The Obstacle to Happiness
Yvonne had parted ways with the man she once believed she would share her life with. They were called Oliver and Yvonne. For nearly two years, they had been together, even moving in under the same roof. But the longer they endured the routines of daily life, the clearer it became to Yvonne—no, she could not walk through life with this man. He grated on her very soul: his laziness, the mess in their flat, the endless excuses about work, lounging perpetually on the sofa with his phone in hand.
That evening, returning from an exhausting shift at the hospital, Yvonne resolved firmly—enough, it was time to end it. The flat, as always, was in disarray. Oliver, unshaven and in a stretched-out jumper, idly scrolled through his phone.
“Oliver, pack your things. We’re through,” she said, without a trace of doubt.
“Have you gone mad? What’s wrong now?” he exclaimed, leaping up from the sofa.
“Everything is wrong. I won’t carry you any longer. Leave.”
“You’ll regret this. Where am I supposed to go at this hour?”
“To your parents, or wherever. But you’re not staying here.”
He slammed the door, vowing she would regret it. But Yvonne didn’t waver. “Every door closed is a chance to open another,” someone’s words came to mind. She sank onto the sofa with relief, feeling lightness for the first time in ages.
Her parents, especially her mother, were pleased.
“Finally, you’ve thrown out that layabout. You’re twenty-seven—it’s time to think of settling down,” her mother, Margaret, admonished.
Yvonne understood well enough herself. She worked as a nurse in the trauma ward. It was no sanatorium or quiet clinic—every day brought patients in dire straits. Some nights, she could scarcely lift her arms from exhaustion, and at home awaited more obligations: supper, tidying, Oliver’s grievances.
After the breakup, life became simpler: a kebab from the corner shop, a shower, and sleep. No reproaches, no tantrums, no resentment.
A few months later, Thomas entered her life. He had brought his friend to the hospital after an accident and noticed Yvonne at once. Her gaze held him. He tried to speak to her but failed. The next morning, he waited outside the hospital until she appeared. Tall, fair-haired, with a kind smile—she liked him immediately.
From then, their relationship blossomed swiftly. He was thoughtful, honest, a good listener. He worked with his father in the haulage business, managing deliveries. He had both the time and the desire to be with her.
After a couple of months, Yvonne told her parents about Thomas. Margaret stiffened, her face tightening.
“Hello, come in,” she said coldly upon seeing him.
Over dinner, Yvonne’s father made conversation, but her mother was nearly silent. Thomas sensed the discomfort; Yvonne was bewildered.
Later, she learned the truth: Thomas’s mother was Alice, Margaret’s old school friend—the very one who had once stolen her sweetheart. Margaret had despised Alice ever since. Though she had married, borne Yvonne, she still believed her life might have been better. Now, faced with the son of the woman she resented, she could not hide her revulsion.
“It’s him or me,” Margaret declared.
But Yvonne chose love. She told Thomas everything. He merely shrugged.
“We aren’t to blame for our parents’ past. We live here and now.”
He confessed to his mother who Yvonne was. Alice only paused.
“You have your own lives. I bear no grudge. Live and be happy.”
They married. Both sets of parents attended the wedding but kept to opposite corners. Margaret never smiled the entire evening. Alice, on the other hand, was genuinely joyful.
Months passed. Yvonne and Thomas lived apart from both families, visiting each in turn. But between the parents, silence remained.
“Perhaps when a grandchild arrives, the ice will thaw,” Thomas said hopefully.
For now, they were happy together. And just recently, they learned that soon, the sound of a child’s laughter would fill their home.
