I think our love has faded
Youre the prettiest girl in this whole department, he said back then, holding out a bouquet of daisies hed bought at the flower stall near Oxford Circus.
Emily couldnt help but laugh as she took the flowers. The daisies smelled of summer and something quietly, perfectly right. Michael stood in front of her with the air of a man who knew exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was her.
Our first date was in Hyde Park. Michael brought a blanket, a flask of tea, and homemade sandwiches his mother had lovingly prepared. We sat on the grass until it was dark. I remember how he threw his head back when he laughed. The way his hand brushed mine, as if by accident. The way he looked at melike I was the only person in all of London.
Three months later, he took me to the cinemasome French comedy I barely understood, though I laughed aloud simply because he did. After six months, he introduced me to his parents. A year in, he asked me to move into his place.
Were always together anyway, Michael said, threading his fingers through my hair. Why pay for two flats?
I agreed. Not because of the money, really. Life just made sense beside him.
Our tiny rented flat always smelled of Sunday roast and freshly pressed shirts. I learned to make his favourite shepherd’s pieexactly as his mum did, heavy on the thyme. In the evenings, Michael would read business news out loud from his magazines, dreaming up grand plans for his own enterprise one day. Id sit, cheek in hand, and believe every word.
We built dreams together. First, save for a deposit. Then, buy a flat. Then a car. And children, of coursea boy and a girl.
Weve got plenty of time, Michael would say, kissing the top of my head.
Id nod, feeling almost invincible with him.
…Fifteen years passedyears that became routines and rituals; a good flat overlooking the neighbourhood green, a twenty-year mortgage we paid down early, forfeiting holidays and fancy dinners. The silver Toyota outsideMichael had picked it, haggled for it, and polished it gleaming every Saturday morning.
I felt that warm pride in my chest. Wed done this together. No family money, no connections, no luckjust work, scrimping and perseverance.
I never complained. Not when I was so tired Id fall asleep on a late train and wake up at the end of the line, nor when I wanted to give up and buy a one-way ticket to the seaside. We were a team. Thats what Michael always said, and I believed him.
His wellbeing was always the first priority. I learned this by heart and stitched it into my very self. Bad day at work? Id cook dinner, brew some tea, and listen. Trouble with the boss? Id stroke his head and whisper that things would be better. Doubts? Id find the words to lift him out of them.
Youre my rock, my anchor, my safe place, Michael would tell me in those moments.
And I would smile. Isnt that happinessto be someones anchor?
The rough patches did come. The first one was five years in, when Michaels company went bust. He sat at home for three months, gloomier every day as he scrolled through job sites.
The next time was even harsher. Some colleagues set him up, and not only did he lose his job, but he owed a sizeable sum as well. We had to sell the car just to keep afloat.
Never did I scold him. Not a single word, not a glance. I picked up extra freelance work, worked through the night, cut back on everything. The only thing that mattered to me was himhow he was holding up. Whether hed break, or lose faith in himself.
…Michael pulled through. He found a new job, even better than before. We saved up and bought another silver Toyota. Things settled back to normal.
A year ago, we were sat in the kitchen when I finally said aloud what Id been thinking for ages:
Maybe its time? Im not in my twenties anymore. If we keep waiting…
Michael nodded, serious, thoughtful.
Lets get ready.
I held my breathId imagined this moment so many times: tiny fingers grasping my hand, the sweet scent of baby powder, a toddlers first steps across our living room. Michael reading bedtime stories.
A child. Our child, at last.
Everything changed at once. I overhauled my diet, saw doctors, took vitamins, cut back on work, even though I was due for a promotion.
Are you sure? my manager asked, peering over her glasses. You dont get a chance like this twice.
But I was sure. The promotion meant travel, overtime, stresshardly ideal for starting a family.
Id rather move to the local office, I told her.
She just shrugged.
The branch was only fifteen minutes from home. The work was dull, routine, and offered no prospectsbut I was out the door by six and free on weekends.
I adjusted quickly. The new colleagues were pleasant enough, if a bit unambitious. I packed my own lunches, walked on my breaks, and got into bed before midnight. All for the baby-to-be. For our family.
The chill crept in so slowly at first, I barely noticed. Michael was working late, tiredit happens.
But then he stopped asking about my day. Stopped hugging me at night. Stopped looking at me the way he did, back when he used to call me the prettiest girl in the department.
The flat became quiet. Not right quietan unnatural hush. We used to talk for hours about everything and nothing. Now Michael spent the evenings scrolling on his phonebarely even answering my questionsthen turned away from me in bed.
Id lie there, staring into the ceiling. Between us, a gulf as wide as half the mattress.
Intimacy vanished. Weeks passed, then monthsI stopped counting. Michael always had excuses:
Im so tired. Lets try tomorrow.
Tomorrow never came.
One evening, I couldnt ignore it anymore. I blocked his way to the bathroom and asked straight out:
Whats going on? Please, just be honest.
Michael looked past me, eyes fixed on the doorframe.
Everythings fine.
No, it isnt.
Youre overthinking it. Its just a phase. Itll pass.
He slipped past me and locked himself in the bathroom. I heard the water running.
I stood in the hall, palm pressing against my aching chestdull, persistent pain.
I lasted another month before I finally asked:
Do you love me?
A pause. A long, dreadful silence.
I dont know what I feel anymore.
I sat down on the sofa.
You dont know?
He at last looked at me. Gone was the spark of oldonly emptiness and confusion remained.
I think the loves gone. Its been gone a while, honestly. I didnt say anything because I didnt want to hurt you.
So many months Id been guessing, catching his glances, dissecting every word, searching for answers. Maybe its work stress. Maybe a midlife crisis. Maybe just a run of bad moods.
But it was simple. Hed stopped loving me. And hed kept quiet while I was planning our future, saying no to bigger roles, preparing my body for motherhood.
The decision came suddenly, as if from outside myself. No more maybe, no more itll get better, no more waiting.
Thats it. Im filing for divorce.
Michael paled. I watched his Adams apple bob.
Wait. Dont rush. We could try
Try?
Lets just have a baby, yeah? People say kids can bring you closer together.
I laughedan ugly, bitter laugh.
A child would only make it worse. You dont love me. Why bring a baby into that? So we end up splitting up with a newborn to look after?
He said nothing. There wasnt anything left for him to say.
That day, I left. Packed a bag with just the essentials, rented a room from a friend. Filed for divorce once my hands stopped shaking.
The division of everything would drag onflat, car, fifteen years of joint purchases and dreams. The solicitor explained about valuations, shares, settlements. I nodded, took notes, tried not to think about how our life was now reduced to square metres and horsepower.
Soon after, I found my own little flat to rent. I learned how to exist alone. How to cook for one, how to watch Netflix without anyone commenting beside me, how to sleep right across the whole bed.
The grief came in waves at night. Pressing my face into the pillow, Id rememberdaisies from the flower stall, blankets in Hyde Park, his laughter, his hands, his voice whispering, Youre my anchor.
The pain was overwhelming at times. Fifteen years didnt just leave your heart like old clothes sent off for charity.
Yet, beneath the hurt, something else took rootrelief, a deep sense of rightness. Id made it out in time, before I bound myself forever to him with a child, before I got stuck in a joyless marriage for the sake of staying together.
Thirty-two years old, and my whole life ahead.
Scared? Absolutely.
But Ill manage. Theres simply no other option.
