Last Tuesday, I almost filed for divorce.
I sat in the car, staring down at the paperwork, utterly convinced that the spark was gone. No feelings left, just a numb emptiness.
Instead of heading home, I drove over to my parents place. I guess I just needed to be somewhere safeor maybe I just wasnt ready to face what was coming.
Mum and Dad have been together 54 years now. You know the kind of couple you see in those old black-and-white pictures? Dad was a foreman on a building site for decades, a man of few words. Mumshes a retired nurse, keeps the house going with this gentle, quiet knack that you only notice when you try to manage without it.
While Dad tinkered with his old Ford in the garage, I sat across from Mum at the kitchen table. I was burning up inside, so I asked her, almost whispering as I watched her fold the laundry, Mum tell me the truth. After fifty years, do you still love him? Or are you just used to each other by now?
She paused and looked at methis look I couldnt quite place, somewhere between sympathy and a small knowing smile. She didnt answer straight away. She just reached out, squeezed my hand with her warm one, gave me this tired and wise little smile, and went back to her towels.
I left about an hour later, even more frustrated. It felt like she just didnt understandthe whole idea of needing that emotional connection, those big feelings that my generation seems to crave.
But just as I pulled up outside my own house, my phone buzzed. There was a long message from Mum on WhatsApp. Shes hopeless with technology, so seeing her send such a big chunk of text really threw me.
I sat there in the drivers seat, reading that message, and by the end, the tears were streaming down my cheeks.
My darling girl,
Today you asked me if I love your dad. I didnt answer you straight away, because love isnt something you can explain in the space of five minutes while folding towels. But I want to be honest with you.
Your question made me smilenot because it was silly, but because the answer isnt easy.
Do I love him like I did in 1972? No. If youre after those butterflies, the nervous excitement of a first date or the fireworks you see in films then no, thats not what I feel now.
But that isnt real love. Thats adrenaline.
Love, after a lifetime together, isnt a whirlwindits roots.
It stops being the thing that knocks you off your feet. Its the thing that steadies you when the whole world starts to shake.
My heart doesnt race around your father anymore; it calms. My hands dont tremble; instead, this love gives me the strength to get out of bed when the arthritis is flaring up.
There are no more big surprises in our house. We dont do grand romantic gestures. We have something better: our routines.
Like that kettle he puts on at exactly 6am, because he knows I need my tea piping hot. Or our silly little debates about how to load the dishwasher properly, or who forgot to turn off the hallway light.
Its how he tucks the duvet over my shoulder if I cough in the night, almost without thinking.
Maybe to your generation it all seems a bit dull or small. But honestlythats the whole point.
I dont need someone now wholl buy me diamonds or whisk me off to Paris. I need the man who notices if I say my back hurts. I need the one who silently hands me a tissue if I cry at the news, without asking why.
The one who stays in the room when Im low, even when Im not much company, even when I dont like myself much.
And your dad? He does all that. No fuss, no need for applause, no need for thank you. Hes just there.
Loving each other for fifty years isnt like a romance novel; its learning a secret language that nobody else speaks. Its glancing at each other across a busy room and knowing exactly what hes thinking.
Because youve shared bank accounts, celebrated and worried over the kids, mourned the friends youve lost, and together stubbornly kept going.
So, to answer your question: yes, I still love himwildly.
But not the boy I met in a café in 1972. I love the life we built. I love the calm that comes with knowing, however mad life gets, however stormy it is outside, hes my shelter.
Dont go looking for fireworks, love. Find the one who feels like home.
I switched off the engine. Tore up the papers Id left on the passenger seat. When I walked back into the flat, my husband was on the sofa, looking as tired as I felt.
Fancy a cup of tea? he asked.
Yes, I said. I really would.
Everything starts with butterflies. But it survives because of the roots.
