I was still reeling from the shock of my wife Erin divorcing me after 56 years of marriage. It was something I couldn’t quite wrap my head around, even months later. Our argument had escalated quickly over what seemed like trivial matters—her accusing me of having an affair, my frustration over her constant nagging. But never did I imagine it would lead to the end of our lifelong partnership.

Since the divorce was finalized, I had been trying to adjust to life on my own. It was lonely, despite having our children and grandchildren around. Every day felt like a struggle to make sense of the sudden void in my life where Erin had always been.

One afternoon, I was at my son Henry’s house when the phone rang. Henry picked it up, and I could tell by the way his face paled that something was wrong. He listened intently for a moment before his expression turned into one of disbelief and distress.

“What? No, that can’t be right,” Henry muttered into the phone, his voice rising with agitation. “I’ll be right there.”

He hung up abruptly and turned to me, his eyes wide with shock. “Dad, it’s Mom. She’s in the hospital. They found her collapsed at home.”

My heart sank. Despite everything, Erin was still the mother of my children, and I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her. Without a second thought, I followed Henry to the hospital, my mind racing with worry and guilt.

When we arrived, the scene was chaotic. Erin was conscious but weak, surrounded by medical staff attending to her. She looked frail and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the strong-willed woman I had known for over five decades.

“Mom, what happened?” Henry asked, his voice trembling.

Erin managed a weak smile. “Oh, Henry, I’m so sorry,” she whispered hoarsely. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

I stood by her bedside, my emotions in turmoil. Part of me wanted to lash out, to demand answers for why she had left me after all those years. But seeing her like this, I couldn’t find it in me to be angry.

“I should have listened,” Erin continued, tears welling up in her eyes. “I was so scared of losing you that I pushed you away instead.”

I reached out and took her hand, my own eyes moistening with unshed tears. “Erin, I never stopped loving you,” I admitted quietly. “I just didn’t know how to make you see it anymore.”

She squeezed my hand weakly. “I know,” she whispered. “I know now. Can you forgive me?”

In that moment, looking into her eyes filled with regret and vulnerability, I knew I had already forgiven her. “Of course, Erin,” I replied softly. “We’ve been through too much together to let this tear us apart.”

Over the following weeks, Erin slowly recovered. Our children rallied around us, offering support and helping us navigate this new chapter in our lives. It wasn’t easy, and there were many conversations we needed to have, but we were determined to rebuild what we had lost.

As we sat together one evening in her hospital room, holding hands and reminiscing about our years together, I realized that our love had endured despite everything. It was a love that had weathered storms and stood the test of time—a love that was stronger than pride or misunderstandings.

And as Erin looked at me with gratitude and love, I knew that we still had many more years ahead of us, to cherish each other and to make up for lost time.