The Divorce That Wasn't.

I married Rosalie from Yorkshire because she was bright and restless and full of noise. Two years later, that noise had become the thing that pushed us apart. She wanted nights out, constant movement, crowds. I wanted quiet, study, and the small ladder I was climbing in a language that still felt foreign to me. When she called me boring and empty, I didn't argue. I focused on my tests. First the forklift licence. Then the management qualification that might follow. When she demanded a divorce, I told her I would take care of everything. I gave her papers covered in official-looking words. She signed them with relief. She smiled. Eight years later she still believes she is free. In truth, only one of us ever really left.