He met her a few months after his separation from his former wife. Her situation, to a remarkable extent, mirrored his own—she too had lived through a marriage that ended in separation and failed to bring her happiness. In that moment, he felt as though life had gifted him something precious through meeting her—a gift that reset his heartbeat to the rhythm of love and tuned it to the waves of passion.

She, too, saw in him a beautiful fate sent to make up for the years of misery and suffering she had endured in a toxic relationship—one that had left her with wounds, pain, and deep scars etched into her heart and soul.

Before they met, they were like two weary birds with broken wings.
Then came the spark of love—granting them wings with which they could soar through skies of dreams and longing.
Still, despite the flutter in their hearts, both were cautious not to dive blindly into a sea of emotions like reckless teenagers, swept away by sweet words and impulses. This time, they chose to listen to reason.
They entered the relationship with care, each wary of repeating past heartbreaks.
As the saying goes: “Once bitten by milk, he blows on yogurt.”

He treated her like a gem, a pearl he feared might break if mishandled—and she, too, was afraid of losing the feeling of safety and peace that enveloped her whenever she spoke to him, gazing into his eyes.
In him, she saw a friend, a safe haven, someone to whom she could pour out her heart without fear of anger, judgement, or dismissal.
He would listen to her for hours as she spoke of the pain, injustice, betrayal, and verbal and physical abuse she endured in her former marriage.
And often, as she recounted those memories, she would contrast their bitterness with the sweetness of her days with him.

Her talk of her ex-husband never bothered or angered him—
On the contrary, he was happy she felt comfortable enough to open up about it.
To him, that was proof he had earned her trust and had become a source of calm for her.
He had come to peace with her past. He knew that when you love someone, you don’t get to love only parts of them while rejecting the rest.
He understood that her wounds were still bleeding, and time would be the only remedy.
How could he not? He too had lived through a painful experience.
He knew that even when wounds heal, they leave scars that remind us every now and then.

She admired his grace and often described him as a gentleman.
Every time he dropped her off at her home, he would wait in his car outside the building until she went in, turned on the light, and waved to him from the window—a sign that she was safe and sound.
She deeply appreciated that gesture.
She used to say: “All those years of engagement with my ex-husband, he never waited for me at the door like you do. He always drove off the moment I got out of the car.”

One day, she invited him for lunch at her place. After they finished eating, he got up to help her carry the dishes to the kitchen.
She looked at him and smiled: “So many years I lived with my ex-husband… I don’t recall him ever carrying even a glass to the kitchen.”

On their first Valentine’s Day together, he bought her a bouquet of red roses.
She was overjoyed, hugged him tightly, and suddenly tears welled up in her eyes:
“I lived through many Valentine’s Days with my ex—
and not once did he ever buy me a single rose.”

One evening, while they were having dinner together at a city restaurant, she noticed he was quieter than usual—distracted, distant.
There was a glint of sadness in his eyes she hadn’t seen before.
Concerned, she asked:
“What’s wrong?”

He told her he had visited his baby son earlier that day at his ex-wife’s house.
Each time he saw the child, he experienced strange, mixed emotions.
Perhaps it was simply a feeling of responsibility towards this little being—innocent of the poor choices made by the adults in his life.

She asked:
“But you seem different today… Is there something else bothering you? Did your ex say something that upset you?”

He replied 😯:
“No, not at all. After she opened the door, she went back to the living room where she was having coffee with her sister. I went directly to the child’s room, played with him a bit, and when he fell asleep in my arms, I gently placed him in his bed and prepared to leave.”

He paused, then added:
“Ah, right. I remembered—when I was leaving, I ran into her sister at the door. It was a bit awkward since it was the first time I’d seen her since the divorce. She was used to seeing us together, and now… it’s different.”

He paused again and said:
“Strange, how life changes us from one state to another. Not long ago, she was my wife—she carried my name. We were a family, sharing life together.
But now… we’ve become two separate beings, each walking their own path.
If we meet again, it will be as strangers.”

His words stirred something in her. Her face turned red with anger. She couldn’t hold back and snapped at him 😡:

“It’s clear that you’re still thinking about her—that you haven’t moved on.
If you still long for her, go back!
Go back to her, to your child, to your old life!”

He answered, startled 😯:
“But I don’t want to go back to her.
What I felt today was just a human emotion, and I only shared it with you because I wanted to be honest.”

She replied, still in tears and fury:
“If you still remember her and get emotional when you talk about her,
then she still owns part of your heart.
I just don’t understand—why did you start another relationship if you hadn’t moved on?
Didn’t you think about me?
Don’t my feelings matter to you?”

He looked at her, puzzled by her reaction—how she twisted his words, interpreting them through the lens of her own fears and doubts, ignoring objectivity, fairness, and reason.
When he saw the flames of anger in her eyes, and her relentless accusations,
he no longer had the will to argue, explain, or defend his feelings.
He stood up, left their table, and ended the relationship on the spot.

For what’s worse than double standards in a relationship—
is when someone permits themselves what they deny to others,
and what’s even harder,
is to be accused of a crime
that the accuser themselves has committed
many times before.