**Diary Entry**
We got divorced a week after the wedding.
*”Have you lost your mind?! What do you mean, divorce?!”* Emily hurled the bouquet of withered roses to the floor—the same roses she had thought were the most beautiful in the world just yesterday. *”We only just got married! A week ago!”*
*”So what?”* Liam didn’t even look up from his phone. *”Mistakes happen. Better to fix it now than suffer for years.”*
*”A mistake?!”* Her voice rose to a screech. *”Am I a mistake to you?! Our wedding was a mistake?!”*
Liam finally looked up from his screen and stared at his wife. His *ex*-wife. Or however you were supposed to call her now.
*”Look, Em, why are you making such a scene? I’m being reasonable. We’re not right for each other. Simple as that. I knew it on our wedding night when you blew up at me for not brushing my teeth.”*
*”Then just brush your teeth! How hard is that?!”*
*”Why should I? I never did at home before bed, and I was fine.”*
Emily sank onto the couch, clutching her head. Had she really spent seven years with this man and never noticed? Or had she noticed but convinced herself marriage would change everything?
*”Liam, love,”* she tried to speak calmly. *”We love each other. Remember when you proposed? You were on your knees, swearing I’d be the happiest—”*
*”That was romance. Life’s different. Think about it—just one week in, and we’re already arguing every day. Yesterday, it was socks not going in the laundry. The day before, leaving a plate unwashed. And today? Why I made myself coffee but not you.”*
*”Because I was still asleep!”*
*”Exactly. Should I wake you to ask if you want coffee? And if I do, and you don’t, another row starts?”*
Emily stared at him, stunned. Was he serious? Were these little things enough to wreck a marriage?
*”Liam,”* she moved to hug him, but he flinched away. *”This is ridiculous! We’ll adjust. Every couple goes through this!”*
*”I don’t want to adjust. I was fine before. Why did I even get married?”*
The question hung in the air. Emily felt something snap inside. Seven years together. A year planning the wedding. A fortune spent. Guests still asking about their honeymoon.
*”You know what?”* She straightened, wiping her tears. *”Maybe you’re right. Maybe we rushed this.”*
Liam blinked in surprise. *”So… you agree to divorce?”*
*”What choice do I have? Force you to love me?”* She picked up a wedding photo from the dresser—both of them smiling, happy, in love. *”Just answer me one thing. If you didn’t want to marry me, why propose?”*
He scratched his head. *”Well… you kept hinting. Your friends got married. You said it was time. I thought, if it had to be done, fine.”*
*”Had to be done?”* she echoed. *”You married me because it had to be done?”*
*”Not just that. We had a good thing. You cooked, cleaned… I figured marriage would be the same.”*
*”And what’s different now?”*
*”You’ve turned naggy. Nothing’s good enough. Before, you never complained.”*
Emily sat back down. True, she’d once stayed quiet when Liam left socks everywhere. Cleaned up after him. Cooked, washed. Why? Because she was afraid. Afraid he’d leave if she asked too much.
*”Maybe I was naggy,”* she said slowly. *”But do you know why? Because I expected you to care. I thought a husband was a partner—not a child I had to tidy after.”*
*”Exactly!”* Liam brightened. *”I don’t want tidying or telling. I just want peace.”*
*”And I want a husband, not a flatmate.”*
Silence fell. Rain tapped the window. Emily remembered their first meeting—her reading in a café, him approaching, charming, smiling, attentive. Flowers, theatre dates, even reciting poetry.
*”Remember when you quoted Wordsworth to me?”* she asked.
*”Yeah. Why?”*
*”No reason. Just remembering.”*
*”Em,”* Liam sat beside her. *”Why torture ourselves? Let’s be honest—we want different things. You’re family-minded; I like freedom. You want kids—”*
*”And you don’t?”*
*”Not yet. Maybe someday, but you were already planning nurseries.”*
She nodded. Thirty-two, wanting a family. Him? Thirty-five and still acting like a student.
*”Fine,”* she whispered. *”We’ll divorce.”*
*”Really?”* He almost smiled. *”Finally, we agree!”*
*”On one condition. You tell everyone the truth—my parents, yours, our friends. I won’t take the blame.”*
*”What truth?”*
*”That you weren’t ready. That you married out of habit, not love.”*
He frowned. *”Why say that? We’ll just say we clashed.”*
*”No. The truth, or I’ll tell them myself. And you won’t like my version.”*
*”Fine,”* he sighed.
Emily walked to the window. The rain was worsening. At least she wasn’t outside. Could’ve been on a honeymoon somewhere sunny. Tickets booked, hotel reserved. At least they hadn’t left yet.
*”Who’s refunding the wedding costs?”* Liam asked suddenly.
*”What costs?”*
*”Your parents paid for the venue, mine for the band—”*
*”Seriously? You’re seriously bringing up money now?!”*
*”It’s a lot of cash for nothing.”*
*”We lasted a week as husband and wife. Was that nothing to you?”*
*”Honestly? Yeah. I’m used to living alone, not having someone around. Can’t even watch telly in peace—you keep changing channels.”*
*”Because it’s football all day!”*
*”What’s wrong with that? My flat, my telly.”*
*”Our flat, our telly.”*
*”Like hell! The flat’s in my name, and I bought the telly.”*
Anger flared. Was he really this selfish? Had seven years blinded her?
*”You know what, Liam?”* She grabbed a bag, started packing. *”I’m leaving today. We’ll file tomorrow.”*
*”Where’re you going?”*
*”Mum’s. Temporarily.”*
*”What about your stuff?”*
*”I’ll collect it when you’re out.”*
*”Fine. But leave the keys.”*
Emily froze. *Leave the keys.* As if she were a stranger. A week ago, he’d vowed love at the altar. Now, he wanted the keys back.
*”Liam, be honest. Did you ever love me?”*
He hesitated.
*”I got used to you. Life was good. But love? Don’t know what that is.”*
*”Right.”*
She finished packing, grabbed her coat.
*”Mum, it’s me. Can I come over? Yes… it’s bad. Really bad. I’ll explain when I get there.”*
Liam followed her to the door.
*”Em,”* he called. *”Don’t hate me. I didn’t mean… I’m just like this.”*
*”I know. That’s why we’re divorcing.”*
The lift arrived. She stepped in, pressed ‘G’. Liam watched from the doorway.
*”Maybe… we could try again?”* he said suddenly. *”I might adjust.”*
*”No.”* She shook her head. *”I don’t want someone to adjust to me. I want to be loved.”*
The doors closed.
In the lift, she texted her best friend: *”Getting divorced. Meet tomorrow, I’ll explain.”*
A reply buzzed instantly: *”What?! A week after the wedding? You serious?”*
*”Deadly.”*
*”Come to mine. We’ll talk.”*
*”Thanks. Mum’s first, then you.”*
Outside, the rain had turned torrential. A taxi pulled up.
*”Where to?”* the driver asked.
She gave her mum’s address. What would Mum say? Probably scold her—*be patient, give it time, he’ll come round.* That’s what their generation believed. Endure. Adjust.
Or maybe she’d understand. Mum had divorced Dad when Emily was ten. Back then, Emily had resShe wiped her eyes, stepped into the rain, and realized freedom—though lonely—felt lighter than love that was never love at all.
