The Shadow of the Past
“If it weren’t for you, we’d be living properly by now!” Victor glared at his wife, his voice trembling with barely contained anger.
“Please, stop,” Anna whispered without looking up. “How long are you going to keep saying this?”
“As long as it takes!” he shouted. “Until you admit you ruined everything!”
Their wedding had been nearly thirty years ago.
When Victor first stepped into this house in a small town in Yorkshire and awkwardly greeted Anna’s parents, he was twenty-two. A lanky young man from the countryside, without grand ambitions but with bright eyes and dreams of a better life, he didn’t inspire much confidence in them.
“Just look at him,” her father muttered. “No education, no proper job, not a penny to his name. How will you even survive?”
“Anna, think about it,” her mother chimed in. “What about when children come? Maybe don’t rush into this?”
“It’s too late,” Anna breathed softly.
“What do you mean, *too late*?” her parents tensed.
“I’m expecting.”
“I see,” her father said after a pause. “We’ll arrange the wedding. You’ll live here.”
“We wanted to rent a place,” Anna ventured timidly.
“What for?” her mother exclaimed. “There’s plenty of room. You need rest now, good meals. No, your father’s right—you’ll stay with us.”
The young couple were given a spacious room and allowed to arrange it as they pleased. It was agreed they’d live as one family for the time being.
“There’s only one woman in charge here,” her father said sternly. “Mum runs the house. You—” he looked at his daughter, “—will contribute for food and rent. How much? Mum will work it out. Don’t worry, she won’t take more than fair. Agreed?”
Anna and Victor nodded in unison.
“One more thing,” her father’s voice hardened. “Your mother’s word is law. What she says, you do. Understood?”
“Understood, Dad,” Anna said quickly, seeing Victor’s discomfort. “We agree. Thank you for having us.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” her father softened. “This is your home too. The question is how we’ll manage. I hope we can get along.”
And they did, for a while. Anna’s father, though unimpressed by his son-in-law, kept his distance. He didn’t interfere, didn’t lecture. Never spoke a harsh word. Her mother was kind, treating Victor like her own.
Or so they thought. But Victor saw things differently.
“They drive me mad, especially your mum,” he’d whisper to Anna. “‘Love this,’ ‘darling that.’ I’m not her *darling*. And your dad? Smiling, but his eyes are full of contempt. We shouldn’t have stayed here. We should’ve found our own place.”
“Vic, what place?” Anna struggled to stay calm. “I’m due soon. Mum will help with the baby. And Dad… he respects you. He might not *like* you, but that’s normal—you’re strangers. He’s not unreasonable.”
“Exactly—strangers!” Victor snapped. “Then they should *act* like strangers, not pretend to be parents!”
“Nobody’s pretending,” Anna said defensively. “You’re imagining things. We should be grateful we have this! Do you know what rent costs? And your wages—how would we live? On my maternity pay?”
Anna started crying.
“So my pay isn’t good enough?” Victor exploded. “And stop crying! This is all your fault!”
What her fault was, Anna never quite understood. Nor could she grasp why her husband was so angry.
But Victor hated everything—the house, his factory job, his in-laws whom he barely tolerated, and Anna’s endless pregnancy. Back in his village, things were simple: the man was in charge, his word final. Here, some woman he barely knew dictated his life!
Where his resentment might have led, no one knew. But then tragedy struck.
Anna’s father died suddenly. He’d held his newborn granddaughter—a beautiful little girl—for just two days.
After the funeral, her mother, tearful, made them promise not to leave her alone.
“I can’t imagine living here without him,” she wept. Refusing was impossible.
Now Anna and Victor had two rooms. Her mother moved to the smaller one, relinquished control, saying she needed little—let the young ones decide how to live.
Victor sighed in relief. He felt like the man of the house at last. And he began showing the temper he’d once hidden.
Soon, Anna and her mother felt indebted to Victor for his support—though he dismissed her wages and her mum’s pension. “I’m the one keeping us afloat,” he’d remind them. Full stop.
Years passed. Anna returned to work, their daughter Lily started school. Victor stayed at the factory.
Then one evening, the doorbell rang. It was Victor’s cousin, Paul. He told them he was opening a garage in town. Laid out his plans—within a few years, he’d have a chain. Offered Victor a partnership.
“Me? A partner?” Victor was stunned. “I don’t know the first thing about it!”
“We split the costs, split the profits. Simple!” Paul clapped him on the back. “Come on, mate!”
Victor was thrilled. Envisioned a new house, a fancy car, himself on a beach under palm trees. Everything he’d dreamed of!
Only one problem: where to get the money?
“No worries!” Paul waved it off. “I’m selling my flat. That’ll cover the start-up.”
Victor looked at Anna. She was clearly against it.
Paul left, giving them time to think, and Victor began pressing his wife.
“This is our chance! We won’t get another!”
“How do you see this working?” Anna argued. “Where would we go with a child? And Mum? She’d never agree. It’s too risky.”
Victor pleaded, fought, but Anna held firm. She wouldn’t sell the house.
Two weeks later, Paul called. Hearing their refusal, he snapped,
“Your loss. You’ll regret it.” Then hung up.
Life went on. Lily finished school, Anna worked, her mother kept house, and Victor—his eyes dull with resignation—became a senior mechanic.
The smell of fried potatoes with garlic mixed with the hum of the telly, where the newsreader droned about new economic policies. Victor pushed his food around, leaving neat fork marks.
“Paul rang,” he said suddenly, not looking up. “Bought a house in the countryside. With a pool.”
Anna slowly set down her spoon. She knew what came next: news about Paul, a pause, recriminations, a week of stony silence.
“Good for him,” she said evenly.
“Good?!” Victor slammed his fork down. “He’s got everything! And us? And you know why? Because you clung to your mum’s apron strings and held me back!”
The door banged—Lily fled the kitchen. She’d long since started leaving when these rows began.
Anna went to the window. Snow fell outside, just like the night Victor first held her at the bus stop. Back then, he’d smelled of dreams.
“We could’ve sold the house,” he said hollowly. “Invested. Lived properly.”
Anna turned. His eyes held familiar pain—he was already living the life where it had worked.
“What if we’d lost everything?” she asked, steadying her voice.
“I’d have *tried*!”
She closed her eyes. Imagined them in a rented room, Lily ashamed of her friends, her mother coughing in the corner…
“Maybe you’re right,” she said unexpectedly. “We should’ve taken the risk.”
Victor froze. He’d waited years to hear this. Now the words tasted like ash.
“See?!” He laughed bitterly. “You admit it!”
“I do, just don’t shout. You’ll wake Mum.”
“I’m awake,” her mother said, sitting down. “Heard it all. Annie, he’s right—you should’ve risked it. I’d have supported you…”
The kitchen fell silent, thick as the snow outside.
“So you *did* decide everything?” Victor shouted. “After insisting Mum was against it! Because of you, we’ve got nothing!”
“We have a family,” Anna said quietly.
“*Family*?” He sneered. “A daughter who hides from us? A wife who nags me nonstop?”
Something inside Anna snapped.
“And you?” Her voice hardened. “What have *you* done except blame me? You could’ve changed jobs, achieved something!”
Victor recoiled as if struck.
“You… don’t understand.”
“I understand you’re *scared*,” Anna stepped closer. “Scared to admit the problem’s *you*. Even with money, you’d still be miserable!”
He stood, head bowed, silent.
Anna waited. One second. Two.
“I’He looked up, eyes hollow, and whispered, “Maybe you’re right,” before turning away to fix the leaking tap in silence.
