The Lament of Tristan & Gretchen (AKA, "I'm Gonna Tell Him")

I hated my wife. Her fire had gone out. Kids being little, sapping her energy... Normal, right? Mothers are tired, that's a well-known fact. But the kids got older, and... so did Gretchen.

Yes, I know, we all age. I mean: things didn't improve as the kids grew. She aged beyond her years. She... didn't bother anymore. About anything, really, beyond the kids. Certainly not me. Not her appearance.

She was running herself ragged. "How should I help?" I'd say, ever the supportive husband. "Tell me."

"Jesus, Tristan, do you need a list?!"

"Yes," I'd reply. "That'd help, actually."

"And where would that list come from, genius?"

I wasn't sure what to say to that. "Open your eyes, Tristan. I'm not your parent. You can see what needs doing as well as I can."

The woman I fell in love with took care of herself, ate right, went to the gym. Stylish. Gorgeous. Charismatic, outgoing. She walked into a room, heads turned. She batted away advances from men of all ages constantly.

But not me! Oh, I felt ten feet tall when she flirted back. When she agreed to be my wife. Sex was fantastic, the best ever. I was beyond happy to discover my baby was growing in her belly.

The woman she became was like an actual different person, one I'd never have looked at, let alone hitched myself to for life. Mouth drawn down, a scowl carved into her face, shapeless clothes.

I was itching to be single again. Okay, I'd aged, too. My gym membership lapsed. Gorgeous women weren't queueing up to fall at my feet. But I wanted the opportunity to get back out there. Thank God for no-fault divorces.

After several years married in a small town, our social circles overlapped. Understandable then, when I went to a wedding recently, there she was!

Not the haggardly nag I'd tolerated for years, but the stunner who turned heads at uni. Shiny hair, and an hourglass figure in a knockout dress. She owned the dancefloor. Her dazzling smile hardly left her face.

I nursed my scotch on the rocks with a twist of resentment. Why couldn't she be like that for me?

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Word count - 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and authors note.)

Submitted on Wednesday 18th September at 22:50

The story behind the story: It seems to be a thing that women often thrive after divorce, and apparently men to do less well without a partner. (This is curious, given that women are supposed to be the ones who want to get married, and must trick menfolk into it.) I was talking with a friend recently about the "married couples hating each other" trope, and we were spitballing ideas where this oddity came from. I mean, they must have started out loving each other, right?

I was looking for a name that meant "regret", and found Tristan, which apparently means "sorrow". "Gretchen" comes from "grete", which means "pearl" , symbolising "a precious treasure discovered through hardship and regret". I did minimal research on this, BTW. This is more effort than I usually put into names haha.

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