A Step Away from Divorce
Emma had begged her husband for weeks to visit her great-grandmother, Margaret Elizabeth, in the countryside. The elderly woman lived alone in a tiny cottage on the village outskirts, recently turned ninety-eight, and every visit could be their last. But James always had an excuse—work, exhaustion, or simply not wanting to go.
“Please, just come with me,” Emma pleaded, her voice tender yet insistent. “You know she promised to share that secret—the one that kept her and great-grandfather together for sixty-two years. She won’t tell me unless we’re both there.”
James scoffed, rubbing his forehead. “If it’s that powerful, why didn’t you just tell me sooner?”
“Because she swore she’d only say it to us together. She calls them ‘the words every marriage needs.’ Sixty-two years, James. Not a single thought of divorce.”
He sighed. He didn’t believe in magic or century-old advice. But looking into Emma’s hopeful eyes, he relented. “Fine. But we make it quick. In, out, back home.”
Margaret Elizabeth greeted them from her neatly made bed. Despite her age, her gaze was sharp, full of quiet strength. She smiled faintly at Emma, then studied James with an unsettling intensity.
“So, you’ve come for the words, then?”
“Yes, Nan,” Emma nodded eagerly. “The secret that holds a marriage together. We’re listening.”
The old woman closed her eyes briefly, then whispered, barely audible: “An old vicar gave us this secret. We married in a village chapel because there was nowhere else. And he said, ‘Remember—divorce is just one step away.’”
James frowned. “One step?”
“Yes. One wrong step. One harsh word spoken in anger. One glance over your shoulder, one night you stayed out too late. Ruining a family is easy. Keeping it? That’s work. And every time you argue, or resent each other, or think the worst—remember those words. Divorce is just one step away. Take it, and there might be no way back.”
Silence settled over the room. Emma looked down. James stood, walked to the window, and stared out for a long moment. Then, quietly, he admitted: “My parents split when I was ten. It started with one step. Dad stayed at a mate’s place. Mum didn’t believe him. Then word by word, it all fell apart.”
He turned to Emma, his voice raw. “Lately, we’ve been closer to that step than ever.”
Emma nodded, blinking back tears.
They drove home hand in hand, not speaking, fingers locked tight as if afraid to let go. When they reached their house, James suddenly stopped, pulling Emma into a fierce embrace. “Promise me,” he whispered. “We’ll never take that step.”
She nodded, and in that moment, they both knew—this wasn’t just a memory of Nan now. It was an anchor. Just one sentence, and everything could change.
