I Never Loved My Wife, and I Always Told Her So: It Wasnt Her FaultWe Lived Well Enough
My name is Edward Whitmore, and I live in Exeter, where the ghosts of hard times still linger in the cracks of old brick houses. I never loved my wife, Charlotte, and Ive told her as muchbitter truths I could scarcely stomach. She didnt deserve it. Never made a scene, never scolded me, always kind, attentive, near saintly. Yet my heart stayed cold, like the icy Thames in December. There was no love, and the absence of it ate at me inside.
Every morning, I woke with the same thought: leave. I dreamed of finding a woman whod set fire to my soul, leave me breathless. But fate played a cruel trick, turned everything upside down, left me lost. Charlotte was comfortable as an old armchair. She kept our home flawless, turned heads when she walked into a room. Friends would ask, *Where did you find her, you lucky bastard?* Even I couldnt fathom why she stayed. An ordinary man, nothing special, yet she loved me as if I were her whole world. How?
Her love suffocated me. Worse was knowing that if I left, another man would take my place. Someone more successful, handsome, richersomeone whod cherish what I couldnt see. The thought of her in another mans arms twisted me into a blind rage. She was *mine*even if Id never loved her. That possessiveness was stronger than me, stronger than reason. But can a man spend his whole life beside someone his heart refuses to adore? I thought I could. I was wrong. A storm was brewing inside me, uncontainable.
*Ill tell her tomorrow,* I decided before bed. At breakfast, I scraped together what little courage I had. “Charlotte, sit down. We need to talk,” I began, staring into her calm eyes. “Of course, darling. What is it?” she replied, ever gentle. “Imagine we divorce. I move out, we live apart” She laughed, as if Id told a joke. “What strange thoughts! Wheres this coming from?” “Listen, Im serious,” I cut in. “Alright, fine. So what?” she asked, still smiling. “Tell me truthfullywould you find someone else if I left?” She went still. “Edward, whats gotten into you? Why ask that?” Concern edged her voice. “Because I dont love you. Never have,” I blurted, a gut punch.
Charlotte paled. “What? You cant be serious. I dont understand.” “I want to leave, but the idea of you with another man drives me mad,” I admitted, my voice trembling. Silence hung between us before she sighed, quiet and resigned. “You neednt worry. I wont find anyone better than you. Go if you must. Ill stay alone.” “Promise?” The word slipped out before I could stop it. “Of course,” she murmured, holding my gaze. “Waitwhere would I even go?” I faltered. “Youve no place lined up?” she asked, stunned. “No. Weve always been together. Seems Ill have to stay nearby,” I muttered, the floor dissolving beneath me. “Dont fret,” Charlotte said. “After the divorce, well trade this house for two smaller ones.” “Really? I didnt expect you to help me. Why would you?” I was dazed. “Because I love you. When you love someone, you dont chain them.” Her words felt like a verdict.
Months passed. We divorced. Then the rumors reached me: Charlotte lied. Shed found anothertall, confident, with an easy smile. The flat she inherited from her grandmother? Never a thought to share it. I ended up with nothingno home, no family, no faith left in people. The betrayal cut deep, a stab in the back, and still I hear her voice saying, *Ill stay alone.* A lie. Cold, calculated, and I believed her like a fool.
How can I trust women now? I dont know. My life with her was comfortable but hollow, and now even thats gone. Im in a rented room, staring at peeling wallpaper, replaying that conversation. Her calm, her wordsall a mask. Friends say, *Your fault, Edward. What did you expect?* Theyre right. I didnt love her, yet I tried to keep her tethered to me like property. And she left, abandoned me to the loneliness I feared most. Maybe thats my penancefor the coldness, the selfishness, for never valuing her heart. Now Im alone, and the silence hurts worse than her absence. What do people make of what Ive done? Hell if I know. The real fool herewas it me, or her?
