I lost him.
“Where are you going dressed like that? Do you have a lover I don’t know about?”
But after nearly thirty years together, his death left a silence I wasn’t prepared for.
For three years, I refused to date.
Part of me still mourned him. Another part was terrified of spending the rest of my life alone.
Then I met Kurt at work.
He was thirty-two.
Do you have a lover?
At first, I assumed he was just being friendly.
He brought me coffee, waited after late shifts, and remembered little things.
“You don’t have to keep doing this.”
“I know,” he smiled. “I want to.”
He never made me feel embarrassed about our age difference.
He was thirty-two.
When he asked me to dinner, I almost said no.
But I didn’t.
A year later, Kurt booked a table at an expensive restaurant for our anniversary.
There were candles, live music, and my favorite flowers waiting beside my plate.
I felt happier than I had in years.
I almost said no.
Then, after dessert, Kurt’s expression changed. “I need to show you something.”
He reached into his jacket and placed a watch on the table.
I stopped breathing.
I knew every scratch on it.
It belonged to Christoph.
I need to show you something.
“Kurt… where did you get this?”
He looked straight at me. “There’s something I should have told you the day we met.”
But before I tell you what he confessed, you need to understand what my marriage to Christoph had been like.
***
My marriage hadn’t always been ugly.
A huge part of our marriage had revolved around the business we built together.
It belonged to Christoph.
“We built this company together,” I once reminded Christoph.
“I built it.”
“I worked beside you for years.”
“And I paid you.”
“Far less than my work was worth.”
My marriage hadn’t always been ugly.
“What do you need more money for?” he asked. “I pay for everything.”
And technically, he did.
I told myself that should be enough, but I still hated having to justify what I spent.
Money wasn’t the only thing Christoph had opinions about.
Even in my forties and at fifty, I took care of myself and liked looking good.
I worked beside you for years.
In the early years, Christoph had loved that about me.
“Every man in this room is jealous of me,” he once whispered at a party.
Years later, the same dress would have started an argument.
“Why are you wearing that?”
“Because I like it.”
Money wasn’t the only thing.
“For whom?”
“For myself, Christoph.”
He would laugh like that answer was ridiculous.
What made it harder was that Christoph didn’t treat everyone that way.
When it came to our daughter, Laura, control seemed to disappear completely.
Every man in this room is jealous of me.
Christoph bought her a car, helped with her apartment, funded trips and rescued every failed idea.
“She needs to learn how money works,” I once told him.
“She’s our daughter.”
“She’s twenty-six.”
“Why should she struggle if she doesn’t have to?”
Control seemed to disappear completely.
It frustrated me, but I told myself it was simply a father loving his daughter.
I loved him, and after nearly thirty years together, keeping the peace had become easier than challenging him.
After he died, Laura inherited a large amount of money, her apartment, and her car.
I got our house and control of the company.
For a while, I thought that would be enough for both of us.
She needs to learn how money works.
Then Laura started traveling, investing in questionable projects, and spending as if the money would never run out.
Eventually, it did.
“I just need twenty thousand.”
“What happened to the last twenty?”
“That investment fell through.”
That would be enough for both of us.
“And the one before that?”
Laura sighed. “Mom.”
“Trips, investments, another twenty thousand. At some point, this has to stop.”
