At the Divorce Hearing, My Wife Said, “Take It All!” — But a Year Later, Her Husband Regretted Trust…

At the divorce hearing, Janes voice was steady as she stared at the paperwork. Oddly, she felt no anger.

So this is it, then? Youve really made your mind up? Richard eyed his wife, unable to hide his frustration. So, how are we splitting things?

Jane looked up, her eyes dry and determined, a resolve that had come after a long sleepless night reflecting on all those wasted years.

Take everything, she said softly but firmly.

Everything? What do you mean, everything? Richard narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

The house, the cottage, the car, all the bank accounts. Everything, she gestured around them. I dont want any of it.

Richard scoffed. Are you joking? Or is this some clever womans ploy?

No, Richard. No tricks, Jane said. For three decades, I put my life on hold. Thirty years spent with laundry, dinners, dusting, waiting. Thirty years listening to you insist holidays were frivolous, my hobbies were silly, and my dreamsidiotic. Do you know how many times I wanted to go to the seaside? Nineteen. How many times did we go? Three. And every single time you grumbled about the cost and how pointless it was.

Richard gave a derisive snort. There you go again. We had a roof over our heads, food on the table

And now youll have all the rest as well. Congratulations, Jane cut in coolly.

Their solicitor looked genuinely stunned. He was more used to floods of tears and shouting matches, not a woman calmly giving away everything most people battle tooth and nail for.

Are you sure about this? he asked quietly. By law, youre entitled to half the marital assets.

Im sure, Jane said. And for the first time in ages, she smileda clear, unburdened sort of smile. Ive come to realise that half a wasted life is just a smaller waste.

Richard struggled to hide his delight. Hed expected a fightemotional blackmail, maybe threats, a lengthy negotiation. Instead, fate had handed him an unexpected windfall.

At last, some sense from you! he declared, smacking his palm on the desk. Finally, youre being reasonable.

Dont confuse reason with release, Jane replied quietly, signing the documents.

They drove home in the same car, but it was as if they were in different universes.

Richard hummed to himselfmaybe something from his childhoodtapping the wheel as the car bounced over potholes, the tune warbling in the silence. Jane barely noticed, gazing out at the hedgerows darting past. Her heart fluttered, as though taking its first flight.

It was all so strange: an ordinary road, a tired evening, and suddenly this dizzying sense of space inside. As though some heavy knot that had sat under her ribs for years was finally gone. She smiled and pressed cool fingers to her cheek. There it wasfreedom.

Sometimes all it takes is a glance from a windowtrees rushing pastto unlock all the lost colours in your life.

Three weeks later, Jane was standing in the middle of a tiny rental in Basingstoke.

It was modest: a bed, a wardrobe, a table, a small telly. On the window ledge sat two pots of purple violetsher first little indulgence as a single woman.

Youve lost your marbles, her son Adam groused on the phone, irritation clear in his voice. You left everything and ran off to that backwater?

I didnt run, sweetheart, Jane answered calmly. I left. Big difference.

Mum, how could you? Dad says you just handed him everything. Hes even talking about selling the cottagewhy would he need it all to himself?

Jane smiled at her reflection in the little wall mirror. Shed had her hair cut in a short stylesomething shed never dared with Richard around. Too trendy. Not your age. What will people think? she remembered him tutting.

Let him sell it. Your fathers always known what to do with possessions, Jane replied easily.

But Mum, youve got nothing left!

Ive got the only thing that matters, Adammy life. And the surprising thing is, turns out you can start over, even at fifty-nine.

Jane had found work as a receptionist at a small, privately run retirement home. Tough job at times, but interesting. More than thatshed started making friends, and, for the first time in ages, was in charge of her own time.

Meanwhile, Richard basked in triumph.

The first couple of weeks, he strutted around the house, king of his castle. No more nagging, no more reminders about dirty socks or sinks full of washing up.

You lucky sod, his mate Dave would say over a whisky. Most blokes lose a fortune, and youwell, landed on your feet! Got the house, holiday home, carthe lot!

I know, Richard grinned smugly. Finally, Jane saw sense. She mustve realised shes lost without me.

But after a few weeks, the euphoria dulled. Strangely, clean shirts stopped appearing in the wardrobe. The fridge was empty. Cooking a decent dinner turned out to be far more complicated than hed imagined. At work, colleagues quietly started to notice that Richard was looking a bit scruffier.

Everything alright at home? his boss in IT asked one afternoon.

Fine, justtweaking the old routine a bit, Richard replied, faking a cheery tone.

One evening, he opened the fridge: half a bottle of ketchup, a squashed pack of cheese slices, and a sad, open can of lager. His stomach growled. That morning, hed only managed a slice of toast.

Oh, for crying out loud, he grumbled, slamming the fridge. Cant go on like this

Rescuing himself from his own misery, Richard ordered a takeawaywhat else can you do when your fridge looks like the Sahara? As he waited for the delivery bloke, he dutifully sifted through bills. Suddenly, the numbers hit him like a bucket of cold watercouncil tax, broadband, the credit card, electric

It had all seemed background noise beforeissues from some parallel world. Maybe thats how it goesyou only notice these things when youre alone.

The doorbell ripped him out of his thoughts. The delivery man held out a bag and a card reader.

Thatll be twelve pounds eighty, please.

Twelve what? Richard almost dropped his keys. For one lasagne and a bottle of water?

Pretty standard these days, mate, the bloke said, barely blinking.

Richard paid, walked back into his silent home, and paused in the kitchen doorway. Even the fridge seemed to be humming anxiously, lonely for company. The whole placespacious, gleaming, full of all those trappings hed dreamed offelt hollow, like a waiting room. Cold, vast, echoing, as empty as the hallway in a winter storm. The same howl he now felt in his gut.

