One Step from Divorce
Emma had been pestering her husband for weeks to visit her great-grandmother, Dorothy Whitmore, in the countryside. The old woman lived alone in a tiny cottage on the outskirts of a sleepy village. At ninety-eight, every visit could be the last. But Thomas kept making excuses—work, exhaustion, or just plain reluctance.
“Please, just this once,” Emma begged. “Don’t you remember? She promised to tell us that secret—the one that kept her and Great-Grandad together for sixty-two years. But only if we come together.”
Thomas rolled his eyes.
“If this secret’s so brilliant, why haven’t you shared it before?”
“Because she swore she’d only tell us both. Said they were magic words—the kind every couple should know. Sixty-two years, Thomas. Not a single thought of divorce. Not once.”
Thomas sighed. He didn’t believe in magic or dusty old advice from another century. But the hopeful look in Emma’s eyes wore him down.
“Fine. But we’re not staying long. In, chat, out.”
Dorothy greeted them from her neatly made bed. Despite her age, her gaze was sharp, full of quiet strength. She smiled faintly at Emma, then studied Thomas for a long moment.
“Well, my dears, here you are. Come for the words, have you?”
“Yes, Nan,” Emma nodded eagerly. “The secret that holds a marriage together. We’re listening.”
The old woman closed her eyes briefly, then whispered:
“An old vicar gave us this secret. We married in a tiny chapel in the middle of nowhere because it was the only one for miles. And he said to us—’Remember: divorce is just one step away.'”
Thomas frowned.
“One step?”
“Aye. One wrong step. One harsh word spat in anger. One glance over your shoulder, one night you stay out too late. It’s easy to wreck a marriage. But keeping it? That’s work. So every time you argue, or sulk, or let bitterness creep in—remember those words. Divorce is just one step away. Take it, and there might be no turning back.”
Silence filled the room. Emma looked down. Thomas stood, walked to the window, and stared out for a long time. Then, quietly, he said:
“My parents split when I was ten. It started with one step. Dad stayed out all night. Mum didn’t believe his excuse. Word led to word, and… that was that.”
He turned to Emma.
“Lately, we’ve been dancing awfully close to that line, haven’t we?”
Emma nodded, blinking back tears.
They drove home holding hands. Not a word spoken, just fingers locked tight, as if afraid to let go. When they pulled up to the house, Thomas suddenly stopped, pulled Emma close, and whispered:
“Promise me—we’ll never take that step.”
Emma nodded, and in that moment, they both knew: it wasn’t just Nan’s memory they carried now. It was an anchor. Just one phrase—and a lifetime could change.
