Divorcing in old age for the sake of companionship was not an act of romance nor a midlife crisis. It was an admission of defeatthat after forty years of marriage to a woman with whom I had shared not only the daily routine but also the hollow glances over supper and all that had gone unspoken, I had not been the man I ought to have been. My name is Edward, I hail from Cambridge, and my tale began in solitude and ended with a revelation I never saw coming.
With Helen, I lived nearly a lifetime. We were wed at twenty, in the days of post-war Britain. Back then, there was love. Stolen kisses on park benches, whispered conversations late into the night, dreams shared without hesitation. Then, slowly, it all unravelled. First came the children, then the debts, the work, the exhaustion, the monotony Our talks dwindled to notes left on the kitchen table: Did you pay the electric? Wheres the receipt? Were out of salt.
In the mornings, Id look at her and see not my wife, but a tired stranger. And no doubt, I was the same to her. We did not live togetherwe merely existed side by side. A stubborn and proud man, I one day told myself, You deserve more. A second chance. A breath of fresh air, at the very least. And so, I asked for a divorce.
Helen did not resist. She merely sat, gazed out the window, and said,
Very well. Do as you please. Ive no strength left to argue.
I left the house. At first, I felt free, as though a great weight had been lifted. I slept on the other side of the bed, adopted a tabby cat, took to sipping tea on the porch at dawn. But soon, another feeling settled inemptiness. The house grew too quiet. Meals lost their flavour. Life became unbearably predictable.
Then came what I thought was a stroke of genius: finding a woman to help me. Someone like Helen had once beento wash, cook, clean, perhaps even chat. Preferably younger, around fifty, seasoned, kind, uncomplicated. A widow, perhaps. I wasnt asking for much. After all, I told myself, Im decent companyI take care of myself, own my home, have a modest pension. Why not?
I began my search. I mentioned it to neighbours, dropped hints among acquaintances. Then, I took the plungeI placed an advert in the local paper. Short and to the point: Gentleman, 68, seeks female companionship and domestic assistance. Comforts provided, lodging and meals included.
That advert changed my life. Because three days later, a reply arrived. Just one. But a letter that made my hands shake as I held it.
Dear Edward,
Do you truly believe, in this day and age, that a woman exists solely to darn socks and fry sausages? We do not live in Victorian times.
You are not seeking companionship, someone with a soul and desires of her ownyou are looking for an unpaid housemaid, disguised as romance.
Perhaps you ought to learn first to care for yourselfto cook your own supper and tidy your own home.
Sincerely,
A woman who has no interest in playing scullery maid to a gentleman.
I read it five times over. At first, I burned with anger. How dare she? Who did she think she was? I meant no exploitationonly comfort, a cosy home, a womans touch
But then, I began to think. Was she not right? Perhaps I had indeed sought only the convenience Id grown accustomed to. Had I truly expected someone to step in and make my life easier, rather than shaping it myself?
I started with the basics. I learned to make soup. Then, a proper roast. I subscribed to a channel called Grannys Kitchen, began grocery shopping with a list, even ironed my own shirts. I felt foolish, clumsy, even absurd. But with time, I realised it was no longer a chore. It was my life. My choice.
I even framed the letter and set it upon the kitchen tablea reminder to myself: do not seek salvation in others before pulling yourself from the mire.
Three months have passed. I still live alone. But now, my house smells of supper. On the porch, flowers I planted myself bloom. On Sundays, I bake orange cakeHelens recipe. And sometimes, I catch myself wondering, Ought I take her a slice? For the first time in forty years, I understand what it means to stand beside someone not just as a husband, but as a man.
And if anyone asks whether Ill marry again, I shall say no. But if, by chance, a woman should sit beside me on a park benchnot in search of a master, but simply to talkI would surely have a word or two to say. Only nowI would be a different man.
