, but he never loved me. He only had eyes for her, his first love. So I decided to end our marriage and move out. But a week later, he showed up at my door. "Divorce?" He looked at me with red eyes. "Say that aga...
