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In her late sixties, my spouse, Wanda Larson, covertly drafted a testament expressing her desire to be interred alongside her first love, Luigi Collins, upon her passing.

Upon discovering this, I was so enraged that my hands trembled uncontrollably.

"You're my wife, Ethan Mitchell's wife! Your final resting place can only be in the Mitchell Family graveyard."

"How would others perceive you sharing a burial plot with another man?"

In that instant, Wanda remained silent. She offered no rebuttal, no self-justification. She simply kept quiet.

I attempted to reprimand her, cause a commotion, and reason with her. Yet, she remained steadfast.

By the third day of her refusal to eat, I found myself sitting helplessly, watching her weep silently while clutching an image of that man.

Eventually, I capitulated. I let myself surrender.

"Wanda, let's end our marriage."

Her previously dull eyes brightened. She gazed at me serenely and agreed. "Very well."

——

When our son, Lucas, learned of the separation, he frantically tried to prevent it. "Dad, Mom, you're both elderly now. What's the purpose of divorcing at this stage? Won't people mock us?"

"Xavion is about to wed and Xavier just entered university. It should be a time for dual celebration."

"If you two proceed with this, it will fracture our family!"

I sat quietly, not responding to his entreaties. My eyes wandered towards the bedroom, where Wanda was silently gathering her possessions.

She had already purchased a ticket to Estoria, where Luigi resided, and her flight was scheduled for the earliest possible departure.

My wife was eager to reunite with the man she truly cherished.

Throughout the years, none of the attire, ornaments, or presents I had given her held any significance. She had retained only items that were genuinely hers.

Seeing his efforts fail, Lucas grew desperate and attempted to rush into the bedroom to halt her.

I blocked the bedroom entrance, standing firm but speaking calmly. "Lucas, regardless of what transpires, she remains the mother who bore and raised you."

"Since she's reached this decision, we should honor it."

Lucas stomped his feet in frustration and then stormed off without another word.

I was taken aback. Knowing my son's fiery disposition, I had anticipated more resistance. How could a few words make him back down so readily?

Turning back to the room, I stood outside and observed Wanda. She seemed familiar, yet simultaneously like a stranger. I said gently, "It's chilly outside. Take the winter coat I gave you last year and don't forget the thermal undergarments."

She shook her head. "No, Luigi called earlier. He's already acquired everything I'll need."

"Now that we're separated, you should relinquish everything."

"I won't don the clothes you provided to meet Luigi."

"It wouldn't be respectful to him."

A bitter chuckle escaped my lips.

This was supposed to be about divorce, but it felt as though I was seeing her off on a journey.

From now on, someone else would care for and cherish her. So, why would she need an outsider to worry about her?

Before long, her packing was complete.

The large suitcase was filled to capacity, mostly with gifts she had carefully selected for Luigi.

After finishing, she opened her jewelry box and retrieved a string of yellowed pearl necklaces from the bottom.

She put it on, and it was as if her entire being illuminated.

I realized then that I had never seen her wear that necklace throughout our marriage.

There was no need to guess who had given it to her.

Our decades of matrimony had been tranquil. We seldom argued and treated each other with distant respect, as though we were guests in each other's lives.

I loved her deeply, wholeheartedly.

She loved me too, in her way, but I felt an invisible barrier between us.

Over the years, she maintained her silence and never displayed anything unusual. It wasn't until I saw the will that I understood the truth.

I finally knew that the invisible wall was Wanda's first love, Luigi Collins.

I vaguely recalled when I helped her out of her wedding gown on our wedding night, she wept.

I had assumed it was due to the bittersweet melancholy of a young bride.