Divorcing at sixtyeight wasnt a grand romance nor a midlife crisis. It was simply an admission that I had lost. After forty years of marriage to a woman with whom I shared daily life, silence, empty dinner glances, and everything that was never spoken aloud, I realized I was not the person I ought to have been. My name is Eduardo, I come from Coimbra, and my tale began in solitude and ended with an unexpected revelation.
Helena and I spent almost an entire life together. We married at twenty, during the Estado Novo era. Back then love existed: kisses on garden benches, latenight conversations, shared dreams. Then everything unraveled. First children arrived, then debts, work, fatigue, routine Talk 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 weary neighbor. And, undoubtedly, I was the same for 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 fight back. She simply sat, stared out the window, and said, Fine. Do as you wish. I have no strength left to argue.
I left the house. At first I felt free, as if a huge weight had been lifted. I began sleeping on the opposite side of the bed, adopted a cat, and started having coffee on the balcony at dawn. Soon, however, another feeling arrivedthe emptiness. The house grew too quiet. Meals lost flavor. Life became overly predictable.
Thats when a brilliant idea struck me: find a woman to help me, someone to do what Helena used to dowash, cook, clean, chat. Preferably younger, perhaps fifty, experienced, kind, simple. Maybe a widow. I had few demands. I even thought, Im not a bad companionI look after myself, I have a home, a decent pension. Why not?
I started searching. I talked to neighbors, dropped hints to acquaintances. Then I took a gambleplaced an ad in the local newspaper. Short and to the point: Man, 68, seeking female companion for cohabitation and house assistance. Good conditions, lodging and meals provided.
That ad changed everything. Three days later a single reply arrived, but it made my hands tremble.
Dear Eduardo,
Do you really believe that, in the 2020s, a woman exists solely to wash socks and fry pork chops? We no longer live in the 19th century.
Youre not looking for a partner with a soul and desires; youre disguisedly seeking a free domestic worker wrapped in 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 burned with anger. How could she be so bold? What does 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 comfort Id grown accustomed to, hoping someone else would arrive and make my life pleasant instead of creating 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. I felt awkward, clumsy, even ridiculous. Over time, however, I realized it was no longer an obligationit was my life, my choice.
I framed the letter and placed it on the kitchen table as a reminder: dont look for salvation in others before you climb out of the well on your own.
Three months passed. Im still living alone, but now the house smells of dinner. The balcony holds flowers I planted myself. On Sundays I bake orange cakeHelenas recipe. Occasionally I wonder, 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 person.
If anyone asks whether I want to marry again, Ill say no. Yet if a woman ever sits beside me on a garden bench, not seeking an owner but merely a conversation, Ill gladly speak to her. Only nowIll be a different man.
