Left Alone at Fifty
“Missing you, darling. When will I see you again?”
Caroline sank bewildered onto the edge of the bed, her husband’s phone in her hand. Michael had left it on the bedside table, and right then, the screen lit up with a message. The name in the chat was unfamiliardefinitely a womans. Caroline scrolled through the conversation, and thirty years of marriage seemed to crumble line by line. Sweet nothings. Photos. Plans for weekends when he said he was off fishing with mates.
She carefully set the phone back, then sat for a while, staring into space. The kitchen clock ticked away, the neighbours TV murmured through the wall, and Caroline found herself thinking she already knew exactly how this would go. Every line, every gesture. It had all happened before. Twice.
Michael came home at around eleven, tired and irritable. He dropped his bag in the hallway, wandered to the kitchen where Caroline stood making tea.
Evening, love. Got anything to nibble on?
Wordlessly, Caroline pushed his phone across the table towards him, screen facing up. Michael reached for it without a thought, then paused as he realised what shed seen. His face changed instantly.
Caroline, I
Dont tell me its a work colleague, please. Not this time. Spare me. She turned back to the stove.
He stayed silent, dropping onto a chair and rubbing the bridge of his nose. Caroline finally faced him, resting against the worktop.
Who is she?
Nobody. Its foolishness, really, Michael stammered, searching the floor. Just got a bit carried away. Stupid, I know.
“Stupid?” she echoed. “Right.”
Two days later Michael arrived home with a massive bouquet of red roses, still fragrant in their expensive paper wrap. He placed them on the kitchen table; Caroline noticed his fingers trembling.
Caroline, lets sit down and talk. Properly.
She poured herself a glass of water and sat across from him.
Go on.
I know Ive done wrong. I take full responsibility. Third time, yes, I know what you think. But weve had so many years together, we’ve built a family, the kids are grown Doesnt that count for something?
Caroline spun the glass between her hands.
I swear, it wont happen again. I wish I could explain why, but I do love you. Michael reached for her hand, but she withdrew it. Caroline, where would you go? Youll be nearly fifty, and on your own. Why put yourself through that? Lets just start over. Please.
She looked from the roses to her husband to the wedding ring on his finger. She remembered believing these same promises two years ago. And four years before that. Each time, hoping that was the last.
Ill think about it, she said quietly. Just to end the conversation.
The next few weeks settled into an odd sort of side‐by‐side existence. Michael did his bestkept to time, helped with housework, tried to be attentive. But Caroline had learned to notice the small things. How hed now always place his phone face down when she came into the room. How he jumped at any message tone. How his gaze lingered just a fraction too long on the young cashiers in Sainsburys.
What are you staring at over there? she asked one day in the checkout queue.
Me? Nothing. Michael turned away too quickly. Lets get to the car before its cold.
Over time, though, he grew snappish about the slightest thing. Hed bite her head off if she walked in on him messaging someone. The texting clearly went on, only now better hidden. Caroline stopped checking. She understood perfectly well.
At night, shed lie awake, listening to Michaels steady breathing, but her mind was far away. Not on him, but herself. What kept her in this marriage? Love? She couldnt recall the last time shed truly felt happy with Michael. Habit? Thirty years of shared life, memories, grown‐up children. Fear? Absolutely. That above all. She was forty‐eight. What would she do on her own?
One evening, she rang her daughter. Lucy answered after the third ring.
Mum? Something up?
No, well, maybe… Lucy, can we talk honestly?
Of course. What is it?
Caroline told her everythingabout the messages, the third time, the roses, the promises she no longer believed in, how lost she felt.
Lucy listened all the way through.
Mum, what do you want for yourself?
I dont know. Truthfully, I dont.
Then start there. You dont need to put up with it, Mum. Just know that. You dont owe him anything. Thirty years? So what? Thats no excuse for being treated like this.
But where would I
With me, Lucy cut across firmly. Theres a spare room, you can stay as long as you want. Youll get on your feet, find a job. Bookkeeping is always needed, youll have no trouble. Well find you a nice flat. This isnt the end, Mumit could be a whole new start in a new city. If you want it.
