April 5th, 2023
Manchester
«Emily, what are you about?» Margaret’s voice trembled with outrage as she blocked the path to the wardrobe. «How can you abandon your husband over such nonsense?»
«I’m not abandoning him,» I replied, folding a jumper into the suitcase. My ribs ached, a dull throb to match the exhaustion. «I can’t keep living with Victor like this.»
«And the children? Have you thought about the children?» She pressed a hand to her chest, sinking onto the bed. «Margaret’s asking why her father doesn’t stay home. What am I supposed to tell her? That you’ve run off?»
«Tell the truth. That their parents don’t live together anymore.»
Margaret gasped, clutching her pearls. «Back in my day, women endured. We held our families together. And now—*you*—turning your back on duty at the first sign of trouble?»
I paused, a dress clutched in my hands. We’d had this argument too many times. Margaret’s world was filled with stoic endurance, a belief that marriage was a fortress even if the walls crumbled.
«First trouble? I would’ve stayed if it had been a mistake, a passing storm,» I said softly. «But this has lasted *ten years*.»
«Forty-two years I spent with your father,» she scoffed. «And *he* never—»
«Never what? Mama?» I snapped, cutting through her. «He drank, didn’t he? And when he did, he hit. Always, when he was angry or bored. Because he *could*.»
«No one would say he was a *brute*,» Margaret muttered. «A hard worker, a provider. You just don’t understand men.»
«Then explain why I still have a bruise on my jaw from last week. The one he gave me after the soup was too salty.» I reached up, letting my fingers trace the fading mark. «Or the time I woke up to a lamp cracked over my head because the telly was too loud.»
Margaret’s eyes flickered, then hardened. «You must be the diplomat, Emily. Men need guidance. You must be calmer, more patient.»
«Calmer? Patient?» I laughed, sharp and bitter. «I’ve been calm for ten years. Patient with his fists, with his sneers, with his late-night whiskeys. But today he placed a hand on Pete’s shoulder and told him, *look how hard work pays off,* while his knuckles were still red with your bruise.»
Margaret’s tone softened, but the regret was thin as tissue. «But for the children… They need a father.»
«They need a father who doesn’t terrify them,» I said, sitting beside her. «When Victor’s in one of his moods, the twins hide under their beds. Do you think that’s *normal*?»
«Children adapt. They’ll understand.»
«Understand what? That their father hurts their mother? That it’s *normal* to tolerate violence?»
«Because it is. A family is a unit. You must compromise.»
I stood, grabbing a scarf. «What about my happiness? The children’s? Or is that less important than keeping the doors closed to neighbors?»
«Where are you going?» Margaret hissed. «To Tamsin’s? That *divorced* woman? She’s the one who’s poisoned your mind!»
«Tamsin’s happy. She raises her child alone and paints landscapes in the mornings. Or is that beneath you, a proper family?»
«Tamsin’s not you!» Margaret barked. «A woman alone is like a ship without a mast. Who will marry you now? You’re thirty-five!»
«Thirty-five or thirty, the truth is the same,» I said slowly. «I’m leaving. For the children. For me.»
«Emily, *stop*!» She lunged for my wrist. «Think of what people will say. A woman without a husband—what will they call you?»
I wrenched free, my voice steady. «A mother. A woman. Someone who’s *finally* free.»
Later, as the twins packed their toys, Margaret’s voice had turned brittle. «When you’re alone, sitting in that small flat with no man to hold your hand, don’t come crawling back to me.»
But I’d already seen the truth in her eyes—that of a woman who’d spent her life pretending, fearing the silence of a life unlived.
As the taxi pulled up, Pete tugged my sleeve. «Mum, will you and Dad live like this forever?»
I knelt, brushing his hair back. «No, love. We’re going to start fresh. With peace.»
«Will Dad visit?»
«He’ll visit. But not as our home.»
Margaret stood in the doorway, a statue of indignation. «And when you’ve nothing left but loneliness, don’t blame me for your poor choices.»
«Never,» I said, and shut the door.
The taxi rolled forward, carrying us toward a world Margaret would never understand. But in my pocket, a note from Tamsin waited: *This is how you begin anew, Em. Let me show you.*
The rain began to fall. Manchester’s gray skies mirrored my thoughts, yet this time, I didn’t flinch. I’d made my choice. And for the first time in ten years, I believed it was the right one.
