**The Quiet Divorce**
“Ellen, have you lost your mind?” shrieked Emily down the telephone. “How could you get divorced in secret? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Keep your voice down,” Ellen murmured, pulling the receiver from her ear and glancing toward the kitchen door. “The children are home.”
“What children? They’re in their thirties! Ellen, do you realise what you’ve done? Twenty-eight years of marriage, and now—divorce!”
“Emily, please don’t shout. It’s hard enough as it is.”
“But why didn’t you say anything? We’ve been friends since university! I could’ve helped, supported you—”
Ellen pressed the phone to her chest and closed her eyes. Good Lord, she was so tired of these conversations. First, Margaret from work had called, then Aunt Clara, and now Emily. It was as if they’d all been waiting for her to give them something to gossip about.
“Ellen, are you there?” came the distant voice from the receiver.
“I’m here,” she said, lifting it back to her ear. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“Don’t want to? This is huge! You’re the first in our circle to divorce. At least tell me something. Did he cheat?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Was he drinking?”
“No.”
“Then what? Ellen, you must tell me!”
She sighed heavily. How could she explain to Emily that she was simply tired? Tired of the grey routine, the same worn-out conversations, the suffocating sense of living someone else’s life?
“I’m exhausted, Emily. You understand?”
“Exhausted from what? George is a decent man—doesn’t drink, doesn’t hit you, earns well.”
“Exactly. A decent man. Just not mine.”
“What are you saying? How is he not yours? You were together twenty-eight years!”
A noise came from the hall. Ellen hurriedly said goodbye and hung up. Her daughter, Anna, walked into the kitchen, grocery bags in hand.
“Mum, hello,” she said, placing the bags on the table and studying her mother’s face. “You look pale.”
“It’s nothing, just a headache.”
“Was that Emily again? I heard you making excuses into the phone.”
Ellen nodded. Anna began unpacking the groceries, her back turned.
“Mum… do you regret it?” she asked softly.
“Regret what?”
“Divorcing Dad.”
Ellen looked at her daughter. Anna resembled her so much—same dark hair, same grey eyes. Only there was a determination in Anna’s gaze that Ellen had never had.
“I don’t know yet, love.”
“Does Dad regret it?”
“We haven’t spoken about it.”
Anna turned to face her.
“Mum, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Did you ever really love him?”
Ellen froze, teacup in hand. Where had that come from?
“Why do you think that?”
“I’ve watched you my whole life. You never hugged, never kissed, never even held hands. Like flatmates.”
“Anna, don’t say that. Your father’s a good man.”
“He is. But you didn’t love him. And I don’t think he loved you, either.”
Ellen set the cup down. Anna was right. She’d never loved George. Married him because she was expected to, because all her friends were married, because her parents insisted.
“Mum… who did you love?” Anna whispered.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because everyone should have love in their life.”
Ellen turned to the window. Of course, there had been love. Jonathan, from the next block—a medical student. Handsome, clever, full of dreams. They’d met in secret because her parents disapproved.
“Medicine isn’t just a career—it’s a calling,” Jonathan had said. “I’ll save lives.”
“And I’ll help you,” she’d replied.
But her parents pushed her toward George. Stability, a home, a good family. Jonathan went to work in a small northern town. He wrote letters, called, even visited. But by then, Ellen was married, expecting her first child.
“Mum, are you crying?” Anna asked, alarmed.
“No, no. Just tired eyes.”
Anna squeezed her shoulders.
“You know, Mum, I understand. Better to be alone than unhappy in a marriage.”
“You think so?”
“Of course. Look at you since the divorce—lost weight, cut your hair, bought new clothes. You’ve come alive.”
Ellen studied her reflection in the window. It was true. Once, she wore the same drab cardigans, her hair always pinned back. Now, she dressed in colour, wore her hair short and stylish.
“How did Paul take the news?” Anna asked.
“Not well. Said I was selfish, breaking up the family.”
“Honestly. Paul’s always been Dad’s son. He’ll come round.”
Ellen nodded. Her son did favour his father—fishing trips, fixing the car, football matches. Anna had always been closer to her.
“Mum… have you thought about marrying again?” Anna asked, filling the kettle.
“Anna, I’m fifty-three. Who’d marry me?”
“So? Aunt Victoria married at fifty-five. She’s happy.”
“Aunt Victoria’s the exception.”
“Why? You’re a beautiful woman. And free now.”
*Free.* A word Ellen had feared saying aloud. Free from making George breakfast at dawn. Free from his socks strewn about the bedroom. Free from endless talk of work, football, the neighbours’ new car.
But freedom brought loneliness, too. Evenings alone with the telly, no one to share her worries or joys.
“Anna… do you think I did the wrong thing?”
“No, Mum. You did what you had to. Finally.”
Anna poured tea and sat beside her.
“You know, I spent my childhood wishing you and Dad would divorce.”
“What?” Ellen almost dropped her cup.
“Don’t look so shocked. You were both miserable. Dad was always angry, you always sad. The house felt like a morgue.”
“We tried not to show it—”
“Children *feel* things, Mum. Everything.”
Ellen fell silent. All those years, she thought she’d played the happy wife and mother. But her children had known.
“Now look at you,” Anna continued. “You glow. Italian classes, joining the theatre group. *Living*, finally.”
“But people judge. Everyone says I’ve gone mad.”
“What do *you* care about them? You’re not living for them.”
The doorbell rang. Anna went to answer it.
“Mum, Aunt Margaret’s here,” she called from the hall.
Ellen winced. Margaret, her colleague—and an insatiable gossip.
“Ellen, darling!” Margaret swept into the kitchen like a gale. “Tell me everything! I’ve been up all night wondering!”
“Hello, Margaret. Tea?”
“Please, please. Ellen, how did you *do* it? I never could.”
“How?”
“Alone at fifty-three? It’s terrifying!”
Ellen poured the tea. “What’s so terrifying? The children are grown, I’ve a good job, my health’s fine.”
“But the *loneliness*! Who’ll want you now?”
“Who wanted me in my marriage? George treated me like furniture. I was just… there.”
“Well, at least he never strayed.”
“Margaret… do you love your husband?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t stay otherwise.”
“Truly love him? Or just used to him?”
Margaret stirred her tea, silent.
“Well… love’s a strong word. But we’re family. Habit, routine, shared interests.”
“Exactly. Habit. For me, that wasn’t enough.”
“But at our age, romance is over. Stability matters more.”
“Why *should* it be over?” Anna cut in, returning. “Mum’s still young.”
“Anna, this is grown-up talk,” Margaret chided.
“Why shouldn’t I? I’m her daughter. I *see* how happy she is now.”
Margaret pursed her lips.
“Children shouldn’t celebrate their parents’ divorce.”
“We’re not celebrating the divorce. We’re celebrating that Mum’s finally living *her* life.”
Margaret muttered, “Selfish, is what it is.”
“Is living for others better?” Ellen asked. “Spending your life doing what’s *expected*?”
“Of course—family, children, husband. That’s why we’re here.”
“And what about *you*? Don’t you ever feel sorry for yourself?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Sometimes. But what can you do? That’s life.”
Paul walked in then—tall, broad-shouldered, his father’s double. He kissed Ellen’s cheek.
“Mum, can we talk?”
“Of course. Margaret, excuse us.”
“Oh, certainly. But Ellen… think it over. MaybeAs Ellen listened to Jonathan’s warm laughter over the phone, she realized—for the first time in decades—that happiness wasn’t behind her, but ahead.
