“I’m Not Going to Spend My Life with a Worn-Out Old Woman,” Snapped Her Husband: After Thirty-Two Years Together, Igor Left Valentina for Their Thirty-Five-Year-Old Neighbour—But It Took a Literary Club, Her Mum’s Wisdom, and a Chance Encounter to Prove That Life—and Youth—Begin When You Choose Yourself

Author Walton MerrittReading 11 minViews 1

I dont intend to spend my later years with an old wreck, Martin barked.

Thats it! Enough! He slammed the bedside drawer, making all the bottles of aftershave rattle. Im tired of hearing about aching joints and tablets! I want to live, not rot away in this hospital of a house!

Emily stood in the bedroom doorway, quietly watching her husband shove a modest pile of belongings into a duffel bag. Thirty-two years together, and it all fit in one old rucksack and a carrier bag full of trainers. That realisation stung more than any argument before.

Martin, she started softly, my mum cant be left alone since her stroke. You understand that, dont you?

Your mother your problem! Im not about to see out my days with a decrepit old lady, he barked back, eyes glued to his bag. Im fifty-eight, not eighty! I refuse to turn our home into a care ward!

Emily flinched. For the past half-year, words like “youth” and “old age” had split them like a wedge. Martin had started dyeing his hair, bought himself a bike, splashed out on a leather jacket. Then Fiona moved in upstairs the newly-divorced thirty-five-year-old from flat 5B.

Youre moving in with her then? Emily already knew the answer, but still asked.

Martin spun around. There was a flicker of shame in his eyes, overridden fast by stubbornness:

Yes, I am. And do you know why? Because with her, I forget about age. She doesnt see my grey hairs or nag me about my dodgy ticker. Shes just carefree. You get it?

Carefree. The word cut deep. Emily glanced at her reflection in the mirror without meaning to the tired face, fresh lines around her lips. Once, Martin had called her his beauty. But now

Youre pushing sixty, Martin, she whispered. Do you really think

What? He snapped. I dont deserve happiness? A new life? Loads of people my age

run off with younger women? Emilys laugh was bitter. Yes, thats a sad old trend.

He shrugged her off impatiently. There you go again. Always dragging things through the mud! I just want to breathe to actually live!

He zipped his bag with a final, sentencing sound.

Tell your mum I wish her good health, he muttered, heading for the door. Hope you two enjoy yourselves. Two He hesitated, then finished, Two old birds.

The door slammed. Emily sat on the bed for ages, staring blankly. Two old birds echoed in her mind. Was she really old already, at fifty-three?

From the next room, a thin voice called out:

Emmy? Has something happened?

Its nothing, Mum, Emily mustered, getting up slowly. Martin went out. Bit of business.

Lying was revolting, but she couldnt bring herself to explain the marriage had crumbled not to her eighty-year-old mother. She didnt need the guilt.

The next few days drifted by in a kind of grey fog. Emily went through the motions cooking, cleaning, helping her mum. Inside, one thought kept thudding: when did that wall between them start building up?

She remembered meeting Fiona, the neighbour. Theyd bumped into each other at the postboxes often lately. Fiona was lively, bold, with her swingy floral skirts and infectious laugh. Emily had felt for her, alone with a young son.

But after a while she caught her husbands eyes tracking Fiona lingering at the window when she walked her spaniel, accidentally passing by the front entrance when she returned from work, spending long evenings locked away in the garage.

Darling, Mums voice brought her back, youve been staring at that mug for half an hour. Come and sit down, love.

Emily looked up, surprised to find herself at the sink, fixated on one mug.

Im finishing up, Mum.

Emily, her mum settled herself onto a chair and gripped its back, I know whats happened. Dont try to fool me.

Mum

Hes left you, hasnt he? Gone off with that one from upstairs?

Emily nodded, tears prickling.

