At 75, I reached my breaking point.
At 75, I reached my breaking point. On our 50th wedding anniversary, my husband Donald didn’t just forget to congratulate me—he didn’t even come home for the special dinner I’d prepared. It was 9:30 p.m., and he was still nowhere to be found.
My anger was off the charts, and in that moment, I made a decision: I wanted a divorce.
I took my husband’s things and dumped them outside, ready to shock the life out of him when he finally showed up.
When he saw his stuff outside, he was stunned. “What are my things doing out on the lawn? Have you run mad, woman?”
“Mad?!” I shouted back. “You’re the one who must be mad! Do you have Alzheimer’s or amnesia? I’m kicking you out. I’m divorcing you!”
“Divorcing me?” Donald gasped, completely taken aback. “I’m seventy-eight years old, and you’re seventy-five, and you want a DIVORCE?”
“Yes!” I yelled, refusing to back down. “Do you think that just because I’m seventy-five, I’m no longer a woman? That you can take me for granted? Well, I won’t let you!”
What happened next completely flipped my perception of our marriage upside down.
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