**Diary Entry**
Two years after the divorce, I ran into my ex-wife. Everything suddenly made sense, but she only smiled bitterly and brushed aside my desperate plea to start over
When our second child was born, Catherine completely stopped taking care of herself. She used to change outfits five times a day, obsessively chasing the perfect look, but after returning from the hospital in Manchester, it was as if she forgot anything existed beyond a worn-out jumper and saggy tracksuit bottoms that hung off her like a flag of surrender.
In that *marvellous* ensemble, my wife didnt just move around the houseshe lived in it, day and night, often falling asleep in those rags as if theyd become her second skin. When I asked why, shed shrug and mutter that it was easier for nighttime feedings. There was a grim logic to it, Ill admit, but all those grand principles she once preached like scripture*”A woman must remain a woman, even in hell!”*vanished into thin air. Catherine forgot everything: her beloved beauty salon in Leeds, the gym she treated like sacred ground, andforgive my bluntnessshe didnt even bother with a bra in the mornings, shuffling around the house with all the elegance of a deflated balloon.
Of course, her body suffered too. Everything saggedher waist, stomach, legs, even her neck lost its former grace, becoming a shadow of itself. Her hair? A proper nightmareeither a wild, tangled mess, as if shed been caught in a gale, or a hasty bun with strands sticking out like a cry for help. The worst part? Before the baby, Catherine had been stunninga solid ten. When we strolled through London, men turned their heads, eyes glued to her. It flattered my pride*thats my goddess, mine alone!* Now? Nothing remained but a faded echo of her former glory.
Our home mirrored her declinea grim swamp of chaos. The only thing she still mastered was cooking. Hand on heart, Ill say it: Catherine was a magician in the kitchen. Complaining about her meals wouldve been a sin. But the rest? Pure tragedy.
I tried to wake her up, begged her not to let herself go, but shed only smile apologetically and promise to do better. Time passed, my patience thinnedwatching that pitiful ghost of a woman became unbearable. One stormy night, I delivered the verdict: divorce. Catherine tried to stop me, repeating empty promises, but she didnt shout, didnt fight. When she saw my decision was final, she sighed in pain:
*”Fine I thought you loved me.”*
I refused to be dragged into a pointless debate about love. I filed the papers, and soon after, at the registry office in Birmingham, we received our divorce certificatesthe end of the story.
Im hardly father of the yearbeyond child support, I did nothing for my ex-family. The thought of seeing the woman whod once dazzled me with her beauty again was like a punch to the gut, one Id rather avoid.
Two years passed. One evening, wandering the bustling streets of London, I spotted a silhouette in the distanceher walk so familiar, light, almost dancing. She was heading straight for me. As she neared, my heart stopped*Catherine!* But what a Catherine! Reborn from the ashes, more radiant than in our early, passionate daysthe very essence of womanhood. High heels, flawless hair, everything in perfect harmonyher dress, makeup, nails, jewellery And the scent of her old perfume hit me like a wave, drowning me in forgotten memories.
My face mustve betrayed everythingshock, longing, shamebecause she let out a sharp, triumphant laugh:
*”What, dont recognise me? Told you Id bounce backyou just didnt believe me!”*
Catherine graciously let me walk her to the gym, mentioned the kids briefly*thriving, full of energy*, she said. She didnt say much about herself, but she didnt need toher glow, that unshakable confidence, her devastating new charm spoke louder than words.
My mind flashed back to those dark days: her shuffling through the house, broken by sleepless nights and the weight of motherhood, wrapped in that cursed jumper and tracksuit, that pathetic bun a symbol of surrender. How it infuriated methe lost elegance, the extinguished spark! This was the same woman Id abandoned, along with our children, blinded by my own selfishness and momentary frustration.
As we said goodbye, I stammered, asked if I could call her, confessed I finally understood everything, begged for a fresh start. But she just gave me a cool, victorious smile, shook her head with unyielding resolve, and said:
*”Too late for epiphanies, mate. Cheers.”*
