I ran into my exwife two years after our divorce. In that instant everything clicked, yet she only smiled and shook her head when I suggested we start over
When our second child arrived, Laura stopped caring about her looks. She used to change outfits several times a day, always welldressed, groomed, every detail perfectly coordinated. After coming home from the hospital, however, she seemed to forget that her wardrobe held anything beyond an old tee and a pair of wornout joggers.
She wore those same clothes all day, often even going to bed in them. When I asked why, she said it was easier to get up at night to tend to the kids. That made some sense, but where were the words she used to repeata woman must be a woman no matter what? She stopped mentioning her favorite beauty salon, the gym, the stylist. And, forgive the bluntness, she sometimes even skipped her bra in the morning, wandering the house with a sagging chest, completely unconcerned.
Her body had changed tooher waist, belly, legs were no longer the same. Her hair, once glossy and cared for, was now a mess: either a tangled tumble of curls or a hurried bun with rebellious strands spilling out. Remember how, strolling through the streets of Madrid, men would turn heads to look at her? I felt proud, beautiful, mine.
That woman no longer existed.
Our home mirrored her mood. The only thing Laura still did flawlessly was cooking; her dishes remained a genuine delight. Everything else was depressing.
I tried to show her she couldnt abandon herself like that, that she needed to become herself again. She would smile sadly and say shed try. Months passed, and each day I faced a woman I didnt recognize.
Then, one day, I reached my limit.
I made a choice: divorce.
There were no shouting matches or scenes. She tried to persuade me to reconsider, but when she saw my resolve, she simply sighed and murmured softly:
Do whatever you want I thought you loved me
I didnt answer. Arguing about what love is or isnt felt pointless. I went to court, and soon after we signed the papers.
Im not sure I was a good father. I only sent child support, nothing more. I didnt want to see hernot the woman she had become.
Two years later
It was an autumn afternoon in Barcelona. I was wandering aimlessly, lost in thought, when I suddenly saw her.
There was something in the way she moved, a confidence in her stride that caught my eye. Her steps were light, elegant, full of selfassurance. As she drew near, my heart seemed to stop.
It was Laura.
But not the Laura I had left behind.
This version was even more dazzling than when I first met her: high heels, a dress that accentuated her figure, a perfect hairstyle, immaculate nails, subtle yet striking makeup. And that perfume the same one that used to drive me crazy.
I should have been speechless, but she burst out laughing.
Whats wrong? Dont you recognize me? I told you Id change, and you didnt believe me.
She led me to the gym where she now worked out daily. She talked about the kids, how well they were doing, how happy they were. She said little about herself, yet none was neededher gaze, posture, bearing said everything.
And I
I remembered.
I recalled the mornings I complained about seeing her in pajamas and hair a mess, irritated that she no longer dressed up as before. I remembered the days her exhaustion drove me crazy. I remembered the exact moment I decided to leave, when my selfishness convinced me she wasnt enough for me.
And I remembered that by abandoning her, I had also abandoned my own children.
Before parting, I summoned the courage to ask:
Can I call you? I understand everything now Maybe we could try again.
Laura looked at me with calm eyes, then shook her head and smiled.
Its too late, Alejandro. Take care of yourself.
And she walked away.
I stood frozen, watching her disappear into the crowd.
Yes.
I finally understood.
But it was far too late.
