London, 12th March
I came home that evening to find Evelyn in the kitchen, setting the table for dinner. I took her hand, asked her to pause and sit with me for a moment, because I had something vital to say: I want to file for divorce. She hesitated, then only asked why. I couldnt answer, and my silence sent her into a frenzy she stopped the dinner, started shouting incoherently, fell silent, shouted again and then wept through the night. I understood her pain, yet I had nothing comforting to offer I no longer loved my wife and had fallen for another woman.
Feeling guilty, I slid a settlement paper across the counter, promising her the flat and the car, but she tore it to shreds and tossed the pieces out the window, crying once more. All I felt was a pang of conscience the woman with whom Id shared ten years felt suddenly like a stranger.
I mourned the years wed spent together and was eager to shed these bonds and fly toward a new, genuine love. The next morning, on the nightstand, lay a note with divorce terms: Evelyn asked me to postpone filing for a month and, during that time, continue playing the part of a happy family. The reason was Olivers upcoming exams. She also reminded me that on our wedding day I had carried her into the flat in my arms, and now she wanted me to carry her out of the bedroom each morning for the whole month.
Since Claire entered my life, Evelyn and I had almost no physical contact breakfast together, dinner together, sleeping at opposite ends of the bed. So when I lifted her for the first time after such a long break, a wave of bewilderment hit me. Olivers delighted clapping pulled me back to reality Evelyns face bore a bright smile, while I felt an inexplicable ache. The bedroom was only ten metres from the kitchen, and as I carried her, she covered her eyes and whispered so faintly that I should not mention the divorce to Oliver until the agreed date.
On the second day, playing the role of a cheerful, devoted husband came a little easier. Evelyn rested her head on my shoulder, and I realised how long ago I had last truly noticed the features I once loved, now altered by a decade of shared life. By the fourth day, while hoisting Evelyn, a thought slipped in: this woman had given me ten years of herself. On the fifth day, my chest tightened at the vulnerability of her small, trusting body pressed against me. Each day, carrying her out of the bedroom grew lighter.
One morning I caught her wrestling with her wardrobe everything now seemed far too big. It struck me how thin and frail she had become. That, I realised, was why the weight I bore lightened with each passing day. The insight hit me like a sudden blow to the solar plexus. Instinctively, I brushed her hair back. She called Oliver over, embraced us both tightly. Tears welled, but I turned away; I could not, and would not, change my decision. I lifted her again, carried her out of the bedroom, she clutched my neck, and I pressed her close as I had on our first wedding day.
As the agreed month drew to a close, a turmoil roiled within me. Something had shifted, a reversal I could not name. I went to Claire and told her I would not go through with the divorce.
On the drive home I reflected that the monotony of family life does not stem from love fading, but from people forgetting the significance each holds for the other. I turned off the main road, stopped at a florist, bought a bouquet, and attached a card that read, Ill carry you in my arms until the very last day of your life. My heart hammered as I entered the flat. I searched every room and found Evelyn in the bedroom she was dead.
For months, while I floated in a cloud of infatuation with Claire, my wife had been silently battling a grave illness. Knowing she had little time left, she summoned the last of her strength to spare Oliver the stress and to preserve his image of me as a good father and loving husband.
