I Think the Love Has Gone: Anna’s Journey from University Romance to Fifteen Years of Marriage, Heartbreak, and the Courage to Start Over Alone at Thirty-Two

I think love has faded away

Youre the most beautiful girl in this Building, he said that first time, handing her a bouquet of daisies from the flower stall outside Oxford Circus tube.

Lillian laughed, accepting the flowers. The daisies smelled of summer and something quietly, achingly right. William stood before her, eyes lit with the sort of certainty that only happens in dreams. He wanted her, and everything about him said so.

Their first date seemed a fey memory: St. Jamess Park, a tartan blanket, a thermos of tea, and ham sandwiches made by his mum. They sat on the grass as daylight collapsed around them. Lillian remembered his laughter, the backwards tilt of his head. How his fingers dusted against herscasually, on purpose, not really accidental at all. How his gaze settled on her as if she were the sole inhabitant of London.

Three months later, William had taken her to a French comedy filmshe hadnt understood a word but laughed herself silly at his side. Half a year more, shed met his parents. A year from that first walk in the park, he asked her to move in.

Were together every night anyway, William said, tracing her hair through his fingers. Why pay for two flats?

She agreed. Not because of the money, of course. The world simply made sense when William was close.

Their little one-bed rental always smelled of Sunday roast and freshly ironed linen. Lillian learned to cook his favourite beef piejust so, heavy on the pepper and thyme, like his mother made. In the evenings, William read aloud from business magazines, dreaming up ventures hed start one day. Lillian listened, chin propped on her palm, believing in every grand plan.

They drew up dreams together. Firstthe deposit for a flat. Then, their own place. Later, a car. And always, children, of course. Two. A boy, a girl.

Weve got all the time in the world, William would say, kissing the top of her head.

Lillian nodded, indestructible at his side.

Fifteen years wrapped itself around their lives in layers of routine and ritual. They had a bright flat overlooking a quiet square in Hampstead, a mortgage with twenty years still leftpaid ahead with the clipped efficiency of those who never take holidays or go out for dinners. The proudest trophy: a silver Ford, chosen, haggled for, and polished by William every Saturday till it gleamed.

Warm satisfaction swelled in Lillians chest. Theyd done it alone. No family money, no friends in high places, just the sheer drudgery of earning, saving, enduring.

She never complained. Not even when she was so exhausted she nodded off on the Northern Line and woke up at the end of the line at Morden. Not even when all she longed for was to ditch it all and vanish to Brighton for a week. They were a team. William repeated it often, and Lillian believed him.

His comfort always, always came first. Lillian knew this law by heart; it was wound into her very bones. Bad day at work? She cooked and poured him tea, listening to his silence. Row with his boss? She stroked his hair and murmured that it would all work out. When self-doubt swallowed him, she found words to pull him back.

Youre my harbour, my anchor, he would say on nights like these.

Lillian smiled. Wasnt it joy, to be someones anchor?

They suffered through hard times, of course. The first storm came five years inWilliams company went bust. He sulked around the flat for three months, darker with each job rejection.

The second time was worse. Mates from work landed him in trouble with the paperwork. He lost his job and owed several thousand pounds. They had to sell the Ford to pay off debts.

Not once did Lillian reproach him. Not a sigh, not a sideways look. She picked up freelance work, did scripts at night, scrimped until even tea bags seemed a luxury. Her only worry: his feelings. Would he recover? Would he lose faith in himself?

William scraped through. Found another jobbetter paid than the last. Before long, they bought another silver Ford. Life straightened itself out.

A year ago, sitting at their kitchen table, Lillian finally said what had pressed on her chest for ages:

Maybe its time? Im not turning any younger. If we keep waiting

William nodded. Calm and deliberate.

Lets start planning for it.

Lillian held her breath. After endless years spent dreaming, shelving hope, scanning for the right time, it had somehow arrived.

She had played it out in her mind a thousand timestiny fingers latched to her hand, the sweet powdery scent of nappies, first stumbling steps on the carpet, William reading fairy tales before bed.

A child. Their child. At last.

