Margaret was packing her bags for a spa retreat. A retired woman now, her eldest son, Edward, had bought her the trip.
“Mum, you need this,” he said, voice firm. “You look worn out—not like before. Dad can manage on his own. He doesn’t appreciate you. Never has. I see it now. He’s been selfish ever since Michael and I moved out. Michael thinks so too.”
“Oh, Edward, you’re right,” Margaret sighed, her smile thin. “I thought my boys never noticed. Thank you, darling. I’ll go—who knows when I’ll get another chance?”
“Whenever you like,” Edward chuckled. “Michael promised he’ll cover the next trip.”
“My wonderful boys!” She pulled him close, kissing his cheek.
“You’re the best, Mum,” he murmured. “We’ve always got your back. Who else would you rely on?” He checked his watch. “I’d better go—no time to wait for Dad. Need to pick up little Tim from nursery. Give Dad my regards.”
Margaret and Gregory lived in a quiet village, in the house they’d shared since their wedding decades ago. They’d raised two sons, built a life. But somewhere along the way, Gregory changed.
Two years into retirement, Margaret finally had time to herself. Once it had been work, chores—they’d kept chickens, even a piglet once. Now, Gregory came home from work, ate, and slumped onto the sofa. He barely lifted a finger unless a shelf needed fixing.
Before the trip, she’d gone to the high street, buying two dresses and a blouse. Standing before the mirror, she turned, admiring herself.
“Preening won’t help,” Gregory muttered from his armchair. “Who’d even look at you?”
She stiffened. “I didn’t buy them for attention. It’s just proper to dress decently in public.”
“Public?” He scoffed. “Still a country girl at heart.”
“And you’re such a city man. Then why marry me?”
“Youth. Naivety.” His tone was deliberately cutting, but Margaret was used to it now. Age had turned Gregory bitter—discontent with her, with the world. Yet he still eyed younger women, flirted shamelessly. She suspected infidelity but never confronted him.
“If a man wants to stray, nothing stops him,” was her philosophy.
His words stung, though. She put the clothes away and busied herself in the kitchen, letting chores drown out the hurt.
Margaret had been lovely in her youth, and traces remained—graceful, refined. But she’d let herself fade, resigned to being “just an old woman.” Yet others still saw warmth in her smile.
Gregory, though—he’d grown distant, impatient. She cooked his meals, washed his clothes, yet he barely noticed. He handed over money grudgingly, if at all.
“We’re strangers now,” she thought bitterly. “I’m just furniture to him.”
The final blow came from Vera, their neighbour.
“Your Greg’s got a fancy woman in town,” she said bluntly.
Margaret forced indifference. “And how would you know?”
“Works with him, doesn’t I? That Marina from accounts—all dolled up. He’s been strutting round her like a peacock. Even took her to lunch.”
Margaret shrugged, though her chest burned.
Vera huffed. “Cold as ice, you are. I’d have given him hell.”
The spa was salvation. Margaret settled in quickly, befriending her roommates, enjoying treatments without a thought for home.
Then, on the third evening, a man approached—Matthew, kind-eyed, well-spoken.
They strolled the gardens, sharing stories. He’d lost his wife after years of care. His daughter lived far away.
Margaret found herself confiding in him—Gregory’s neglect, the loneliness. Matthew listened, his gaze tender. Soon, they were inseparable.
“You’re lovely, Margaret,” he whispered. “Every bit of you.”
She bloomed under his attention, her eyes bright, laughter returning.
When he finally confessed his love, her heart raced. “Leave him,” he urged. “Marry me.”
She promised to think it over, exchanging numbers.
Returning home, radiant, even her sons noticed. Only Gregory watched her, gaunt, unshaven—clearly missing her cooking.
Matthew called daily, whispering promises. She planned to end things quietly.
Then, one night, Gregory stepped into her room—something he hadn’t done in years. His eyes were wet, his voice broken.
“I know about him,” he rasped. “I heard you. But I won’t let you go. You’re mine. I love you—always have.” He dropped to his knees, gripping her hands. “Forgive me. I was a fool.”
Margaret froze, then felt warmth spread through her—old love stirring.
She called Matthew the next day, her voice soft but firm. “Don’t ring again.”
Perhaps some bonds, flawed as they were, were meant to last.
Now, Gregory accompanies her on every trip—never risking loss again.
