His Regret : (Begging for the love he lost)

The divorce papers lay quietly on the table between us. White. Clean. Final. I stared at them for a long moment, my fingers resting on the edge, feeling nothing and everything at the same time. This was it the end of a marriage that had never truly begun. Across from me, my husband sat stiffly, his expression cold and impatient, as if this meeting was nothing more than another business arrangement he needed to conclude. His eyes didn’t linger on my face. They never did. “I’ll have my lawyer finalize everything,” he said calmly. “Once you sign, it won’t take long.” His voice held no regret. No hesitation. Just certainty. I smiled faintly. So this was how it ended. Not with shouting or tears, but with indifference. For three years, I had been his wife in name only. A presence in his house. A shadow beside him at formal events. A woman he married to fulfill an obligation not because he loved her. And now, he wanted to be free. Free to marry the woman his heart had always belonged to. I should have cried. I should have begged. That was what people expected women like me to do cling, plead, humiliate themselves in the name of love. But I didn’t. Instead, I lifted my eyes and finally met his gaze. “There’s just one thing,” I said softly. He frowned slightly, clearly annoyed. “What is it?” “One request.” Silence fell between us. His jaw tightened. “If this is about money—” “It’s not.” “If it’s about the house—” “I don’t want anything from you,” I interrupted calmly. That seemed to catch his attention. He looked at me then really looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. “Then what?” he asked. I took a slow breath, steadying myself. “Give me one month,” I said. “One month where you treat me like a real wife.” The words hung in the air. His brows furrowed. “What?” “One month,” I repeated. “Live with me. Eat with me. Speak to me. Be present. No other woman. No distance. No pretending.” His lips parted slightly in disbelief. Then a quiet laugh escaped him—short, humorless. “You’re serious?” “Yes.” He leaned back in his chair, studying me as if I’d just said something ridiculous. “Why?” I swallowed, though my voice remained steady. “Because I gave you everything. And I want to know—just once—what it would have been like if you had tried.” His expression hardened. “This changes nothing,” he said. “After one month, I’m still leaving.” “I know.” “And you’ll sign the divorce papers without causing trouble?” “Yes.” He stared at me for a long moment, clearly weighing the inconvenience. To him, this was nothing but a delay. A desperate request from a woman who refused to accept reality. Finally, he exhaled. “Fine.” Just like that. “One month,” he said. “After that, we’re done.” I nodded. “After that, I’ll disappear from your life.” He stood up, straightening his jacket. “Don’t get the wrong idea. This isn’t love.” A small smile curved my lips. “I know.” He walked away without another word. The door closed behind him, and only then did my knees weaken. I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling my heart pound painfully against my ribs. This was my pride. My final stand. I refused to leave as the woman who begged to be loved and failed. If I was going to walk away, I would do it knowing I had been his wife—truly—even if only for one month. That night, he came home early. It was strange seeing him step into the house while the sun was still up, his tie loosened, his phone tucked away instead of glued to his hand. He sat at the dining table when dinner was served. He ate the food I cooked. “Thank you,” he said absentmindedly. It was the first time he had ever thanked me. Something twisted painfully in my chest. Over the next few days, he kept his word. He came home on time. He spoke to me. He asked questions—simple ones, awkward ones. He accompanied me to events instead of arriving separately. He stayed. And slowly, something shifted. He noticed the way I laughed when I forgot to guard myself. The way I listened—truly listened—when he spoke. The warmth I offered without expectation. At night, when he lay beside me, there was hesitation in his movements. Confusion in his eyes. And guilt. But I didn’t cling. I didn’t demand promises. I loved him quietly fully because this was the last time I would allow myself to. At the end of the month, I signed the papers without a single tear. I left before dawn, leaving nothing behind. Except regret.