Marriage is often called a sacred bond—a promise to find a partner who will walk beside you through both joy and sorrow, and to love them unconditionally until death parts you.
But what happens when one partner decides to break that bond and wants a divorce?
This is my story… and it’s one I will never forget.
The Night I Asked for a Divorce
One night, I came home from work, sat down for dinner, and my wife Amy began serving the food. Without much thought, I gently held her right hand and said calmly:
“I want a divorce.”
She didn’t scream, didn’t slam her hand on the table. Instead, she looked at me softly and simply asked:
“Why?”
I avoided her eyes. My silence alone seemed to wound her deeply.
Finally, I confessed. I told her about my affair with a colleague named Tari. I said I no longer loved her the way I once did and didn’t see the point in carrying on.
The Divorce Agreement
The very next day, despite the small voice of guilt inside me, I drafted the divorce agreement.
I wrote that Amy would get:
- Our house
- Our car
- 30% of my company shares
After ten years together, the woman who had been my world suddenly felt like a stranger.
Amy took the papers, glanced at them briefly, and then began tearing them into small pieces.
Through loud sobs, she said:
“When we married, we promised we’d stay together through joy and sorrow, for life.”
Her tears should have softened me. But instead, I felt justified in my decision.
Her Unexpected Request
That evening, I stayed out late with Tari. When I returned, Amy was at the dining table, writing something.
She came over and handed me her own divorce statement.
Shockingly, she didn’t want the house, the car, or any business shares. She had only two requests:
- For the next 30 days, we should forget about the divorce and live as normally as possible—for the sake of our son Sheldon (we call him Shelly), whose final exams were coming up.
- Each morning, for those 30 days, I should carry her in my arms from our bedroom to the living room—just as I had carried her into our bedroom on our wedding night.
I thought it was strange, but it was only 30 days. So, I agreed.
The First Morning
The first morning felt awkward. But Shelly found it hilarious and exciting.
“Daddy’s carrying Mummy! Daddy’s carrying Mummy!” he cheered, clapping his little hands.
His joy filled me with an unexpected sadness.
Amy kept her eyes closed and whispered:
“Let’s make sure Shelly doesn’t know about the divorce yet.”
I nodded silently.
Day by Day, Something Changed
On the second day, the awkwardness had eased. Amy rested her head gently on my chest, and I caught the faint scent of her perfume.
I realised I hadn’t truly looked at her in years. I saw the fine wrinkles on her face, strands of silver in her hair. She had aged while I was too busy chasing my ambitions.
By day five or six, a quiet closeness began to return between us.
The more days passed, the less it felt like an act. Carrying her became… natural.
I Started Noticing Her More
But I also noticed something troubling—Amy was getting lighter. Her body felt frailer in my arms.
She hid it well, always smiling, always making sure I was never inconvenienced. But there was an unspoken sadness behind her eyes.
Shelly, meanwhile, eagerly awaited our morning ritual. One day, when I delayed carrying her, he came running:
“Daddy, aren’t you going to carry Mummy today?”
For him, it had become a cherished moment—proof of love between his parents.
The 30th Morning
On the last morning, I lifted her once more. This time, she clung to me tightly. My steps felt heavy. Something deep inside me screamed:
Don’t let her go.
I realised then what I truly wanted.
I put Amy down, left the house, and drove straight to Tari’s.
When she opened the door, I said:
“I’m sorry, Tari. I can’t divorce my wife.”
In that moment, it was crystal clear—Amy and I belonged together until death separated us.
Coming Home
I drove back with a bouquet of flowers and a hopeful smile. But when I stepped inside…
Amy was gone.
She had passed away earlier that day. Her lifeless body lay on the floor.
The Truth I Had Missed
That’s when I learned the truth—Amy had been battling cancer for months.
I had been so wrapped up in my affair with Tari that I never noticed the signs.
Amy knew she had little time left. Her request for those 30 days wasn’t about saving our marriage—it was about creating final memories for our son.
She wanted him to believe that his father had loved his mother deeply and had been by her side until the very end.
The Lesson I Learned
Marriage is a sacred bond. It’s not about perfection. It’s about choosing each other every day—in joy, in sorrow, in sickness, and in health.
I wish I could turn back time. I wish I had been present, really present, for her in those final months.
Amy’s final gift to me was the reminder that love is a choice—and that when you truly have it, you must never take it for granted.
đź’ˇ Reader Takeaway
If you’re married, hug your spouse tonight. Notice the little things. Listen more than you speak. Be present.
Love is not always about grand gestures. Sometimes, it’s as simple as carrying them through the living room every morning—because it means they matter to you.
