I MISSED MY DESTINY
They say looking for love at work is foolish. I wasn’t even trying. Love found me instead. Not as a charming coworker with a coffee cup and tie, but as a silent man in a black Ford in line for petrol. I was working at the station.
At first, he just watched quietly. Then he began to smile. Eventually, it seemed he had figured out my schedule and only showed up during my shifts. My name was Susan. I was 33, a feisty platinum blonde with a bold personality honed in a male-dominated workplace. But he… he was different. Forty-two, eyes like the January sky, shoulders that looked like they could knock down walls. And his smile… Warm, calm, and slightly boyish.
His name was Chris. He lived in a house near the station with his son and a dog named Rocky. The son was from a previous marriage. His wife left them both. He didn’t work. Lived off the rent from four apartments inherited from his grandmother. He just lived, traveled, wandered, and relaxed.
One day, he drove up to the pump and said, “Come on, I’ll show you a city you’ll fall in love with.” And then there was another city. And another one. We drank beer in half-empty pubs, went to seaside hotels out of season, spent nights listening to the waves, wandered through markets in Edinburgh and Bath, and enjoyed jazz in London.
I fell head over heels. I just melted into him. I, who always valued my freedom and never believed in labels, was living with him within three months. We never made it official; we were just together.
At first, I talked about having a child. Dreamed of it. I imagined the three of us strolling together: me, him, and a little one. But Chris was adamant. He said he’d already “served his time” as a father and wouldn’t do it again. And above all, children hinder freedom.
“You can’t just fly to Paris for the weekend with a baby bump, Susan, and then bundling a pram on cobblestone streets. That would be captivity, not life.” He said it calmly, with such assurance that I found myself hypnotically fearing the prospect of motherhood.
Years went by. I became a peroxide servant in his carefree life. I cooked, ironed, bought his favorite treats, laughed on cue, and he… He watched more football, lazily skimmed the newspaper, and said I was “the one.”
His son grew up. First, he despised me. Later, watched with interest. And then, he brought home a girl just like I was six years ago. Young, vibrant, blonde. She stayed over, laughed at my jokes, and called me “Susie.”
I looked at her and understood everything. I wanted to shout: “Run! Don’t miss your life like I did! Don’t disappear, don’t lose your voice, don’t abandon your dreams. You can still change everything!”
And me? I don’t believe anymore. I’m 39. No children. No job. Lost friends and parents. It’s just me, Chris, Rocky, and a rusty love that long turned into a habit.
He still doesn’t work. Still collects rent, still drinks beer every night. And I still place a plate of salad in front of him and wait. Wait to feel that not all is lost. But it’s a delusion.
Sometimes at night, while he sleeps, I go out on the balcony and gaze at the stars. I get the feeling that with enough willpower, anything can change. Only it’s too late. Far too late.
