“How Dare He?” The Story of a Crack in a Marriage
“Enough—I’ve had enough!” roared Edward, slamming his fist on the table so hard the porcelain plates in the kitchen rattled. “Make sure I never see her again!”
“Are you serious right now?” Margaret glared at her husband through narrowed eyes, her voice trembling with fury. “Or have you forgotten that I live here too and have every right to invite whomever I please?”
“As long as you do live here,” he growled.
“Oh, is that so?”
“I’ve said my piece,” Edward snapped, shoving his chair back so violently it toppled over. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Margaret was left alone. Her pulse pounded in her temples. His words stung like a slap. “As long as you do live here…” How dare he?
Annie had been her dearest friend since childhood. They’d grown up together in Manchester, hiding from storms under the same umbrella, sleeping over at each other’s houses, pulling each other out of scrapes too ridiculous to recall without laughter. And now Edward was demanding she cut Annie out of her life?
Why? Because Annie wasn’t married? Because she didn’t spend her days stewing soup and dusting shelves but actually went out, laughed, lived? So what if she accepted gifts from suitors? That was her life, her choice.
She’d told Edward all about their girlish escapades before. He used to laugh along! Now, all of a sudden—he wanted to ban her? On what grounds?
Steeling herself, she marched into the parlour, determined to settle this once and for all.
“Edward, we’re not finished. Explain—why do you despise Annie so much? What has she ever done to you?”
“To me?” He scoffed. “As if that’s the point! I just don’t want her in my house anymore.”
“Explain properly.”
“Do you truly not understand?” He shot up from his seat as if ready to bolt outside in his slippers. “Your precious Annie’s a flighty little thing, hopping from one man to the next like changing gloves, living off their generosity. And you—you not only tolerate it, you call her your friend. Which means you condone it.”
Margaret blinked in disbelief.
“Edward, have you lost your mind? I love you. I don’t want anyone else!”
“Oh, of course. Love me to the moon and back. But deep down, you envy her—Annie, and your sister Lucy!”
Margaret stiffened.
“What does Lucy have to do with this?”
“Plenty! She’s no more welcome here than Annie is.”
Suddenly, it all made sense. Lucy, her younger sister, had once been caught in scandal. For years, she’d been seeing a man, hoping for marriage—only to discover he was already wed with two children. When the truth came out, the family erupted. Everyone condemned Lucy—until, miraculously, the man moved away with his family… and left her a flat. A modest one, but in the heart of London.
Suddenly, the whispers stopped. Some even praised it: “At least he did right by her.” Margaret had told Edward everything—and perhaps, in hindsight, she hadn’t masked her admiration well enough.
“Go on, say something!” Edward’s bark snapped her from her thoughts.
“I will: Lucy’s a grown woman. She decides who she sees and what gifts she accepts.”
“Oh, certainly! Got herself a flat and now she’s set. And don’t tell me you weren’t jealous. Your eyes lit up when you told me about it!”
“Nonsense. Imagine you had a mate who was always wining and dining different women, playing the rake. And then your own brother—a father of two—suddenly gifts one of them a house. Would you be pleased?”
“I wouldn’t care. That’s their business, not mine,” Margaret said quietly.
“Exactly. But under my roof, those women won’t set foot again. Not Annie. Not Lucy.”
Margaret said nothing. She walked to the washroom, turned on the tap, and wept—from despair, from helplessness, from the crushing realisation that the man she loved wasn’t just refusing to listen. He was judging her. Judging her by scraps of stories, his own twisted imaginings. He didn’t see the woman beside him every day—who cooked, who listened, who stood by him. All he saw was a reflection of others’ choices.
What now? Divorce? Or silently obey, betraying those who’d been with her all her life? Neither option seemed bearable. Yet the thought of becoming a traitor to herself was the worst of all.