A silly old fool, Mum said matter-of-factly. Let me tell you something. When men hit sixty, they go a bit loopy. Suddenly desperate to sniff out their youth again, where it never existed anyway.

Mum, please

What? Why please? Your dad did the same at fifty-two. Decided life was passing him by.

Emily stared in shock. Dad? Youve never said

What was the point? Mum shrugged lightly. He came crawling back after two months, tail firmly between legs. By then, Id stopped waiting.

Youre joking.

Not a bit, Mum winked conspiratorially. Those two months were enlightening. Took up embroidery classes. Realised lifes easier without him. The air even feels fresher.

She stopped, looking at her hands lined and freckled, but still deft.

You see, love, its not the years that matter. Its how your heart feels. Ive turned eighty-five, but inside Im still the same old girl.

Emily smiled involuntarily. It was true her mum, despite her ailments, radiated a certain life-force that pulled people in.

As for Martin, Mum continued, hes running from himself, not from you. Scared silly of getting old, thinks a younger woman will make him young too.

Youre sticking up for him? Emilys voice trembled with hurt.

Of course not, pet. Mum shook her head. Its just sad. He wont find what hes looking for. No one outruns time, darling. It catches up with you, no matter where you go.

Just then, laughter rang out in the garden. Emily looked outside without really meaning to Martin and Fiona strolling past the benches. He was holding her bags while she chatted away, hands flying, and Martins face showed a joy Emily hadnt seen in years. It squeezed her heart painfully.

Stop torturing yourself, Mum gently led her away from the window. Lets put the kettle on. Ive got that honey cake you like.

Mum, cakes the last thing I need, Emilys voice wobbled.

Hes a daft old sod, but thats his road. You take yours. And tomorrow were going to the park. Its gorgeous after the new refurbishment.

Emily wanted to protest, but something in Mums tone stopped her. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was just time to live again.

The park amazed her. Brand new footpaths, sparkling fountains, comfy benches everywhere. In the centre, a fresh little culture hub poured out music.

Look here, Mum paused by a noticeboard, theres a writing group, a dance class, even yoga for the distinguished years!

Mum, Emily cringed, please dont say

Why not? Mum raised an eyebrow playfully. I can still show them a thing or two!

To prove her point, she swept her arm grandly and her walking stick tumbled noisily to the ground.

Oh dear, Mum giggled.

Allow me, broke in a kind, gentlemanly voice.

A smartly dressed man, likely in his late fifties or early sixties, retrieved the stick and handed it back with a slight bow.

My pleasure, he nodded.

Thank you so much, Mum said, actually blushing. And very polite of you.

Peter Hollis, he introduced himself. I run the writing meet-ups here. I see youre checking out our activities?

Were just, er Emily started, but Mum cut in firmly:

Of course! My daughter writes wonderful poetry. It was even published in the college magazine, once.

Mum! Emily flushed.

Poetry is timeless, Peter smiled gently. If youd like, youre welcome at todays session. Were discussing new works.

And thats how Emily joined the local writing circle. She was surprised how easily it happened she only intended to support Mum, but soon she was swept up by the smell of books, the soft voices, and the friendly faces. No one asked her age or cared about the lines on her face. They valued her words and her heart.

Then came the evening poetry night small, just for regulars, but Emily felt as nervous as if she were facing an exam.

She read verses of love, of loss, how life might hurt and still go on. With each line, something inside her loosened, stretched, began to breathe again.

Heading home afterwards, she bumped into Martin. He was alone, coming back from Fionas. He stood awkwardly, as if caught red-handed.

Em, you look wonderful.

She looked steadily at him. Oddly, she no longer felt that sharp ache. Just a deep, calm weariness.

Thank you, she said evenly. Is that all?

No listen, he came closer. I wanted to explain I think Ive made a mess of things. Maybe

You realise youre disappointed? Emily arched an eyebrow. Or Fiona didnt turn out so perfect?

Martin winced. Its not that. Shes young, yes, and attractive, but we dont talk about anything. Not really.

