Mother shrieked, “You’ve betrayed me!” while Father simply vanished.
Emma slept deeply, the darkness broken only by the shrill ring of the telephone. She grabbed the receiver, her heart already pounding.
“Emma!” Her mother’s voice quivered, raw with despair. “Come now! Immediately!”
“Mum, what’s happened?” Emma jolted awake, dread clawing at her. “Another row with Dad? You’ve been at each other’s throats for years—sort it out yourselves!”
“There’s nothing left to sort!” Her mother’s voice cracked. “Your father’s gone!”
“Mum… is Dad…?” Emma froze, her blood turning to ice.
“Just come! See for yourself!” her mother snapped. “Not over the phone!”
“See what?” Emma’s voice rose in confusion.
“Come!” The line went dead.
Shaking, Emma began packing. She raced to her parents’ home in the outskirts of Manchester, unable to imagine what awaited her.
The house had never known peace. Her mother, Margaret Louise, was a storm in human form, while her father, Charles William, bore it all in silence, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. The fights began when Emma was still in school—small at first, then daily. Margaret’s voice carried through their terraced house, drawing pitying glances from neighbours. “Poor man,” they’d murmur, shaking their heads. No one asked how Emma felt, trapped in that tempest.
Outwardly, they were respectable—Father a lecturer at the university, Mother a housewife. But respectability was a thin veneer. Margaret ruled with an iron grip, her commands sharp as knives. Even the cleaner, hired to ease tensions, gave up, driven out by Margaret’s relentless tongue.
Emma dreamed of escape. University in London was her salvation. She visited sparingly, each trip stained with fresh arguments.
At Emma’s wedding, Margaret outdid herself. She interrupted Charles’ toast, sneering, “Let me—he’ll only muck it up!” The guests shifted uncomfortably while Emma burned with shame.
Afterward, Charles secretly gifted her a flat in London. “Not a word to your mother,” he warned. Emma kept the secret, confiding only in her husband, Thomas. “Blimey,” he laughed. “Hope we don’t end up with secrets like that.” “We won’t,” Emma smiled. “I take after Dad—no patience for endless rows.”
Now, as she drove to her parents’, the past weighed heavy. She braced for Margaret’s fury, for Charles’ weary gaze. But what greeted her was worse.
Margaret wrenched open the door, keening, “I gave him everything—my youth, my life! And this is his thanks?”
“Mum, where’s Dad?” Emma gripped her shoulders.
“Gone! Slipped out in the night!” Margaret’s tears came in ugly waves.
“How?” The floor seemed to tilt beneath Emma.
“Went to bed—woke up, and he’d vanished! Took his things and left!”
“Did you call him?”
“Of course! He won’t answer me!”
Emma dialled her father’s number. He picked up instantly, his voice eerily calm. “I know why you’re calling. I’ve earned a life without your mother. I’m at a mate’s cottage. If you need me, ring.”
“Dad, where are you?” Emma whispered, feeling Margaret’s glare.
“Somewhere quiet. We’ll talk later. Promise?”
“Promise.”
“What did he say?” Margaret hissed. “That traitor!”
“Mum, enough! He’s not a traitor. He’s tired of the fighting.”
“He told you that?”
“No. I’m telling you. He’s at a friend’s. He’ll come back.”
He never did. Margaret hunted him down, pounded on the cottage door, screamed until her voice gave out. She rang until his phone died. Convinced herself there was another woman—then wept harder when she found none. “How dare he leave me for nothing?” she wailed. “Am I nothing?”
One day, Emma snapped. “Mum, he doesn’t want your forgiveness. He’s not divorcing you, he’s still sending money, he’s not making demands. He just wants peace.”
“*He* wants peace?” Margaret shrieked. “*I* was the one who suffered!”
Then she crumpled, sobbing—broken, frail. For the first time, Emma saw defeat in her eyes.
The end came bitterly. Two years later, Charles passed. His mate delivered his last words: “Bury me alone.” Margaret laughed, a sound like shattered glass. A year after that, she took to her bed. Emma nursed her until the end.
In her final days, Margaret whispered, “I had everything… I just didn’t know it.”
Now, Emma visits the cemetery often. The graves are silent. Too late, they found their peace.
