After a long day, I sat down to dinner with my wife, feeling a weight on my chest. I finally gathered the courage to speak: “I want a divorce.” Her eyes filled with pain, but she remained composed, asking softly, “Why? Aren’t you a man?”
That night, we didn’t speak. She cried, wanting to understand what had gone wrong. I couldn’t explain; my heart belonged to another woman named Joan. Despite my feelings, I felt guilt and drafted a divorce agreement, offering her the house, the car, and a share of our business.
To my surprise, she tore up the agreement. She asked for a month to live as if nothing had changed, for the sake of our son facing exams. She made one more request: that I carry her to our room every day, as on our wedding day.
Reluctantly, I agreed. As the days passed, I began to notice her again—her aging, her fragility. I realized the pain I had caused. By the end of the month, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.
I rushed home with flowers and a renewed commitment. But it was too late. My wife, fighting cancer, had passed away. She had known she was d-y.i.n.g and wanted our son to remember his father as a loving husband.
In her memory, I urge you to cherish the details of your relationships, not just material things. Share this story; it might save a marriage. Don’t give up when success is just around the corner. Value what you have before it’s gone.