Well, at thirty-five, you cant expect her to be invested in old British sitcoms, Emily let out a sudden laugh. Oh Martin, youre so naive. Honestly.

Im not talking about that, he frowned. I just Em, Ive been a fool. Could we

No, she shook her head, clear and firm. Nothing maybe. Funnily enough, Im grateful to you.

For what? He genuinely looked shocked.

For leaving. For helping me see theres more to living than washing socks and keeping quiet over dinner.

Emily, I get it now. I want to come home we can fix things.

She stepped back, calm but solid.

No, Martin. You dont want to come home. Because theres no home left. That version of me the one who did your laundry and never spoke up shes gone. The new me? You wouldnt recognise her. Frankly, I think youd be scared.

Whys that?

Because she puts herself first.

Just then, her mum approached, minus her stick, arm in arm with Peter Hollis.

Oh, Martin, Mum greeted him with a frosty glance. Still loitering?

Hello, Mrs Collins, Martin muttered, I was just leaving.

Good, Mum nodded. Next time you want to run from getting older, remember its not your surroundings holding you back.

Martin flinched like hed been slapped, turned on his heel and hurried off.

Mum! Emily chided gently. You didnt have to

What, speak the truth? Mum shrugged. By the way, Peters asked me to run a Stories from Childhood circle for the grandkids. I rather fancy it!

Mrs Collins is a born storyteller, Peter beamed. The children will adore her.

Emily watched her mother glowing with excitement and thought, maybe this was wisdom: not to resist age, but to welcome it as a gift, an invitation to discover new corners of yourself.

Two months later, Martin split with Fiona rumour had it shed met someone younger. A month after that, he sent Emily a stumbled, regretful text full of apologies. She never replied.

Why would she? She had her own life now. Twice a week, she joined the writing group. And you know what? At fifty-three, she finally, truly felt young because youth isnt about smooth skin. Its about daring to be yourself, no matter how many birthdays youve had.

Stay Away from Me! I Never Promised to Marry You—And Honestly, Who Knows if That Child Is Even Mine? Or Maybe She’s Not Mine at All? That’s what Victor—a man on assignment in their small English village—coldly declared to a stunned Valentina. She stood there, unable to believe her eyes or ears. Was this the same Victor who’d once carried her in his arms, confessed his endless love, and called her “Val”? Now he looked confused, angry, and a perfect stranger… Valentina wept for a week, waving goodbye to Victor forever, but at thirty-five—feeling plain and with little hope of finding happiness—she decided to become a mum on her own. In due time, Val gave birth to a wailing baby girl she named Mary. Mary grew up calm and well-behaved, giving her mum no trouble—almost as if she knew there was no use in crying for what she’d never get. Val provided for her daughter, fed her, dressed her, and bought her toys, but rarely offered a cuddle, a walk, or any true maternal affection. “Busy, tired, headaches, so much to do…” The maternal instinct in Val simply never woke up. When Mary turned seven, something unimaginable happened—Val met a man. Not only that, she brought him home! The entire village gossiped: “What sort of woman drags a stranger into her house? What about the child?” they whispered, pointing at the silent, mysterious newcomer, doubting his motives. Val, working at the local store, ignored the scandal and offered the handyman—named Ian—a place to stay. At first the village judged, but soon saw their error: Ian fixed the porch, patched up the roof, and repaired the collapsing fence. Every day, Ian was hard at work, and Val’s house began to shine. People even went to him for help. “If you’re elderly or short on cash,” Ian would say, “I’ll help for free. Otherwise, pay me with money or groceries!” Soon, Val’s kitchen saw homemade cream and fresh milk, things she and Mary never had before. With Ian around, Val transformed—she softened, smiled more, even showed a hint of dimples! She grew kinder to Mary as well, and Mary adored watching “Uncle Ian” work, especially when he surprised her with a garden swing built with his own hands. Ian took over mornings, cooked breakfast and lunch, made pies and casseroles, and taught Mary to cook and set the table as well. He walked her to school in winter, shared stories from his own hard life, taught her to fish at dawn, and even gave her her first bike and skates—bandaging her knees and encouraging her to get back up after every fall. At Christmas, Ian made sure Mary found shiny new white skates under the tree—her tears of joy proof she’d never been so happy. And while Val grumbled, “She’ll hurt herself!” Ian said firmly, “She must learn to fall and rise again.” Years later, when Mary headed off to university and faced life’s challenges, Ian was always by her side—bringing her groceries, celebrating her milestones, walking her down the aisle, welcoming grandchildren as his own. And when his time came, Mary whispered at his grave, “Goodbye, Dad… you were the best father I could ever imagine.” For fatherhood isn’t always about biology—it’s about choosing to love, nurture, and stand by a child no matter what. A moving tale of real parental love—thank you for reading, and don’t forget to follow for more heartwarming stories!

