At 60, I never imagined my marriage to Richard would end this way, but as we sat across from one another, his words hit me like a ton of bricks. “I want a divorce,” he said, the bluntness of it making the room feel smaller. “What? Richard, are you sure about this?” I stammered, the years of shared memories flashing in my mind. He gave me a sardonic grin and replied, “Come on, Susan, you knew it was coming. You’ve felt the distance between us for years. There’s nothing left here. I want to be free, to live out my remaining years with purpose. Maybe even meet someone new… someone younger, more lively, who doesn’t remind me of… well, a dried-up prune. So yes, I’m divorcing you.”
