Margaret’s Story: Flowers at the Courthouse
Tadeusz was finishing medical school at the time, they had met on their university campus through mutual friends and just never stopped spending time together, until finally they got married, bought an apartment, and embarked on a conjoined voyage on a cobblestone street in Krakow. Of course, looking back there were red flags she ignored, he had no desire to have children and she assumed he would change his mind or that maybe she would change hers, and his close relationship with his mother who had never taken favour to Margaret, that she found odd for an adult man. His immaturity often embarrassed her, it was at a serious dinner mid-political debate that he had rocked her chair back and forth in a failed attempt at comedy. But he was a doctor with a bright career ahead of him, and they loved each other, so she was willing to overlook all the nagging incongruences that remained locked in her subconscious for the sake of a happy marriage, which everyone treated as her greatest accolade.
In the bathroom the iridescent pink lipstick uncoiled between her fingers, and she gazed down at its pretty shimmer, remembering how only a few months ago she could barely heave her fatigued body out of bed let alone apply makeup, a ritual her past self indulged in daily. It was her friend who broke the news that crumbled the world around her. Her husband Tadeusz, the doctor, had been having an affair for months with another married attending at the hospital, and all of Krakow had been gossiping about it.
Margaret had turned pale, almost see-through when the words began to compute, understanding that the apparent love of her life betrayed her over and over, that their mutual friends all knew and had been pretending to her face, that he lacked the decency to tell her himself, and that not one, but two marriages were on the precipice of untimely demise. The nausea filled her body, forcing her into bed for days, curtains drawn, not wanting to see or speak to anyone, believing her life to be over when it had barely just begun. He finally admitted to it when she prompted, and in horror listened to him recount the affair that began and continued in breaks during their hospital night shifts. She never suspected unfaithfulness, not with his intensely packed schedule, yet he had found a way to astonish her after all this time together.
His words were increasingly ear-piercing to Margaret, who felt the urge to wrap both hands around his throat and squeeze until they would stop coming out. But she sat frozen on her chair and obediently listened while he continued, divulging that the other woman was a doctor, too, that she was married, and finally that he loved them both and didn’t know what to do. It felt like a sucker punch to her stomach, like internal bleeding she would never be able to recover from, like he had tripped her into a dreadful fall and never even offered her a hand. It didn’t seem apologetic so much as it did a dilemma that he expected to be advised on from the wife he had claimed to love, then left in the dark and betrayed. The entire tightknit medical community, that they were both a part of, knew about it before she did; her cheeks became increasingly flushed in perpetual humiliation with every unearthed detail.
Margaret went back and forth digesting the situation, one moment thinking the marriage could be salvaged, that she could forgive him and give it another chance, the next moment shifting to embarrassment and hatred. Thinking of him in flux between her and the other woman, as if she was just another one of his options instead of the person he had vowed to love for the rest of their lives, she felt discarded like an old childhood doll outgrown and thrown into a donation pile. On a train ride back from Warsaw with her uncle one weekend, after spending her entire stay grappling with the decision in her head and out loud to her aunt and uncle, in desperation she asked for his advice. Her uncle had never been a man who involved himself in emotional matters, usually remaining cold and distant, but perhaps the agony on her face could be plainly read or perhaps he simply wanted her to stop talking about it. “Listen to me, Margaret,” he said sitting across from her in their coach, “there are only two options out of this situation – you can either find it in yourself to forgive him and move on, continue the marriage as you were, or if you cannot, you have to get a divorce,” Margaret’s eyes widened having the opposing choices so matter-of-factly laid out before her. “But it’s a question only you can answer for yourself,” her uncle concluded his rare moment of guidance and returned to reading his newspaper as though his words hadn’t spurred a tsunami of conflicting emotions in his niece.
She mulled over the idea of forgiveness in her head, imagining herself remaining Tadeusz’s wife, kissing him goodbye as he left for work in the mornings, alone racked with doubt and fear that he would do it all over again every time he stepped out of eyesight. A few days later, the lawyer that her mother’s friend had connected her with walked the divorce papers she had filed over to Tadeusz who found it difficult to comprehend that she was electing to end their marriage before he had decided for himself. He first thought it was a desperate attempt for revenge, maybe to exploit him for all his monetary savings, the assets that were mainly his, yet the papers were devoid of any asks, rather only asking for the end of a marriage. He begged to see her for an explanation, and when she reluctantly sat down with him in a café, asked again and again, “But why?” and “Is this really necessary?” under the impression that she would always be there awaiting his return if he so decided. She told him there was no need for the back and forth that was clearly plaguing his mind, and she had resolved the predicament for him in setting him free. The court date was scheduled for early May and fell on the first truly beautiful spring day, in late afternoon.
The day before, standing in the bedroom they had once shared, before her open closet doors, the racks felt empty now only housing her own dresses and skirts, tops and trousers, and she smiled at the space she no longer had to fight over to keep. Their hanging photographs taken down and put into boxes, made the walls feel empty, like a blank canvas looking for a new coat of paint. She had clocked the blouse in her closet after almost forgetting it was one of her possessions, having worn it rarely and on special occasions, the bright yellow, red, and blue florals sticking out more than she would normally want to. Something shifted within her then, taking the blouse before she could change her mind, along with a black skirt and her best black leather shoes. She would walk into court tomorrow a colourful flare, a neutral calm expression on her face, shoulders thrown back to show not only him, but herself and everyone else, what she was capable of. He hadn’t ruined her; she wouldn’t allow that.
On the court date, in the bathroom of the physiotherapy clinic, a little after 5pm, Margaret swiped her eyeshadow over her lids, put on her mascara and lipstick with heightened precision, wanting to look the best she had in weeks. She slid her arms into the sleeves of her floral blouse, letting the silky cool fabric settle on her skin. The sensation pushed her out of her refuge with a wide, certain stride to the inspections of her coworkers’ prying eyes, that to her seemed just buzzing background noise as she marched in her own direction.
Margaret emanated radiance in her floral blouse and eye makeup that brightened her once overcast blue eyes, as she threw her shoulders back as planned and floated into the courtroom with the newfound confidence, she had mustered in the mirror moments prior. She was emotionless yet level-headed during court proceedings, stating to the judge the reason and fault for the divorce. There was no doubt that the fault was Tadeusz’s, the judge granting the divorce order. She held the felt-tip pen and firmly signed her name on the dotted line, solidifying her future. And that was it, a six-year marriage voided with a piece of paper. The beast that had been constricting her chest for the past few months, suddenly dissipated, perhaps to find his next victim or perhaps satisfied with the verdict.
Margaret decided she would rebuild her life that had been dismantled but not destroyed, piece by piece until it would be impossible for Tadeusz to fit into, let alone to recognize the woman he had married. That feeling of worthlessness that she had almost accepted would stay with her forever, was something she would never again have space to hold in any regard. She opened the heavy doors of the courthouse and stepped outside into the orange setting sunlight that played atop her skin and bounced off the flowers on her chest, rising to inhale tall breaths of air. There was no applause, no congratulations, no confetti thrown her way to celebrate her triumph, not even a friend to hug, as she had declined all offers of accompaniment for moral support; this was something she did all on her own. Now a proud thirty-year-old divorcee, Margaret skipped down the street, her blouse rippling in the wind, pedestrians turning to look at the young, saturated woman prancing in the street with the abandon of a fledgling bird, a blur of remarkable technicolour.
kasia halawa