On a gloomy evening while sorting through boxes in her parents’ house, Emily stumbled upon a conversation that turned her life upside down. She was in her old bedroom when her mum’s anxious voice drifted in from the kitchen:
“Emily, love, why not go back to him? You just packed up and left—was that really necessary?”
“Mum, I told you, it’s temporary,” Emily sighed. “The tenants will be out of Grandad’s flat in Manchester soon, and I’ll move there. I don’t want to be in your way.”
“In my way? Emily!” Her mum’s voice trembled. “You and James had a good life. He didn’t drink, didn’t run about—what more could you want? You need to compromise, love. You’ve been together years!”
Emily gave a bitter smile, watching the drizzle outside. A storm was brewing inside her. How could she explain that her marriage had felt like living under a microscope?
“You don’t know how it was, Mum,” she began, voice shaking. “Do you close your curtains at night? Is it just you and Dad in your bedroom, or half the street? If you want something private, does the whole neighbourhood know? No? Well, that’s exactly how it was for me! Like living in a fishbowl—every step, every breath, on display. I wouldn’t be surprised if they all knew what colour my knickers were or—” She broke off. “—what James and I got up to at night. And you think that’s normal?”
Her mum was silent, stunned. Emily couldn’t stop now.
“And guess who told the whole neighbourhood? My husband! The one I left and won’t go back to. He can’t keep his mouth shut! I’d say, ‘James, this is just between us,’ and an hour later, everyone knew. He’d blink and say, ‘What’s the harm? I only told a couple of mates!'” Emily clenched her fists. “The last straw was when he threw a fit because I said enough—shouting that his mum ‘just cared,’ that it was normal in their family. Tell me, why does his mum need to know what day we’re trying for a baby?”
Her mum gasped, hand over her mouth.
“Oh yes, Mum, that happened!” Emily nearly shouted. “His mum rang me asking how it went, fretting over grandkids. She even went to some herbalist and got James to slip herbs into my tea! That was it. I couldn’t live like that anymore. Walking down the street, people grinning like they knew what we’d done the night before. His mum calling to ask if I’d—well, you know—afterwards. I was losing my mind!”
Emily fell silent, breathing hard. Her mum stared, horrified.
“And surprises?” Emily said quieter. “Impossible. He’d blab every time. Buy me a gift, and I’d already know from the neighbour weeks before. He’s lovely, sure—hardworking, doesn’t drink. But that mouth of his… I can’t, Mum.”
Her dad, usually quiet, suddenly cut in:
“Enough, love. Leave the lass be! If she says she can’t, she can’t. Who’ll stand by her if not us? Stay as long as you need, pet.”
He turned to Emily, softer now:
“Knew a bloke like your James once. Worked with him on the docks—we called him Chatterbox. Couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. Said it ran in the family, his dad was worse. Might’ve been lying. But living with that? Torture.”
Emily nodded gratefully and went to her room. She loved the cosy little flat she’d made for herself, full of warmth. But living with James—whose chatter stripped away all privacy—was unbearable.
A knock. Her mum stepped in, twisting her apron.
“Emily… are you really filing for divorce?”
“Need time to think, Mum,” Emily sighed. “But probably, yes. He won’t change.”
“But what if he does?” her mum pressed.
“He won’t,” Emily said flatly. “You think this is easy for me?”
Her mum left. Emily lay on the bed and let the tears come. She never thought her marriage to James—charming, steady, kind on the surface—would end like this. Even before the wedding, there were signs. A weekend at his parents’ cottage, and suddenly all the village women smiled at her, calling her “love” and “pet.” His mum once said modern girls were “fast,” but Emily was “good, pure.” Years later, in an argument, his mum let slip she’d known Emily was a virgin before the wedding.
“You told your mum?!” Emily had screamed.
“So what? She was happy for us!” James had said, baffled.
That was the breaking point. She couldn’t take it anymore.
Three months later, Emily moved across Manchester for a fresh start. She didn’t expect to see James at her doorstep.
“Hi, Em,” he mumbled, shifting awkwardly.
“Hi,” she said coldly.
“Can we talk?”
“You got a recorder on?” she scoffed. “So you can repeat every word later?”
James flushed.
“I came to say sorry. I get it now, Em. I’ve been an idiot. I miss you. I’ll change.”
“I miss you too,” she admitted, then added, “But you chose this. If you can’t keep your mouth shut, we’re done.”
“You filed?” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“Seeing anyone?”
“No. But I hope to. And he won’t talk about us to the whole street. Go, James.”
She turned away, heart aching. All evening, she waited for calls—from his mum, friends, neighbours—ready for the backlash. But the phone stayed silent. No one rang the next day, or the day after.
James, though, kept appearing—by her flat, at the café nearby.
“Why are you here?” she asked once.
“Got time off, Em,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
His holiday ended, but he still lingered. His mum called, asking after Emily but never mentioning James. Finally, she cracked:
“Emily, have you seen James? How is he?”
“Here we go,” Emily thought, but just said, “Fine. Working. We talk sometimes. Don’t worry.”
“Oh, good,” his mum sighed in relief. “Don’t tell him I asked. He’s gone quiet lately—never shares anything.”
Emily paused. Had he really changed? She gave him a chance but told no one.
Later, they moved back to their hometown together. Friends, family, neighbours were shocked—no one knew they’d reconciled. Walking home from the shops, a neighbour beamed at her:
“Hello, Emily!”
She nodded, but the smiles around her grew wider. “Has James started again?” she worried. Sitting on a bench, she overheard old Mrs. Wilkins:
“Emily, love, your jumper’s inside out! Keeping the evil eye away?”
“Oi, that’s my trick!” chimed in Mr. Harris. “Wear me shirt backwards, and sure enough, free pint by evening!”
Emily laughed, tension easing. Just smiles—not gossip.
“And no one even told me!” James’s mum huffed, peering at her grandson in his crib.
“We didn’t know either,” Emily’s mum said. “She rang saying, ‘Mum, I’m in labour!’ Like a bolt from the blue.”
“Same here,” his mum sighed. “James only called after…”
Emily’s dad watched his grandson, thinking, “Good lad. He learned.” No one knew how hard James had worked—walking by the river, whispering secrets to the wind instead of the world. He’d learned to keep quiet. It wasn’t easy, but he’d managed.
James looked at his son, imagining a wink. “Don’t worry, lad,” he thought. “I’ll teach you how to be a proper man.”