Immediately, everything shifted. Lillian revised her entire lifediet, schedule, workload. She registered with doctors, did tests, started on vitamins. Her career fell quietly into second place, just as she was promised a big promotion.

Are you sure? her boss asked, peering over her glasses. Positions like this dont come up often.

Lillian was sure. A promotion meant travel, late nights, constant pressure. Not the kindest welcome for a new baby.

Id rather transfer to the branch down the road, she replied.

Her boss shrugged.

The branch was a 15-minute walk from home. The job was dullendless spreadsheets, no ladder to climbbut it let her leave precisely at six and forget work over the weekend.

She settled in quickly. The new colleagues were pleasant, though none seemed to reach too high. Lillian brought her own lunches, took walks on her break, and got to bed before midnight. All for their future. All for the baby. All for them.

The chill crept in quietly. At first, she brushed it offWilliam working long hours, tired, nothing unusual.

But he stopped asking about her day. He no longer embraced her before bed or looked at her like he used to, back when she was, in his eyes, the prettiest girl in the building.

Home grew silent. Unnaturally so. She and William once talked about everythingwork, dreams, nonsense. Now he spent his evenings scrolling on his mobile, answering her in clipped phrases. At bedtime, he turned to face the wall.

Lillian lay there, staring at the ceiling. A gulf, half a mattress wide, stared back between them.

Intimacy disappeared. Two weeks, three, a monthshe lost count. William always an excuse at hand:

Im shattered. Can we do this tomorrow?

Tomorrow never arrived.

She asked him straight out, once her courage found its feetblocking his way to the bathroom.

Whats happening? Please, be honest.

William looked past her, at the chipped doorframe.

Its nothing.

Thats not true.

Youre imagining things. Its just a phase. Itll pass.

He slipped by her and locked the bathroom door. The sound of running water thudded like rainfall.

Lillian stood frozen in the hallway, one hand pressed hard to her heart. It hurt. Dull, relentless, always.

She managed a month more. Then Lillian could not bear it and asked directly:

Do you love me?

A silence fell. Long. Dreadful.

I I dont know what I feel for you.

Lillian sank onto the settee.

You dont know?

Finally, William looked her in the eye. There was nothing therejust confusion. No trace of the old fire from fifteen years ago.

I think the love has gone. Long ago, really. I kept quiet because I didnt want to hurt you.

All those months, Lillian had endured that hellseeking reasons, searching his face for answers, dissecting every word, blaming work, a midlife crisis, a run of lousy moods.

He had simply fallen out of love. Yet quiet, as she charted dreams, sacrificed her career, prepared her body to become a mother.

The decision came suddenly. No more maybe, no more give it time, no more waiting. Enough.

Im filing for divorce.

William paled; Lillian saw his Adams apple twitch in his throat.

Waitdont be hasty. We can try

Try?

How about we have a baby? Maybe thatll fix things. People say children bring couples together.

Lillian gave a short, jagged laugh.

A baby will only make it worse. You dont love me. Why bring a child in, just for us to end up divorcing with a baby in tow?

William had nothing to say.

Lillian left that very evening. She packed a holdall with the essentials, rented a friends spare room. She filed the divorce papers a week later, once her hands stopped shaking.

Splitting their belongings promised to be protractedflat, car, a decade of shared life. The solicitor droned on about assets and shares, negotiations; Lillian nodded, scribbling notes, determined not to think about how life measured itself now in square feet and horsepower.

Soon, she found herself a one-bed rental. Lillian began learning how to be alone. To cook for one. To watch a series with nobody commenting alongside. To sleep in the whole bed at once.

At night, sorrow would clutch her. She curled into her pillow, lost in memoriesdaisies from a London stall, blankets in St. Jamess Park, his laughter, his hands, his voice whispering youre my anchor.

The pain was almost unbearable. Fifteen years dont just vanish from a heart the way you throw old jumpers in a charity bin.

But oddly, under the pain, something else flickeredrelief. Rightness. Shed managed to stop, just in time, before binding herself to this man with a child, before spending decades in a hollow marriage out of duty to family.

Thirty-two years old. All her life ahead.

Terrifying? Unspeakably.

But she would manage, because there was nothing else to do.