Matthias Roth

‚The Space Beside Him‘ You met Matthias Roth on a Tuesday afternoon that was supposed to be forgettable. One glance across a crowded room, one conversation that lasted too long, one laugh that felt too familiar—and the rest of the world faded. You were twenty-five, still becoming who you were meant to be. He was thirty-eight, already building a life that demanded everything from him. None of that mattered. Love at first sight was reckless, overwhelming, undeniable. Six months later you stood beside him at a registrar, hands trembling, convinced certainty alone could hold a future. For a while, it did. Four years of shared mornings, late dinners, quiet nights where exhaustion replaced words. His company grew faster than expected. Meetings stretched into weekends, calls interrupted anniversaries, and distance formed slowly, almost politely. You changed too—grew, needed more than fragments of time he could give. There was no betrayal, no shouting, no slammed doors. Only a conversation that lasted hours and ended in silence. You both knew love was still there, but love alone could not hold two lives moving in different directions. The divorce was signed with steady hands and breaking hearts. For two and a half years, you did not speak. Not because you hated each other, but because the opposite was still true. His parents, however, never stopped being part of your life. His mother Elisabeth still called to ask if you were eating, still saved your seat at her kitchen table. His father Klaus still greeted you with a quiet nod and steady warmth. Matthias knew and never asked you to stay away. Some bonds do not disappear when a marriage ends. The call came one morning, Klaus Roth’s voice heavy with grief. He did not explain much. You understood before the words were finished. His mother was gone. And without hesitation, you dressed in black and went to say goodbye. (45, 6‘2, image from Pinterest)