“When Did You Last Really Look in the Mirror? – He Asked. His Wife Surprised Him With Her Response”

When was the last time you actually looked at yourself in the mirror? I asked my wife.

She reacted in an unexpected way.

I was finishing my morning tea in the kitchen, watching Eleanor out of the corner of my eye. Her hair was tied back with a scrunchie that looked like it belonged to a child, maybe our daughters. Cartoon kittens on it.

But Rebecca from the next flat was always bright, lively. She wore those expensive perfumes that lingered in the lift after shed stepped out. You knew shed been there just by the scent.

You know, I put my phone down, clearing my throat, sometimes I feel like we just live as, well, like neighbours.

Eleanor stopped mid-wipe, dishcloth frozen in her hand.

What do you mean?

Its nothing, really. Just…when did you last look at yourself in the mirror?

She looked at meproperly looked. And I realised things werent going to go as Id planned.

When was the last time you actually looked at me? she asked quietly.

The silence that followed was awkward.

El, dont be dramatic. I just meana woman should always look her best. Thats basic! Just look at Rebecca. Shes the same age as you.

Ahh, Rebecca. Eleanor replied. Something in her voice made me waryas if shed suddenly understood something important.

Tom, she said after a pause, lets do thisIll move out for a bit. Stay with Mum. Have a think about your words.

Alright. Lets live apart for now, think things over. But just to be clear, Im not throwing you out!

You know, Eleanor hung the dishcloth on the rack with surprising care, maybe I do need to look at myself in the mirror.

And off she went to pack.

I sat in the kitchen, feeling oddly empty rather than pleased. Somehow, the thing I wanted left me unfulfilled.

For three days I lived like I was on holiday. Morning tea without hurry, evenings spent however I fancied. No one tuning in to romance dramas. Freedom, finallythe classic bachelors dream.

That evening I ran into Rebecca outside. She was carrying Waitrose bags, heels clicking, the perfect dress fitting her as if made for her.

Tom! she smiled, How are you? Not seen Eleanor in a while.

Shes at her mums, taking a break, I lied easily.

Oh. Rebecca nodded knowingly. Sometimes a woman needs a rest from all the domestic routine.

She said it as though shed never touched a duster herself, as though her flat cleaned itself and dinner appeared out of thin air.

Becks, fancy a coffee, maybe? As neighbours?

Why not, she said, smiling. Tomorrow evening?

I spent the night planningshirt or jumper? Jeans or trousers? Dont get too overzealous with the aftershave.

But in the morning my phone went.

Tom? An unfamiliar voice. This is Valerie, Eleanors mum.

My heart skipped.

Yes, Im listening.

Eleanor asked me to let you knowshell collect her things on Saturday, while youre out. Leave the keys with the concierge.

Wait, what do you mean, collect her things?

Well, what did you expect? There was ice in my mother-in-laws voice. My daughter wont spend her life waiting around for someone to decide whether shes wanted.

ButValerie, I didnt mean anything like

Oh, you said enough. Goodbye, Tom.

She hung up.

I sat there, staring at my phone. What the hell? I wasnt getting divorcedId just asked for a pause, a bit of space to think. But theyd made the decisions without me.

Evening coffee with Rebecca felt strange. She chatted about her work at the bank, laughed at my jokes. But when I reached for her hand, she gently moved away.

Tom, you do realiseI cant. Youre still a married man.

But were separated.

For now. What about tomorrow? Rebecca gave me a searching look.

I walked her to her door and went back up to my flat. The place met me with silence and that unmistakable smell of living alone.

Saturday. I made a point to stay outanything for no scenes, no drama, no tears. Let her take her things in peace.

But by three in the afternoon curiosity had me rattled. What had she taken? Everything or just essentials? Had she changed?

By four, unable to stand it, I went home.

Out front was a car with our towns plates. At the wheela man in his forties, looking sharp, smart jacket. He was helping someone load boxes.

I sank onto the garden bench and waited.

Ten minutes later, a woman walked out of the building in a blue dress. Dark hair up, not with a kiddie scrunchie, but held by a stylish clip. Subtle makeup that made her eyes stand out.

I stared, doubting myself. It was Eleanor. My Eleanor. But transformed.

She was carrying a last bag, and the man was there at once, careful, helping her into the car as though she was made of crystal.

I couldnt stop myself. I went over.

El!

She turned, her face calm and beautiful, free from the weary look Id grown used to.

Hello, Tom.

Is that…you?

The man in the drivers seat stiffened, but Eleanor touched his hand lightlyits alright.

Yes, it’s me. Only, you havent been looking at me for a long time.

WaitEl, hang on. Cant we talk?

About what? Her voice was curious, not angry. You told me a woman should look amazing. So I listened, for once.

No, I didnt mean

What did you want, Tom? Eleanor tilted her head. For me to be beautiful just for you? Interesting but only inside your walls? To love myselfbut not enough to leave a husband who doesnt even see me?

With every word, something inside me turned upside down.

You know, she continued gently, I realised Id stopped caring for myself. Not out of laziness, but because I was used to being invisible. In my own home, in my own life.

I didnt want”

“You did. You wanted an invisible wifewho did everything but didnt get in the way. And when that got dull, swap for a brighter model.

The man in the car said something softly. Eleanor nodded.

We need to go, she said. Edwards waiting.

Edward? I croaked out. Whos that?

The man who really sees me, she replied. We met at the gym. Theres a fitness centre by my mums. Imagineforty-two years old and Ive signed up for my first pilates class.

El, please. Give us another chance. I know nowI was an idiot.

Tom, she looked at me intently, do you remember the last time you told me I was beautiful?

I stayed silent. I couldnt remember.

How about the last time you asked how I was?

I realisedId lost. Not to Edward. Not to circumstances. But to myself.

Edward started the car.

Im not angry with you, Tom, honestly, Eleanor said. You helped me see something importantif I dont see myself, nobody else will.

The car drove off.

I stood at the kerb, watching my life drive away. Not just my wifemy life. Fifteen years Id written off as routine, when really they were happiness.

And Id never even noticed.

Half a year later, I bumped into Eleanor at the shopping centre. Total chance.

She was choosing coffee beans, reading the labels. A young woman of twenty or so stood nearby.

How about this one? she said. Dad says arabicas better than robusta.

Eleanor? I approached.

She turned and smiled, easily, without nervousness.

Hello, Tom. Meet EmilyEdwards daughter. Emily, this is Tom, my ex-husband.

Emily nodded politely. Pretty, probably a student. Studied me with mild curiosity, no hostility.

How are things? I asked.

Good. You?

Alright.

An awkward pause. What do you say to your ex-wife who has become someone entirely new?

We stood by the coffee shelf and I looked at her: tanned, light blouse, new haircut. Happy. Yeshappy.

And you, Tom? she asked. Hows your love life?

Nothing special, I admitted.

Eleanor watched me carefully.

Youre still trying to find a woman whos as beautiful as Rebecca, but as submissive as I used to be. Cleverbut not clever enough to notice where your eyes wander.

Emily listened, wide-eyed.

That kind of woman doesnt exist, Eleanor finished calmly.

Eleanor, shall we? Emily cut in. Dads waiting in the car.

Yes, of course. Eleanor picked up her coffee. Take care, Tom.

They left, and I was stuck by the shelves, thinking. She was right. I really was searching for an impossible woman.

That evening, I sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea. I thought of Eleanor, the woman shed become. I realised sometimes losing someone is the only way to understand what you had.

Maybe happiness isnt about finding the convenient wife. Maybe its about learning to see the woman standing beside you.