The mother screamed, “You betrayed me!” while the father simply vanished.
Emily was deep in sleep when the silence was shattered by the piercing ring of the telephone. She fumbled for the receiver, her heart already pounding in her chest.
“Emily!” Her mother’s voice trembled with desperation. “Come home! Now!”
“Mum, what’s happened?” Emily was fully awake now, struggling to steady her nerves. “Did you and Dad argue again? You’ve been like this forever—sort it out yourselves!”
“There’s no one to sort it out with!” her mother cried, her voice breaking. “You don’t have a father anymore!”
“Mum… Is Dad gone?” Emily froze, a chill running down her spine.
“Come and see for yourself!” her mother snapped. “This isn’t something to discuss over the phone!”
“See what?” Emily’s voice rose in confusion.
“Just come!” The line went dead.
Shaking, Emily began packing. She raced to her childhood home in the outskirts of Manchester, dreading what she might find.
“Emily! Come home!” Her mother’s voice had sounded like a warning bell.
“What now?” Emily muttered drowsily, rubbing her eyes.
“What now?! I’m falling apart, and she asks questions!” Her mother was nearly sobbing.
“Mum, it’s Saturday, seven in the morning,” Emily tried to sound calm, though unease gnawed at her. “I have plans, the kids, James. Explain properly, or I’m not coming.”
“You won’t come?” Her mother gasped in outrage. “You don’t care about me! You don’t care that I’m heartbroken!”
“Mum, you and Dad have fought your whole lives,” Emily cut in. “I’m tired of being your referee.”
“You don’t have a father anymore!” her mother shrieked before the line went silent again.
“What’s going on?” James grumbled, turning over in bed.
“Something serious, I think,” Emily whispered, her mother’s words echoing in her ears. “I have to go.”
“They’re impossible!” James burst out. “Does your mother not realise you have your own family?”
“James, don’t start. You don’t choose your parents,” Emily sighed. “I have to go. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to handle the kids alone.”
“Like I haven’t before,” he muttered. “Tell your mother—if she calls like this again, I’m filing for divorce.”
Emily raised an eyebrow.
“Seriously?”
“No, of course not,” James smirked. “But she deserves the scare. Maybe it’ll sink in.”
“It won’t,” Emily shook her head and began packing.
For as long as Emily could remember, there had never been peace in her parents’ home. Her mother, Margaret, was always shouting, while her father, Henry, would stand silently, his lips pressed into a thin line. He never reacted to her outbursts, but Emily knew—inside, he was seething.
The arguments had begun when Emily was still at school—first occasional, then daily. Her mother’s voice, loud as a foghorn, carried so the whole neighbourhood could hear. Even the elderly neighbours sitting outside would shake their heads and mutter, “How does he put up with her? Poor chap.”
No one ever asked how Emily felt, growing up in that chaos. From the outside, the family seemed well-off—her father was a university professor, earning comfortably, while her mother stayed home, tending to house and child. But “tending” was a generous word. Margaret ruled over everyone: her husband, Emily, even the cleaner Henry hired, hoping it might ease the tension. It didn’t.
Her mother’s tirades never stopped, even in front of others. To Margaret, Emily was just part of the furniture—her feelings irrelevant. The girl dreamed of one day escaping, and she did. She went to university in London, left their small town, and rarely visited, knowing each trip would be marred by another row.
Once, Emily overheard her father snap, “What more do you want, Margaret? The moon on a platter?” Her mother had been stunned—he’d dared interrupt!—but then she laughed and, for a moment, fell quiet. It didn’t last.
At Emily’s wedding, her mother outdid herself—tugging at Henry, correcting him, even cutting him off when he tried to make a toast. “I’ll do it myself!” Margaret announced. “He can’t be trusted with anything important!” The guests exchanged glances, and Emily burned with humiliation.
After the wedding, Henry secretly gave Emily a flat in London, warning her never to tell her mother. She kept the secret, confiding only in James. “Blimey,” he said. “Hope we don’t end up with secrets like that.” “We won’t,” Emily smiled. “I take after Dad—I can’t stand shouting.”
The memories rushed back as Emily drove to her parents’ house. She braced herself for her mother’s complaints, imagining her father’s weary eyes. But what she found was worse.
Her mother flung open the door, wailing, “I gave him everything—my youth, my life! And this is how he repays me!”
“Mum, what’s happened to Dad?” Emily grasped her shoulders.
“Your father’s run off!” Margaret sobbed, tears streaming.
“Run off?” Emily felt the ground tilt beneath her.
“Went to bed last night, gone this morning! Took some of his things and left!”
“Have you called him?”
“Of course! He won’t answer! You try—he won’t speak to me!”
Emily dialled her father’s number. He answered at once, his voice eerily calm. “I know what you want to ask. I’ve earned the right never to see your mother again. I’m at a friend’s cottage. If you need me—I’m here. For you.”
“Dad, where are you?” Emily asked, feeling her mother’s glare.
“At the cottage. Staying here for now. We’ll see after. Understood?”
“Understood,” Emily whispered.
“What did he say?” her mother shrieked. “What did that traitor tell you?”
“Mum, enough! Dad’s not a traitor. He’s just tired of the fighting.”
“Did he say that?”
“No, I’m saying it. He’s at a friend’s cottage. He’ll come back, don’t worry.”
But he didn’t return. Margaret tracked down the cottage, hammered on the door, screamed—but no one answered. She rang Henry’s phone endlessly, getting no reply. She even convinced herself there must be another woman. When she found nothing, her outrage only grew. “How dare he leave me like this? Am I nothing to him?” she sobbed to Emily.
One day, Emily snapped. “Mum, he doesn’t need your forgiveness. He’s not divorcing you, he’s left you his pension, he’s made no demands—he just wants peace. He’s had enough.”
“Had enough?” Margaret screeched. “I’m the one who’s suffered!”
And then she wept—broken, helpless. For the first time, Emily saw her mother truly defeated.
The end was tragic. Two years later, Henry passed away. His friend gave Emily his last words: “Bury me alone.” When Margaret heard, she laughed bitterly. A year later, she fell ill. Emily cared for her until the end. A week before her death, her mother whispered, “I had everything… I just didn’t see it.”
Now Emily often visits the cemetery. Where her parents rest, there is finally silence. Too late, they found their peace.
Some hearts only learn kindness when it’s gone forever.
