One Small Step from Divorce
Emily had been pestering her husband for ages to visit her great-grandmother, Margaret Whitmore, in the countryside. The old woman lived alone in a tiny cottage on the edge of a village, having just turned ninety-eight, and every visit might be the last. But David kept making excuses—work, exhaustion, or simply not wanting to go.
“Come on, please,” Emily begged. “You remember she promised to share that secret—the one that kept her and great-granddad together for sixty-two years? But only if we both go.”
David scoffed.
“If it’s such a miracle fix, why haven’t you told me before?”
“Because she swore she’d only say it with both of us there. She calls them ‘magic words’ every family should know. They never even thought about divorce.”
David sighed. He didn’t believe in magic or century-old advice. But seeing the hope in his wife’s eyes, he gave in.
“Fine. But make it quick. In, out, home.”
Margaret greeted them from her neatly made bed. Despite her age, her gaze was sharp and strong. She smiled faintly at Emily, then studied David for a long moment.
“Well, my dears, here for the words?”
“Yes, Gran,” Emily said eagerly. “The secret that holds a marriage together. We’re listening.”
The old woman closed her eyes briefly, then whispered:
“An old vicar gave us this secret. We married in a backwater village—no other churches nearby. He said, ‘Remember: divorce is just one small step away.'”
David frowned.
“One small step?”
“Yes. One careless step. One harsh word spoken in anger. One glance over the shoulder, one night you stay out too late. Breaking a marriage is easy. Keeping it? That’s work. So when you argue, when you’re hurt, when dark thoughts creep in—remember those words. Divorce is just one small step. Take it, and there might be no way back.”
Silence filled the room. Emily looked down. David stood, walked to the window, and stared out for a long while. Then, quietly, he admitted:
“My parents split when I was ten. It all started with one step. Dad stayed at a mate’s. Mum didn’t believe him. Then word led to word, and… well.”
He turned to his wife.
“Lately, we’ve been close to that edge too.”
Emily nodded, blinking back tears.
They drove home hand in hand, not speaking, fingers tightly laced as if afraid to let go. When they pulled up to the house, David suddenly stopped, pulled Emily close, and whispered:
“Let’s promise each other—we’ll never take that step.”
Emily nodded. And in that moment, they both knew: they hadn’t just inherited a memory from Gran. They’d been given an anchor. One small phrase—enough to change everything.
