After 53 years of marriage, Robert and Margaret sat across from each other in a lawyer’s office, signing the final papers that would end their union. The silence between them was heavier than the decades they had spent together.
Robert never imagined his life would come to this. He had always thought they would grow old together, but time had worn them down. The little arguments had turned into big ones, and the love that once held them together had faded into routine and resentment. The house felt empty even when they were both in it. So, when Margaret suggested divorce, Robert didn’t fight. He simply agreed.
For months, he lived in solitude, filling his days with books and long walks through the park. His grown children checked in occasionally, but he assured them he was fine. He told himself he didn’t regret the divorce—that they had simply run their course.
Then, one afternoon, as he sat in his favorite café, sipping black coffee, he saw her.
Margaret.
But she wasn’t alone. She was laughing—laughing in a way he hadn’t seen in years. Across from her sat a man, slightly younger than Robert, holding her hand as they talked. Her eyes sparkled, her face lit up with joy.
Robert’s chest tightened. He had always assumed Margaret would be just as lonely as he was. He never considered that she might move on.
Unable to look away, he watched as the man leaned in, whispering something that made Margaret chuckle. It was the kind of intimacy Robert had forgotten—had failed to give her in their later years.
Suddenly, memories came flooding back. The way Margaret used to hold his hand on evening strolls. The way she would leave little notes for him in his lunchbox when he still worked. The way she had cried on their wedding day, telling him she had never loved anyone more.
Had he taken all of that for granted?
The thought made him swallow hard. He had assumed that the end of their marriage was inevitable, that love had simply run dry. But maybe… maybe it was only him who had stopped trying.
As Margaret and the man got up to leave, Robert instinctively lowered his gaze. He didn’t want her to see him—didn’t want her to know that, at that moment, he was drowning in regret.
Later that evening, alone in his quiet apartment, Robert looked around. The walls were filled with silence. The loneliness he had ignored for months now pressed against him with unbearable weight.
Maybe he had let go of something that wasn’t broken—just in need of repair.
With a deep breath, he reached for his phone and found Margaret’s number. He hesitated, his finger hovering over the screen. He had no right to ask for another chance, but he couldn’t live without knowing.
