Margaret was getting ready for a spa retreat. She’d retired, and her eldest son, Edward, had bought her the trip, saying:
“Mum, you need to go and relax. I don’t like how worn out you look—you used to be so much brighter. Don’t worry about Dad; he’ll manage. He doesn’t appreciate you, I see that now. It’s clear he only loves himself, especially since me and Timothy moved out. He thinks the same, by the way.”
“Oh, Eddie, you’re so right. I thought my boys didn’t notice a thing. Thank you, love. Of course I’ll go—when will I get another chance like this?” She smiled, grateful.
“Whenever you fancy it. Tim promised he’d get your next trip,” Edward laughed.
“My wonderful boys! The best sons in the world!” She hugged him and kissed his cheek.
“Mum, you’re the best too. Know that me and Tim will always be here for you. Who else have you got to rely on? Just us.” He grinned. “Right, I’m off—no time to wait for Dad. Need to pick little Alfie from nursery. Send Dad my regards.” With a wave, he left.
Margaret and Graham lived in a village, married young and for love. They’d raised two sons and sent them off into the world. Now, just the two of them, life had changed—or rather, Graham had.
Two years retired, Margaret had free time now. Before, it was work, chores, keeping a few chickens. Graham barely helped anymore. Home from work, he’d eat, then slump on the sofa. Occasionally, he’d fix something around the house.
Margaret went to the city, to a shopping centre, and bought two dresses and a blouse. A spa trip deserved new clothes—her wardrobe hadn’t been updated in years. She had old work clothes, meant to wear out in retirement. Now, this lucky break. She stood before the mirror, trying them on as Graham watched, then shrugged:
“Twirl all you like—won’t make you prettier. Who’d even look at you?”
“Don’t judge by yourself. I didn’t buy these for attention. It’s just indecent to go out in rags.”
“Out? Don’t make me laugh. Village then, village now.”
“And you’re so posh. Why’d you marry me?”
“Ah, the usual. Young and stupid, wasn’t I?” He smirked, aiming to wound.
But Margaret was used to his jabs. Graham had grown bitter with age—never happy, not just with her, but the whole world. He still fancied pretty women, though, eyeing them openly. Margaret suspected infidelity but never saw proof. Didn’t chase it, either.
“A man who wants to stray can’t be stopped,” she told herself.
Still, his words stung as she tried on the dresses. She put them away and busied herself in the kitchen. Work helped her think, remember, dream.
Margaret was lovely. A beauty in youth, age had refined her—graceful, noble. She never bothered with salons or treatments, thinking herself too old. But to others, she was still striking.
Graham had changed. Once handsome, now just tired and aged. As she cooked, Margaret thought:
“We’ve grown apart. He won’t even give me housekeeping money anymore. I cook, clean, even buy his clothes. Does he not see that? It’s like I’m furniture to him. We don’t even share a room.” She stepped outside to feed the chickens.
Graham was exactly that. Indifferent to his wife, yet flirting shamelessly, even in front of her. No guilt.
“Margaret, your Graham’s been off to the city again—got a lady there,” her neighbour Betty said earnestly.
“How d’you know? Hold the candle, did you?”
“Didn’t need to. Work with him. That auditor, Lisa—young, pretty. Your Graham strutted round her like a peacock, then took her to lunch. After? Well. The lads at work say he’s always sneaking off now.”
“What can I do? Let him sneak,” Margaret said flatly, though inside she boiled.
Betty frowned. “You’re too soft. I’d have given him what for.”
It hurt, hearing this. Worse were Graham’s jibes. They’d loved once.
At the spa, Margaret thrived. She made friends, joined in activities, forgot home entirely.
“I never imagined it’d be this lovely. So peaceful. I haven’t thought of Graham once,” she mused at bedtime.
Three days in, a pleasant-faced man approached.
“Evening,” he said. “I’m Matthew. And you?”
“No secret,” she smiled. “Margaret.” They shook hands.
Soon, they walked together each evening. He spoke first:
“I’ve lived alone five years. Buried my wife—long illness. We were happy. Life, eh? My daughter’s far off, visits rarely.”
Then Margaret shared her story. Matthew was easy to talk to—kind, attentive. She wanted his sympathy. They clicked. Evenings flew by.
She sensed his affection, saw his admiration. He praised her often, moved to “you”.
“Margaret, how have you stayed so lovely? Graceful, warm—I can’t look away,” he admitted.
She hadn’t noticed herself blooming, falling for him quietly. Graham had convinced her she’d faded. With Matthew, she glowed.
Proper, never overstepping, he still won her heart. By fortnight’s end, she was radiant.
“Margaret, I’ll be honest—first time since my wife died I’ve met someone like you. I love you. If your marriage is as you say, leave him. Marry me. Let’s trade numbers—I’ll call.”
Parting was hard. But home she went, renewed. Her sons visited, delighted. Only Graham eyed her sourly. Probably missed her cooking.
Matthew called daily. She spoke secretly.
“I’ll come for you soon. Just sort things with your husband.”
“I will,” she promised.
Then, unexpectedly, Graham came to her room one night—they’d slept apart for years. He looked near tears.
“Margaret, I know about him. I’ve heard your calls. I won’t lose you. You’re my wife—I love you. No one ever will like I do. Forgive my idiocy, my cruelty. I thought if I flirted, you’d care. But you didn’t?”
She bit back confessions of past hurt. He’d been jealous?
On his knees now, he buried his face in her lap, clutching her. Warmth flooded her—she loved him still.
Later, she called Matthew. Asked him to stop. Maybe first loves were heaven-sent. She forgave Graham.
Now, they live well again. He’d glimpsed loss, changed his ways. Next spa trip? They’ll go together.
