Just yesterday, I was strolling down the street, minding my business, when who do I see?
My ex-wife—yes, the woman I spent over five decades with—walking hand in hand with some guy! I mean, seriously? We’re both 72, and there they are, acting like giddy teenagers right out in public. I couldn’t believe my eyes.
So, naturally, I marched right up to them and let loose.
Me: “Vanessa, have you completely lost it? We just got divorced! Don’t you have an ounce of shame?”
Her: “Calm down! You’re jumping to conclusions again. It’s about time you met him properly.”
Me: “You want me to meet the guy? Are you kidding me?”
The man: “Wait, just hear me out…”
I folded my arms, still fuming. “I’m not here to make friends.”
The man looked nervous, but not smug or arrogant like I’d expected. His voice was gentle. “My name is Mark. I’m Vanessa’s cousin. We were just catching up over coffee.”
I blinked.
“Cousin?” I turned to Vanessa. “Since when do you have a cousin named Mark?”
Vanessa let out a long sigh. “Since always. He moved to Oregon decades ago. We lost touch after his wife passed. He just moved back a few weeks ago and reached out.”
I felt something sour and stupid churn in my chest. “So, you’re not…?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Dating? No. I just spent 53 years with a man who never really listened to me. I’m not rushing into anything.”
I opened my mouth but had no words.
Mark stepped back politely. “I’ll give you two a minute.”
Vanessa crossed her arms. “You always assume the worst of me. Even after everything.”
“I saw you holding hands,” I muttered.
“Mark just told me how scared he is of growing old alone. I held his hand like I would with any friend who needed comfort. You think I’m out here on some romantic rebound?”
I looked at the ground. “I don’t know. Maybe I just… didn’t expect to feel this way. Seeing you happy without me.”
Vanessa’s face softened a little. “Walter, we both know we stopped being happy a long time ago. The divorce wasn’t about hating each other—it was about finally being honest.”
I nodded slowly. “But it still hurts.”
“Of course it does,” she said. “But maybe that pain is what we needed to finally see each other clearly.”
She placed a hand gently on my arm. “Go live, Walter. Don’t let jealousy keep you bitter. We had our time.”
And just like that, she turned to rejoin Mark, chatting softly as they walked away.
I stood there a long while, wind biting at my collar, watching the two of them disappear down the block—not as lovers, but as people finding pieces of comfort wherever they could.
And for the first time in months, I didn’t feel angry anymore.
Just… free.