Meanwhile, Jane was standing on the windy cliffs of Cornwall, face tilted to the sun and the salty breeze.

Around her, a lively group of other mature touristsmembers of an active retirees clubwere enjoying their week-long trip to the seaside. For the first time, there were no snide remarks about money wasted, no grumbling, no counting every penny she might have saved by staying home.

Jane, come and get in the photo! called her new friend, Margaret, a sprightly sixtysomething widow shed met at an art class.

Jane dashed over, laughing, joining the line-up for their group photo. Whod have thought, at her age, shed be wearing a bright summer dress, hair down, laughing like a schoolgirl?

Selfie time! Margaret announced, producing a long phone stick. Ill put them in the WhatsApp group tonight!

That evening, back at the guesthouse, Jane flicked through the days photos. Staring back was a woman with sparkling eyes, a blissful grinsomeone she barely remembered being. When had the deep crease between her eyebrows gone? When did her shoulders relax? When had her step become light and free?

Jane thought, Maybe Ill post these. After a hesitant moment, she uploaded the pictures to her neglected Facebook page.

Back in London, Richard was dealing with a burst pipe in the kitchen. Water flooded the floor, wrecked a cupboard, and the plumber, barely glancing up, said, Well, they dont make them like that anymorewill need the whole lot replaced.

Oh, for heavens sake, Richard muttered, flinging down soggy towels. Wheres the plumbers number? Jane always knew who to ring.

It dawned on him suddenlyJane had every number stored in her head. Plumber, hairdresser, the best butcher at the farmers market, a man for shoe repairsshed held all the invisible threads of comfort together, and now those threads had snapped, leaving him floundering.

Bloody pipe, he swore, slapping the wet cloth. Now Ive got to cook and clean and work, all on my bloody own

That night, as the plumber finally left and the last puddle was mopped up, Richard realised he hadnt checked social media in weeks. Out of boredom, he opened Facebook and there it wasthe shining face of Jane, seaside behind her. She had a new haircut, wore a cheerful dress, and looked genuinely, confusingly happy?

Whats this about? he mumbled, enlarging the picture. She left with next to nothing

The comments only made things worse.

You look years younger, Jane!

Smashing photo, love!

That sea air suits you!

He scrolled through her pagelibrary visits, painting in the park, Jane sitting on a bench with wildflowers in her lap.

What on earth Richard dropped the phone, glancing at his empty kitchen piled high with dirty dishes. She was supposed to she was supposed to

He couldnt finish the thought, because the truth hit with full forcehed always assumed Jane would struggle without all those things he thought mattered. Yet in every photo, she was radiantfreer than hed ever seen her.

A few days later, the roof of the cottage sprang a leak. A storm was coming, and Richard needed to fix the attic straight away.

Dave, mate, I need a hand, he begged, phoning. Bring some nails at leastI cant do this on my own.

Sorry, Rich, Dave answered, Im at the hospital with my mother-in-law, cant get away. Why not call Jane? She always helped you out.

She Richard hesitated. Shes gone.

Gone where?

She just left.

Right well, good luck, then!

He tried to manage on his own. Rain hammered the roof as he cursed and struggled to pull a tarp across the leak, until his foot slipped and he crashed to the ground. Sharp pain shot through his ankle.

Bit of a sprain, youre lucky its not worse, the young doctor in A&E said breezily. Keep your leg up for a week, take it easy.

A week? Whos going to fix my roof? My living rooms soaked!

The doctor shrugged, Ask your wife to help, or just rest, mate.

Richard bit back a retort. He spent three days alone, hobbling about on crutches. Takeaways ran out, and he didnt have the cash for more. Cooking while balancing on one foot quickly proved to be impossible.

By day four, desperate, he rang Adam.

Hi son, hows things?

Alright, Dad, Adam sounded wary. Everything okay?

Yeah, just, er Ive done my ankle in. Any chance you can pop overhelp your old man?

There was a pause.

Sorry, Dad, Im up in Manchester for work. Ill be back in a few days.

Oh right. FineIll manage.

Adam hesitated, then said, Have you tried ringing Mum? Shed probably help

No! Richard cut him off. Dont worry. Im perfectly fine on my own.

He hung up, slamming the phone down. His pride wouldnt let him admit the truth: he missed Jane. He missed her warmth, her kindness, just the hum of her presence in the house. He had never realised how much she didbecause everything simply got done, without fuss or thanks.

A week and a half later, finally walking unaided again, he hobbled over to the cottage to check the storm damage. The sight was grimupstairs was dotted with mould patches, his favourite sofa was ruined, and the air was thick with damp.

Oh, for heavens sake Richard muttered, sitting in the overgrown garden.

The apple trees Jane had always cared for were neglected now. The winding garden path, once neatly laid with stones, was barely visible among the long grass. Everything felt abandoned, like it was waiting for her hands to bring it back to life.

On his way home, Richard stopped at a roadside café and ordered a bowl of stew and a cup of tea. The first mouthful made his throat acheit was nothing like the stews Jane used to make; this one was sour and bland.

You alright, sir? the waitress asked kindly.

Yes, just He didnt know what to say. How do you explain that a bowl of stew makes you mourn a whole life youd thrown away?

That evening, back at home, Richard sat in silence, staring at framed photos on the shelf: the two of them smiling outside Buckingham Palace, one with little Adam, another from their twentieth anniversary party.

What a bloody fool Ive been, he whispered, looking at Janes younger, glowing face in the photo.

Summoning his courage, Richard sent her a message. But her reply wasnt what hed hoped.

Jane had moved to a seaside town. Her days filled with friends, laughter, musicreal life, and finally it was hers.

At nearly sixty, Jane had finally started living.