Caroline stayed silent, clutching the phone.
Think it over, Lucy added gently. Whatever you decide, Ill support you.
Lucy didnt rush her, just told her they were renting out a small flat down the road, and the owner seemed nice. The grandchildren would be delighted to see their grandma all the time, not just at Christmas. The local surgery was looking for an experienced accountant. Caroline, she said, deserved a good life. Not one of constant humiliation.
As she listened, Caroline felt a flicker inside her. For the first time in years someone was telling her she was allowed to want happiness. Not just patience or forgiveness. Happiness.
It took her three days to finally bring it up with Michael. She rehearsed lines in her head, woke up in a cold sweat at night. Then, calmly, she said it over breakfast, between eggs and toast:
Im filing for divorce.
Michael froze mid‐sip, staring as though shed started speaking Greek.
What? Caroline, you cant be serious.
I am.
Oh, come off it. He set his cup down with a smirk. Weve had an argument, thats all. Why leap straight to divorce?
Its not just an argument, Michael. Its three affairs in five years. Im tired.
Youre tired? The arrogance slipped from his voice. Think Im not? Living with you for thirty years, you think thats easy?
Caroline said nothing, finished her tea, and got up.
Wait! Michael jumped up, blocking her path. What are you doing? Where do you think youll go? No one wants you, you know.
I want myself, she replied softly.
Oh, do you now! he barked out a cold, bitter laugh. Have you looked in the mirror? Nearly fifty. You think therell be suitors lining up?
I dont need a queue.
So what do you want? He stepped closer, looming over her. What do you actually want, Caroline? I fed you, clothed you, put a roof over your head. What have you ever done to make me want to come home?
She looked up at him, taking in the red face, the swollen vein at his temple, the spittle at the corner of his mouth.
So my fault you cheated?
Who else? Look at yourself. Dressing gown, slippers, your boring roast dinners. Nothing to talk to you about, nothing else either He stopped, waved his hand dismissively. You did this. Now you’re acting all proud.
Caroline took a step back. For five years shed waited for regret, for genuine remorse. It never came. Not then, not now. Michael was angry because he was losing conveniencea pressed shirt, hot dinners, a tidy house.
You know what? Caroline said quietly, Thank you.
For what now? he snapped.
For this. I had doubts. I dont anymore.
She sidestepped him and left the kitchen. Michael shouted after her about being ungrateful, wasted years, how shed regret it. She ignored him, went to pack.
A month later, Caroline stood in the middle of a tiny third‐floor flat, two bus stops from Lucys. The fridge hummed, the scent of fresh paint and apples hung in the air, boxes piled in the hallway. This was her new life. Strange, scary, unfamiliar. But for the first time in years, she could breathe freely.
The grandchildren dashed round that first evening. Five‐year-old Emma surveyed the flat seriously and declared it needed a cat. Daniel, eight, brought his old blanket so Grandma wouldnt be cold. Lucy brought homemade stew and a bottle of bubbly.
To new beginnings, Mum.
Caroline laughedproperly, delightedly. She couldnt remember when shed last laughed that way, with no fear that Michael would come grumbling about the noise.
Six months later, their son, Matthew, moved nearby with his wife and toddler son. He found work easily, rented a place up the road. Sunday lunches at Carolines became a new tradition. Cozy kitchen, chatter, kids darting everywhere, Lucy and Matthew debating politics.
Caroline stirred sauce at the hob, thinking: the loneliness shed dreaded was nothing but a myth. Shed locked herself in it for thirty years, all from fear. This was her real familyhere, where she was loved for herself, her company, not her usefulness.
Michael sometimes phoned. Pleaded with her to come back, claimed hed changed. Caroline listened, replied politely that she was happy for him, then ended the call. No bitterness, no anger. He simply had no place in her life anymore.
Emma tugged at her sleeve.
Granny, will you come to the park tomorrow? The ducks are back!
Of course, darling.
And Caroline smiled. Life was finally falling into place.
