I remember the day I finally walked away from my husband, George, and how bright his smile seemed ever since. He keeps proving that I was the one who held him back, that I never let him live a normal life.
No one has ever wounded me as deeply as my former husband does now.
We havent seen each other for three months. The last time I saw him was when I drove my daughter, Ethel, over for the weekend. Its only been twelve weeks, and George has changed a great deal.
For years I urged him to shed a few stone, but he would not listen. He kept tucking into chips, battered sausages and fizzy drinks, growing larger while spending his evenings on the sofa. Getting him outdoors, let alone into a gym, seemed impossible. Now, though, theres a yoga mat rolled out in the most conspicuous corner of his modest flat in Manchester. Hes sporting a fresh haircut, his clothes are tidy, and he looks as though someone finally cares for his appearance. After all those years I never managed to teach him how to load the washing machine or press the start button, and now, as if by magic, he knows how to do everything himself.
We talked, then
I had heard enough. He accused me of having belittled him throughout our marriage, of turning him into a fool, and claimed that now he was no fool at all. He told me that neither I nor my child were part of his plans any longer. Hes in a new relationship, absolutely delighted, and hes working on his body, his character and his prospects. That hit me hardest. He never lifted a finger for me or for Ethel, yet he could transform himself for another woman.
People say you ought to give as much as you wish to receive, but George was never the sort to answer in kind. I loved him, respected him, and only now and then offered a remark, because he never seemed to think anything needed changing. I never got anything back from him
Even after the split, his concern lay primarily with himself, not with the daughter he had long neglected. I sometimes wish he had once walked in my shoes, made an effort, and in return received what I had always asked of him. But who can say what might have been?