— You Never Truly Loved Me. You Married Me Without Love, and Now You’ll Leave When I Fall Ill… — I Won’t Leave You! – said Marina, embracing Igor. – You’re the best husband! I’d never, ever leave you… He couldn’t believe it was true. Igor was feeling blue… Marina had been married for twenty-five years, and all that time men continued to find her attractive. Even in her youth, she was the most sought-after girl. And not just in her youth! At school, nearly every boy chased after Marina. Yet, she’d never been considered a beauty. She didn’t divorce her husband, complex character though he was. No, Marina stayed with Vadim right to the end. They raised their daughter, married her off. Her son-in-law whisked Daria off to Italy, now they sent back lovely photos and invites to visit. But Marina and Vadim had never made the trip… Maybe Marina would go someday. Vadim was gone for good. Marina’s husband died in a car accident. Such a senseless loss… Later, Marina was told he likely took ill behind the wheel. His heart faltered, he panicked, lost control. — Maybe he blacked out? – she wondered. — We’ll never know now. – sighed her friend, a doctor. – Cause of death: multiple injuries incompatible with life. Marina was in shock. Her friend Elena helped arrange everything. Elena got all the details through her professional contacts. Vadim was buried and Marina was left alone in the large house she and her husband had built their whole lives. Not too big for two, especially if guests dropped by; but for one person, for a woman – it seemed vast, almost a burden. A house needs a man’s touch… Daria came home to say goodbye to her father. She broached the idea of selling the house, buying a flat, maybe Marina moving to Italy with them. — Not a chance! – declared Marina. – I didn’t spend my life building this house just to sell it. And I’m not off to your Italy either. I’ve seen Italy… — Mum! — Naive girl, Daria! – Marina smiled through her tears. – Only joking. — Well, if you’re joking, maybe things aren’t so bad. It was all ambiguous, just as the late Vadim had been. On one hand, he was a caring, loving husband. On the other – a man of moods. When he was in a bad one, he could drive Marina up the wall. Then he’d repent, apologise, and Marina, an easy-going soul, wouldn’t dwell on it. And so they lived. Twenty-five years! Enough to drive you mad… Daria visited, then returned to her own busy life and marriage. Marina was alone. But, knowing herself, Marina realised this wouldn’t last. She mourned for half a year, then, when her tears dried, found a small crowd of suitors had already gathered about her. Even Marina’s own mother had once been surprised by her daughter’s ongoing popularity. — What do they see in you? They’re falling at your feet! You’re not even a beauty, unless I’m missing something. — You’re so kind, Mum. – Marina would smile, applying her lipstick. – Looks mean nothing, just empty noise. A woman should be charming, charismatic. Unique. — Off you go, enjoy yourself, – her mother would laugh. – Or your suitor will tire of waiting. — Another will come along, – Marina would shrug indifferently. Almost thirty years since that conversation, and nothing had changed. Women still complained that there were no eligible men left after forty, nobody worth marrying. Marina never understood that problem. At forty-six, she found herself with not just one, but two decent suitors. Her heart leaned toward Dmitri. He was her ideal man, handsome and intelligent, a wonderful conversationalist, great company – perfect for social occasions. But if truth be told, Dmitri excelled mostly at talking. Marina felt herself falling for him with her ears, but, given her age and experience, she knew he wasn’t the man for real life. Not for her big house. Her other suitor, Igor, was a solid, practical bloke. One who could drink his fill at a party, but always had hands that got things done and a spirit that endured. A real hands-on man with