Lena sat frozen, gripping the back of the kitchen chair as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
“Remember how we promised honesty, Lena?” Mark’s voice was oddly serene. “I’ve fallen in love. With someone else. I’m sorry, but I’m leaving. She’s… the one. The kind you grow old with. She’s special, like—like stardust. This feeling… it’s real. Cosmic.”
His eyes had that dreamy, faraway look people get when they’ve convinced themselves they’re the hero of a romance novel. Lena, meanwhile, felt like she’d been slapped with a wet haddock.
“Are you having a laugh, Mark? ‘The one’? What am I, then? Chopped liver? Or did you forget we’ve got a two-year-old? A whole child! I’ve been home with her for eighteen months, and you—what, at thirty-five, you’ve suddenly sprouted wings and decided to float off into the sunset?”
Mark opened his mouth, then promptly fled to the bathroom with his phone—presumably to text the love of his life while pretending the real one didn’t exist.
That night, Lena sobbed into little Emily’s sleeping form. By morning, she’d hauled herself to her mother-in-law’s house, the baby bundled haphazardly in yesterday’s jumper.
“Lena, love, you’ve got to keep a firmer grip on your man,” Margaret tutted, eyeing Lena’s messy ponytail and wrinkled shirt like they were personal failings. “Honestly, walking about like a charity case—no wonder he wandered off. Men these days don’t wait around. Mark’s found his ‘soulmate,’ bless him. You’re hardly the first wife left behind. Bring Emily round if you need help. Who knows—maybe you’ll snag someone new.”
Lena walked home feeling hollow. Hope, illusions, daydreams—all dead and buried.
She wept for three days straight. Then, wiping her face, she did the sensible thing: filed for child support. And divorce. No more delusions. Let Mark have his precious freedom.
Margaret occasionally tossed her a token nappy pack or a fiver “for sweets,” always with the air of bestowing alms. Lena’s own mother, in Leeds, sent what she could, lamenting over the phone about life’s unfairness. Lena gritted her teeth and carried on.
A year later, Emily was in nursery, and Lena was back at work. The first few months were chaos—colds, coughs, sleepless nights—but gradually, life settled. There was something oddly peaceful about it. No lies, no waiting for a man who’d rather be elsewhere. Occasionally, she’d see exhausted dads at drop-off and think, *Thank God I’m doing this alone.*
Then, the call came.
“Lena!” Margaret chirruped. “Wonderful news! Mark’s going to be a father again!”
“How lovely. Wishing them all the best,” Lena muttered. And, to her surprise, she realised—it didn’t sting. At all.
A week later, another call. Hysterics this time.
“Oh, Lena! It’s awful! Mark’s been in a crash! His BMW’s scrap, and he’s in intensive care! They say he’ll never walk properly again—”
Lena went quiet. Pity, yes—he was still Emily’s father. But pity wasn’t a reason to dive back into that mess.
Two days later:
“Lena, you *must* take him in. Nurse him back to health! I’ll help where I can—”
“Must I? Why?”
“You were practically married! Just a bit of paperwork undone. And you’ve Emily! He *adores* her. He *loved* you—he just made a mistake!”
“A mistake?” Lena laughed. “Brilliant. Let the love of his life take care of him, then. I’m done.”
“She *left* him! Said she didn’t sign up for a cripple. One hospital visit and that was that—she’s even talking adoption for their baby!”
“Shame. Still not my problem. He walked out on us. Saw Emily *once*. Pays peanuts in support. Where was *his* duty then?”
“You’re *heartless*! I’ll tell Emily how you abandoned her father!”
“Go ahead. Start with how *he* left *us*. And where he was when she cried with ear infections. Truth doesn’t scare me.”
Margaret took Mark in. He survived, hobbling about with a cane. Then Lena bumped into an old friend—one who’d known them as a couple.
“Lena, you know Margaret’s telling everyone *you* left Mark while he was in a coma? That there *was* no other woman—you just divorced him in his sleep? That *you* keep Emily from him?”
Lena stared.
“And get this—they’re saying he crashed because he was *heartbroken* over you.”
Walking home, Lena felt numb. How could anyone spin lies like that? And worse—*believe* them?
Emily chattered beside her, swinging their clasped hands.
“Mummy, why’re you sad? Is it Nana? Daddy?”
Lena nodded, throat tight.
“Don’t worry.” Emily squeezed her hand. “I’ll be good enough for both of ’em. Love you *this* much.”
And just like that, Lena felt lighter, as if someone had lifted a sack of bricks off her shoulders. Let them talk. Let them lie. The truth was right here—small arms around her neck, eyes full of love.
*This* was happiness. Not fairy tales. Not grand promises. Just this—unshakable, unconditional. And that was enough.
