Moving On

She adjusted her mascara, thickening the edges of her lashes, adding just a bit more body to them.

Putting down the brush, she stared at herself in the dressing table mirror. How long had it been since she’d made a sincere effort to look good? I knew that recently it had all seemed so pointless to her. There had been no one to look good for.

But it had been very different before. Years ago she’d always tried her best; when we were dating, and even during our marriage. But I had been too busy to truly notice her efforts; too busy with the bills, with work, and with endless other things – things which have absolutely no meaning at all now. I’d taken her for granted. I realise it now. I never told her how much she really meant to me. I’d always just assumed she knew. Surely she must have recognized that the reason I worked so hard was solely for her, to provide her with all that she could ever need and more; to give her a home she could be proud of; to let her reside in the security of knowing that her man was “taking care of things.” It was my way of proving my love.

How naïve and foolish I was. I hadn’t even noticed that instead of bringing her in closer I was driving her away. And now it was too late. Too late to tell her how I felt, too late to do the things that mattered, too late for anything. Everything had changed.

She had met Brian through mutual friends of theirs. They had struck up an instantaneous rapport, soon becoming fast friends and confidants. He was a recent widower and was looking to fill that void in his life. She too was vulnerable, also desperately seeking a stopper for the hole in her life – a hole through which it seemed her life was seeping, slipping away.

When I saw the way that they looked at each other I knew that there was more on the cards than just friendship. I was proven right when he had called her up asking for a date.

I could tell that she was nervous, apprehensive. She brushed her hair again. When she finished she looked down at her hand, at the ring I had bought her all those years ago. She toyed with it before slowly taking it off and placing it carefully in the jewellery box. Looking back into the mirror she sighed, “It’s not really cheating though, is it?”

The question was more rhetoric than anything else, an effort to convince herself rather than an actual search for an answer. But how would I have answered it anyway, even if I could? My chest tightened and the lump in my throat prevented any sort of response. Cheating? Oh Lord, no. How could it be? I knew that this date would make her happy. And even if I had wanted to stop her, I loved her too much to stand in the way of her happiness. Despite it all, I knew that she still loved me. That was why she was suffering so much. But that was exactly why she had to go tonight. No matter what, I knew that it was too late for us. And she had to move on. The only way I could make her happy now was to let her go.

Standing behind her I reached out to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She seemed not to notice and went back to rearranging her hair.

It’s so true, I thought, sometimes if you really love someone you have to set them free. We’re both trapped here by our feelings for each other; trapped by our need to ensure that each other is happy, even though we know that it could never work for us.

She stopped and looked at her reflection in the mirror again. The tiny ghost of a tear appeared in the corner of her eye. I knew that there were doubts and uncertainties flashing through her mind. I knew that she was consumed by an inner conflict. Right now, at this moment, she would even be considering if it wasn’t too late to call Brian to cancel the whole thing altogether.

Yes, I thought, it is too late to cancel. He’s going to be here any minute to pick you up. But it’s not too late for you.

I wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to reassure her that it was alright, that this was the right thing to do, that I was fine with it. But there was nothing I could do or say as I stood there helplessly. I knew that this was the hardest part; the first decision to move on. But I was sure that it would get easier after that.

I finally managed to find my voice, “This is your chance – our chance – to find real peace and happiness. Be smart and don’t let this one go begging.”

But my words were unheard and just then the doorbell rang. She gave her hair one last flick and went downstairs to answer it.

I didn’t follow her down. I knew that the choice was hers and hers alone to make. And anyway, I couldn’t bear to watch her making it – no matter which path she decided to take. Would she break my heart by seeking comfort in another man’s arms, or would she condemn us both to endless misery by hanging on to something that couldn’t continue to be?

Looking back at that night I see that it turned out that she was a lot smarter than I had given her credit for. She did make her decision. She went out on that date and had a great time. Even though her relationship with Brian didn’t really develop into anything special, as I had hoped it would, it did give her the impetus to go on looking for something new.

And a few years later she found that something she’d been looking for. He was a very caring, loving man and looked after her very well.

But that first date was the important one. In fact it was the first time I’d seen her smile – really smile – since before the funeral.

But that was all years ago, and she’s happy now. She has a new life and is enjoying it. And I feel that I too, now that I know she’s doing well again, can move on – now it’s my turn.

But I still check up on her every once in a while. And I still love her and know that she loves me. How bitter-sweet it is that she’s finally laid me to rest so we can both live again.