The Story About My Broken Marriage You Should Learn From.
I touched my wife’s hand gently that evening as I got home and she was serving dinner, and I said, “I need to talk to you.” She took a seat and began eating quietly, but I couldn’t help but see the depth of sadness in her eyes.
All of a sudden, I felt as like I could not say what I needed to say. Calmly, I declared, “I want a divorce.”
Her answer surprised me; all she said was, “Why?”
She was even more enraged when I sidestepped her question. She said, “You’re not a man!” and threw her chopsticks aside. She cried all night long, filling the room with quiet. Though I could see the anguish and confusion in her eyes, my heart was no longer hers; Jane had taken it. I was only filled with pity.
Guilty and burdened, I wrote a divorce agreement. It gave her the house, the car, and thirty percent of the stock in my business.
She took a quick look at the paper and tore it to pieces. It seemed as though the woman I had spent ten years with was no longer my friend. My love for Jane was too great to reverse my decision, even though I regretted the time and effort she had put into our life together. Her cries were just what I had expected, loud and heartbreaking. They served as a release for me and made my decision to dissolve our marriage clear.
When I arrived home late the following morning, I discovered her writing at the table. I was so tired from spending time with Jane that I missed dinner and went straight to bed.
She was still writing at the table when I woke up. I went back to sleep, not wanting to disturb her.
She gave me her terms for the divorce the following morning: no money settlement but one month’s notice before we went ahead and completed the divorce. Her justification was straightforward: our son had examinations coming up, and she wanted to protect him from the consequences of our split.
I concurred. Then, though, she made an odd request. She wanted me to remember that day of our wedding, when I had carried her across the threshold. I had to carry her from our bedroom to the front door every morning for the following month. Despite thinking it was a strange request, I granted it in the hopes that it would lighten our last few days spent together.
I informed Jane of my wife’s ailments. She scoffed, brushing them off as ridiculous. She mockingly remarked, “No matter what tricks she pulls, the divorce is inevitable.”
My wife and I had not been in close physical proximity since I had declared my decision to file for divorce. I carried her the first morning, and we were both awkward. “Daddy is holding Mommy!” exclaimed our son. His comments resonated with me, and as I carried her from the bedroom to the door, I had a twinge of shame. I nodded, feeling a great deal of sadness, as she urged me not to inform our son about the divorce. After putting her down, I drove to the office by myself as she went to work.
The second day it felt more manageable. As she put her head on my chest, I became aware of her scent—something I hadn’t done in years. I had a new perspective on her, with her graying hair and aged features. I realized how much she had aged over our marriage.
After four days, there was a renewed feeling of closeness. This was the lady who had given me her whole 10 years.
We were becoming more and more connected as the days passed. I didn’t let Jane know about this. Maybe it was the daily exercise, maybe it was the changing of my feelings, but carrying her got easier.
She had dropped weight, I observed one morning as she tried on clothes that had grown too big for her. I was extremely moved by the hidden pain behind the surface of her life. I extended my hand and gave her a gentle pat.
When he came in, our son remarked, “Dad, it’s time to carry Mom.” This was now a routine that he went through every day. I glanced aside, fearing I might weaken, as my wife gave him a hard hug. I carried her through our house after lifting her. She instinctively put her fingers around my neck. Her lower weight made me sad, but it felt like our wedding day.
It was nearly hard to carry her on the last day. Our youngster was on his way to school. “I hadn’t realized how much we had lost our intimacy,” I remarked, holding her firmly.
I was concerned that if I hesitated, I would regret my decision, so I drove to the workplace and jumped out without locking my car. I hastened to Jane’s apartment above. “Apologies, Jane,” I murmured. “I no longer want to get divorced.”
She caressed my forehead and gave me a shocked expression. “Are you ill?” she inquired. I waved her hand off. “I apologize again, Jane,” I said. “I have chosen to remain. It dawned on me that our lack of intimacy in our marriage was not a result of a diminished love, but rather an oversight of the little things.
I’m supposed to carry her until death do us part because I brought her into our house on our wedding day.
Jane realized all of this at once. She gave me a strong slap, shut the door, and started crying. I felt the weight of my choice as I walked away.
I ordered a flower from a florist on my way home. I grinned and wrote, “I’ll carry you out every morning until death do us part,” in response to the question of what to write on the card.
My heart was full of joy as I brought flowers home that evening. When I got upstairs, my wife was dead in bed.
I had been so preoccupied with Jane that I had failed to realize that she had been fighting cancer for months. She wanted to shield me from our son’s possible pain in the event of a divorce since she knew her time was limited. I was still a devoted husband in her view.
I learned from this experience that in a relationship, the little things really do count. It has nothing to do with the bank account, the automobile, or the mansion. Although they can’t bring happiness on their own, these items can foster it. The tiny gestures of affection and care that foster closeness are the source of true happiness.
