The husband left a letter and walked out: “I’ve fallen for someone else.”
“Your mother rang—your brother’s getting divorced,” Olivia said at dinner, watching her husband. Victor stayed silent, staring at his plate. “Why won’t you speak? Do you support him? He’s leaving his three children!” Olivia felt fury bubbling inside her.
“Liv, calm down,” Victor pushed his plate away. “He’s not abandoning them. If they’re divorcing, there must be reasons.” He stood and left the kitchen, leaving her bewildered. His icy reaction stung. The next day, Olivia returned from work to find a letter on the table and froze, as if struck by lightning.
Olivia and Victor had spent 27 years together in their cosy flat in Manchester. And now—divorce. How was this possible? How could two people, side by side for so long, just walk away? And their daughter? Olivia couldn’t believe their life was falling apart.
They’d met when Olivia, a young student from a small town, moved to Manchester for university. After her exams, she and a friend strolled along the River Irwell, where a group of lads played guitar on a bench. Olivia, who adored folk songs, stopped to listen. That’s when Victor approached her, smiling, with a spark in his eyes. Their story began.
They dated despite the distance. Olivia studied remotely, visiting for exams, and in between, they wrote letters—there were no mobiles back then. Love grew, and a year later, they had a quiet wedding. They lived in a rented flat. Olivia worked, studied, and cared for Victor’s ailing mother. Children didn’t come easily—eight years later, their daughter Emily was born. Olivia called it a miracle.
The word “divorce” sounded like a death sentence to Olivia. The end of the world. She couldn’t imagine life without Victor. He’d been her rock: tall, dependable, always putting family first. They weren’t perfect—Olivia worked long hours, and the house often fell to him. But until recently, it had worked.
Everything changed when Victor’s brother announced his divorce, leaving his wife with three kids. Olivia panicked: what if her husband had someone too? “Midlife crisis,” she thought, watching Victor at dinner. His silence terrified her.
“Do you support your brother?” she snapped. “He’s leaving his children!”
“Liv, don’t start,” Victor cut in. “They have their reasons.”
She couldn’t let it go. She began monitoring him—calling constantly, eavesdropping on conversations. She’d never been jealous before, but now every move seemed suspicious. Victor grew distant, fueling her fears.
That summer, Emily enrolled at a London university. Olivia went with her to arrange accommodation. She never imagined she’d return to an empty home. Victor didn’t meet her at the station. He didn’t answer her calls. On the kitchen table lay a letter. Olivia unfolded it, and her world shattered.
“Liv, I don’t know how to say this… I’ve filed for divorce. Emily’s grown—I’ve waited for this. You didn’t notice, but I changed. For her sake, I endured your nagging, kept house while you buried yourself in work. We’ve nothing in common, no love left. We’re strangers. Four years ago, I met someone. We have a son—he’s three. I’m leaving to be with them. I won’t abandon Emily; I’ll support her. The flat’s yours. Forgive me, if you can.”
Olivia collapsed to the floor. No tears—just numbness. She scanned the flat, but nothing filled the emptiness. Her life had shattered. How would she tell Emily? How could she live knowing for four years he’d loved another while merely enduring her, waiting to leave?
She stepped outside. Rain had poured all week, mirroring her grief, but today the sun shone. At the entrance, she spotted her neighbour, Margaret. Five years ago, Margaret and her husband were in a crash. He died; she was left wheelchair-bound. Olivia often saw her in the park, alone yet smiling.
“Good afternoon, Olivia,” Margaret said. “Lovely weather, isn’t it? Could you help me down?”
Silently, Olivia obliged. Margaret thanked her, then suddenly asked, “Fancy a walk?” Olivia nodded, unsure why. They weren’t close, but she needed something—anything—alive beside her.
In the park, they sat under an old oak. At first, neither spoke. Then Margaret said, “After the crash, I woke up and thought, ‘Why live?’ Recovery was hell. But one night, my husband visited me in a dream. ‘Live, Meg,’ he said. ‘Be glad for every dawn, every raindrop. Live for me.’ So I did. I found remote work, met friends. Recently, a man asked me out. I feared he’d run from the chair—but he stayed. Now life feels brighter.”
“Sorry, I’ve rambled,” Margaret caught herself. “Should I go?”
“No,” Olivia whispered. “You’ve helped me. My husband left today… I thought it was the end. But you’re right—life goes on.”
Margaret smiled. “You’ll be alright. At least he was honest, not stringing you along. It’ll get better.”
Olivia looked ahead. By the café, a man waved to Margaret. She hurried to him, and Olivia murmured, “I’ll be alright too.”
That talk changed her. Divorce was agony, but not the end. Life went on—and Olivia was ready to face it anew.