a gentle soul, but a strong backbone. To his wife, this sort of man would be quiet and gentle as a puppy – but move mountains for her, if needed. Somehow, Marina fancied Igor less – silly woman’s logic. He never gave her flowery speeches; sober, Igor was a man of few words. After a drink, he could tell a funny story, a joke, join any conversation. Igor could drink, true, but he was up and about the next day anyway, doused himself with cold water, active and focused – if quiet. Marina chose Igor. Dmitri, disgruntled that his eloquence failed, left. Marina married Igor, and he was over the moon. He drank a bit too much at the wedding, sang and danced until dawn. — You’ve done it again, – Elena smiled. – Barely a year since Vadim passed and you’re already re-married! Women can search high and low for a decent bloke, yet all you need is to step outside your door. — You’ll be telling me next, ‘What do they see in you? You’re not even a beauty!’ — Oh, I won’t go there. But you are unusually popular, that’s for sure. — I don’t know what they see in me, Elena. Ask my mum. Marina winked at her friend and waltzed onto the dance floor with her new husband. As they danced, she chased away her last doubts. So what if Igor was a bit simple? He was strong, capable, even good-looking – and if he was quiet, maybe that wasn’t so bad. If she’d chosen Dmitri, what then? You can’t live on honeyed words. Within a few months, Igor had transformed Marina’s garden into a fairy tale. He cleared away old trees, levelled the ground, built flowerbeds, erected a gazebo. His masculine touch was everywhere in the house. No doubt, Marina had picked the right husband. Igor even provided for the household and showered Marina with gifts. Comparing just this short stretch of marriage with her twenty-five years before, she honestly regretted not meeting Igor sooner. He was golden. In the warm months they’d barbecue and dine in the new gazebo, at the table and benches Igor had made by hand. Marina, full of grilled kebabs, would smile contentedly. Igor would look at her and smile too. — What is it, Igor? — Nothing. I’m just happy. His first wife had been a real bore; he’d never imagined he’d meet anyone as wonderful as Marina. Four years of wedded bliss, and then Igor began to feel… poorly. He grew tired easily, started losing weight for no clear reason. When he did have a drink – and Igor liked a tipple – he felt even worse. — Igor, you must see a doctor! – Marina insisted. – What are you waiting for? Something’s not right. — Nonsense, Marina. I’ll be fine! — What sort of caveman thinking is that? And if you’re not fine? Or are you, like so many men, scared of doctors? — No… Igor wouldn’t tell Marina what he was truly afraid of. He feared that if he was really ill, Marina would leave him. She didn’t marry him for love, after all – he knew that. But he loved her, for all that. He’d seen her in a shop one day, struggling to find her purse in her bag, and in that very moment he’d fallen for her. Something about her confusion just touched him deeply. He immediately wanted to step in and protect her forever, even though his own mother, upon first meeting Marina, had said, — Son, it’s your life, but what do you see in her? She’s not a beauty. She’s no spring chicken. You could have anyone, even a younger woman! But Igor needed no one other than Marina. Now, if he were truly ill, would Marina want Igor at all? She never succeeded in getting him to the doctor. It was a Saturday evening, and Elena and her husband Boris were visiting. Igor and Boris were out back, drinking beer and grilling. In the kitchen, where they were making salads, Elena said to Marina, — Has something happened to Igor? He doesn’t look well. — That’s just it! – Marina exclaimed. – I keep begging him to see a doctor, but he won’t! You’re a doctor. What do you think? Is something wrong? — Well… he looks worse nowadays. Lost weight. His skin looks a bit yellow, too. — Oh God! Elena, please