Divorcing at sixtyeight wasnt a romantic gesture or a midlife crisis. It was me finally admitting Id lost. After forty years with a woman I shared daily life, silence, empty glances at dinner, and everything that was never spoken out loud, I wasnt the person I ought to have been. Im Eduardo, from Coimbra, and my story began in solitude and ended with a revelation I never anticipated.
Helena and I spent almost an entire life together. We married at twenty, during the Estado Novo. There was love thenkisses on garden benches, latenight conversations, shared dreams. Afterwards everything unraveled. First came the children, then the debts, the work, the exhaustion, the routine Conversations turned into kitchen notes: Did you pay the electricity?, Wheres the receipt?, Were out of salt.
In the mornings I looked at her and saw not my wife but a tired neighbor. And surely I was the same to her. We werent living togetherwe were merely side by side. Stubborn and proud, I eventually told myself, I deserve more. A second chance. At least a breath of fresh air. So I asked for a divorce.
Helena didnt argue. She just sat, stared out the window, and said, Fine. Do as you wish. I have no strength left to fight.
I left home. At first I felt free, as if a huge weight had been lifted. I started sleeping on the other side of the bed, adopted a cat, and drank coffee on the balcony at sunrise. Soon, however, another feeling arrivedemptiness. The house grew too quiet. Meals lost flavor. Life became overly predictable.
Thats when a seemingly brilliant idea struck me: find a woman to help me, someone to do what Helena used to dowash, cook, clean, talk. Preferably younger, maybe in her fifties, experienced, kind, simple. Perhaps a widow. I didnt have many demands. I even thought, Im not bad companyI look after myself, I have a house, a decent pension. Why not?
I began the search. I talked to neighbors, dropped hints to acquaintances, then took a gambleplaced an ad in the local newspaper. Brief and to the point: Man, 68, seeks woman for companionship and domestic assistance. Good conditions, lodging and meals provided.
That ad changed everything. Three days later a single reply arrived, a letter that made my hands tremble.
Dear Eduardo,
Do you really believe that, in the 2020s, a woman exists only to wash socks and fry sausages? We no longer live in the nineteenth century.
Youre not looking for a partner with a soul and desires; youre seeking a free domestic worker disguised as romance.
Perhaps you should first learn to care for yourself, to make your own lunch and tidy your own home.
Sincerely,
A woman who isnt looking for a lord with a mop in hand.
I read the letter five times. At first I boiled with anger. How could she be so bold? What did she think of herself? I wasnt trying to exploit anyone; I only wanted warmth, a cozy home, a feminine touch
Then I began to reflect. Was she right? Maybe I was merely chasing the convenience Id grown accustomed to. Was I still waiting for someone else to make my life comfortable instead of building it myself?
I started with the basics. I learned to make soup, then a stew. I opened a YouTube channel called Cooking Like Grandma, began shopping with a list, and ironed my own shirts. It felt awkward, clumsy, even ridiculous, but over time I realized it was no longer a dutyit was my life, my choice.
I even framed the letter and placed it on the kitchen tablea reminder that I shouldnt look for salvation in others before climbing out of the well on my own.
Three months have passed. I still live alone, but now my house smells of dinner. Ive planted flowers on the balcony. On Sundays I bake orange cake using Helenas recipe. Occasionally I catch myself wondering, Should I share a slice with her? For the first time in forty years I understood what it means to be beside someone not just as a husband but as a human being.
If anyone asks whether I want to marry again, Ill say no. Yet if a woman sits beside me on a garden bench, not seeking an owner but simply conversation, Ill gladly speak to her. Only now Ill be a different person.