make him see a doctor, I beg you. Maybe he’ll listen to you! Elena studied her friend’s face. — Marina… do you love him? I just remember you had doubts… Marina bit her lip and said nothing. Elena never got the chance. Igor collapsed during dinner. They called an ambulance. Marina rode with Igor to the hospital. He never regained consciousness. She held his hand and prayed. He went straight in for surgery. — Liver tumour. — Cancer?! – Marina panicked. — We’ll wait for the test results. The tumour was benign, but it had grown to significant size before Igor reached the operating table. Doctors forbade Igor nearly everything. They warned him recovery would be long, and he might not regain full health. He wasn’t exactly young, after all. Igor became despondent. His mother came to visit him in hospital, while Marina was at work. She brought him food that he was allowed – the list was short. — I hardly recognise you, son! – said Tatyana. – What’s this? You pulled through. No cancer. You should be glad, yet you look so down. Here, eat your steamed cutlets. — Don’t want to eat. — You must! What’s wrong? At least Marina visits, doesn’t she? — She does… for now. – Igor muttered. — What? You think she’ll leave you? Don’t be daft! — I’m finished! Useless! Not even allowed to work. I’m fifty in June and now an invalid. Who wants an invalid? — What’s all this, then? – Marina said, coming in. – You’re shouting down the whole ward. Good afternoon, Tatyana. — I’ll get going then. Hello, Marina. Take care. — What happened? Igor’s mother waved her off and left. Marina washed her hands and approached her miserable husband. — What’s all this grumpiness, ‘invalid’? Arms and legs all there. Not much wrong with you that won’t heal. Do you know what I read about the liver? — What? — Fun fact: the liver’s the only organ that regrows by itself. If you have fifty-one percent left, you’ll recover completely. And you have sixty percent remaining. Just give it time. Everything will mend! — And do I have that time? — What? – asked Marina, confused. — Time. — Igor, what’s going on? Haven’t they told me something? Did you ask the doctors to hide something? — That’s not it… Igor was sent home. Life’s hardest part began. Any physical work left Igor spent almost immediately. The thought of his upcoming milestone birthday only made him gloomier. Can’t eat, can’t drink. Some celebration! Marina seemed oblivious, cheerily sharing his bland health food. — Marina… – he finally spoke out. – What happens to us now? — What do you mean? – she asked. — This… My recovery is slow. Will you leave me? Best to say so now. — Why would I ever leave you? I love being with you. — But that was when I could work, fix things. What’s so good now? Even I don’t like myself like this. — Oh, nonsense. Get a grip! — I’m trying! But it’s tough. Hammer two nails and I’m dog-tired. Marina approached from behind, hugged him, pressed her cheek to his neck. — I love you. And I never, never will leave you. Take your time with your recovery. There’s no rush. — You love me? Truly? — With all my heart. Marina doesn’t leave Igor. He recovers, slowly but surely. For his birthday, Marina threw a party without any booze, so he wouldn’t feel left out. A few friends came; they played board games in the garden gazebo. — You struck gold, Igor, said his friends as they left. — You’ll probably go home and get drunk for me now, won’t you? – Igor quipped. Everyone laughed and went their way. In the evening, Marina and Igor sat on the porch, gazing at the stars. Happy. For the first time in many months, Igor felt better. He believed he would heal. And that his wife truly wouldn’t leave him. He held Marina tighter. — What is it, Igor? — Everything’s perfect! – he replied. — At last, – Marina chuckled, kissing him on the cheek. They were happy. 💬 Friends, if you’d like to read more of our stories – leave your comments and don’t forget to like. Your support inspires us to keep writing!