“The Divorce No One Saw Coming”
“Emily, have you lost your mind?!” shrieked Natalie into the phone. “You got divorced in secret? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Keep your voice down,” Emily hissed, holding the phone away from her ear and glancing toward the kitchen door. “The kids are home.”
“What kids? They’re in their thirties! Em, do you realise what you’ve done? Twenty-eight years of marriage, and just like that—divorce!?”
“Natalie, please stop shouting. This is hard enough as it is.”
“But why keep it quiet? We’ve been mates since uni! I could’ve helped, supported you…”
Emily pressed the phone to her chest and closed her eyes. Good grief, she was exhausted by these conversations. First it was Sarah from work, then Aunt Margaret, now Natalie—as if everyone had just been waiting for an excuse to dive into her business.
“Emily? You still there?” Natalie’s voice crackled through.
“I’m here,” Emily sighed, lifting the phone back to her ear. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“How can you not? It’s massive! You’re the first in our circle to get divorced. Give me something—was he cheating?”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“Drinking, then?”
“Nope.”
“Then what? Emily, you’ve got to tell me!”
A heavy sigh. How could she explain to Natalie that she’d simply… run out of steam? Out of patience for dull routines, the same worn-out conversations, the gnawing sense she’d been living someone else’s life?
“I just got tired, Nat. That’s all.”
“Tired of what? John’s a decent bloke—doesn’t drink, doesn’t hit you, brings home a good wage.”
“Exactly. A decent bloke. Just… not mine.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? ‘Not yours’? You were married twenty-eight years!”
A clatter from the hallway. Emily hastily said goodbye and hung up. Her daughter Lucy walked into the kitchen, groceries in hand.
“Mum, hi,” she said, setting the bags on the table and studying Emily’s face. “You look pale—everything alright?”
“Just a headache.”
“Was that Aunt Natalie? I heard you whispering apologies into the phone.”
Emily nodded. Lucy unpacked the shopping, quietly arranging tins in the cupboard.
“Mum… do you regret it?” she asked, back turned.
“Regret what?”
“Divorcing Dad.”
Emily looked at her daughter—dark hair, grey eyes, just like her own at that age. Only Lucy had a steeliness Emily had never possessed.
“I don’t know, love. Not yet.”
“Does Dad?”
“We haven’t talked about it.”
Lucy turned.
“Mum, can I ask you something?”
“Go on.”
“Did you ever actually love him?”
Emily froze, teacup in hand. Where had that come from?
“Why would you say that?”
“I’ve watched you both my whole life. No hugs, no kisses, not even holding hands. Like flatmates, not a couple.”
“Lucy, don’t say that. Your dad’s a good man.”
“He is. But you didn’t love him. And I don’t think he loved you, either.”
The cup clinked onto the table. Her daughter was right. She’d married John because it was expected—friends were settling down, her parents insisted.
“Mum… who did you love?” Lucy asked softly.
“Why does it matter?”
“Because everyone deserves a great love, don’t they?”
Emily turned to the window. Of course there’d been love. Michael from the next estate, a med student—handsome, clever, full of dreams. They’d met in secret; her parents deemed him “unsuitable.”
“A doctor’s not a job, it’s a calling,” he’d say. “I’ll save lives.”
“And I’ll help you,” she’d reply.
But her parents pushed her toward John—steady, a homeowner, good family. Michael took a posting up north. He wrote, called, even visited. But by then, Emily was married, pregnant.
“Mum, are you crying?” Lucy’s voice wavered.
“No, just… tired eyes.”
Her daughter squeezed her shoulder.
“Honestly? I get it. Better alone than stuck in a miserable marriage.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. Look at you since the divorce—lost weight, chopped your hair, bought actual colours. Like you’ve woken up.”
Emily caught her reflection in the window. It was true. No more shapeless jumpers, no more scraped-back buns.
“How did Paul take it?” Lucy asked.
“Not well. Called me selfish, said I’d broken the family.”
“Oh, please. Paul’s always been Dad’s mini-me. He’ll come round.”
Her son had sent three reconciliatory messages via the kids already.
“Mum, have you thought about… marrying again?” Lucy filled the kettle.
“Lucy, I’m fifty-three.”
“So? Aunt Brenda married at fifty-five. She’s thriving.”
“Brenda’s the exception.”
“Hardly. You’re gorgeous, Mum. And free now.”
Free. The word still felt illicit. No more 7 a.m. fry-ups for John. No more stray socks. No more dull chats about work, football, the neighbours’ new car.
But freedom had brought loneliness too. Evenings alone with the telly, no one to grumble to about her day.
“Lucy… you don’t think I’ve made a mistake?”
“No. You’ve done what you should’ve years ago.”
Lucy poured the tea.
“Mum, I used to pray you’d divorce.”
“What?!”
“Not like that. It was obvious you were both miserable. Dad was always scowling, you were sad. Home felt like… a library after hours.”
Emily stiffened. So much for playing the happy wife.
“Now look at you,” Lucy continued. “Italian classes, amateur dramatics—finally living.”
“But people talk. They think I’ve gone mad.”
“Since when do you care? You’re not living for them.”
The doorbell rang.
“Mum, Aunt Sarah’s here,” Lucy called.
Emily groaned. Her colleague—and champion gossip.
“Ellie, darling!” Sarah bustled in. “Spill everything! I’ve been beside myself!”
“Tea?” Emily offered weakly.
“Please. How’d you even dare? I’d never have the nerve!”
“Why not?”
“Alone at fifty-three? Terrifying!”
Emily handed her a mug. “The kids are grown, I’ve got my job, my health. What’s scary?”
“But the loneliness! Who’ll want you now?”
“Who wanted me in the marriage? John treated me like furniture.”
“At least he didn’t cheat.”
“Sarah, do you love your husband?”
“Of course! Doesn’t everyone?”
“Really love him? Or just… used to him?”
Sarah stirred her tea, silent.
“Well… love’s a strong word. But we’re family. Shared history, common interests.”
“Exactly. History. I needed more.”
“But at our age, romance is done. Stability matters.”
“Says who?” Lucy cut in. “Mum’s still young.”
“Lucy, adults are talking,” Sarah snipped.
“I am an adult. And I’ve never seen Mum happier.”
Sarah pursed her lips. “Children shouldn’t celebrate divorce.”
“We’re celebrating Mum finally living for herself.”
“Selfish, that’s what it is.”
“And living for others is what? Spending your life doing what’s expected?”
Sarah huffed. “Family, kids, husband—that’s what matters.”
Emily met her gaze. “And what about you? Didn’t you ever want more?”
A pause. “Maybe. But that’s life, isn’t it?”
Paul arrived, tall and broad like his father. After Sarah left, he sat heavily at the table.
“Mum, Dad says he’ll change. Give it another go?”
“Paul, the papers are signed.”
“But you could withdraw them. He’s gutted.”
“Was I not gutted for twenty-eight years?”
“Come on, you got on fine. No fights, no scandals.”
“No fights because we had nothing to say. Paul, you’re a grown man. Surely you see—a life without love isn’t a life.”
“But there was respect, understanding—”
“Not enough.”
Paul rubbed his forehead. “What if Dad became more… romantic?”
“People don’t change at fifty-five. And why fix what was wrong from the start?”
“What was wrong?”
“Our marriage. We wed because it was expected, not because we loved each other.”
Lucy squeezed Emily’s hand. “Paul, look at her. She’s alive now.”
“But the family’s broken,” he muttered.
“What family?” Lucy shot back.And as the rain tapped gently against the window, Emily realised that for the first time in decades, she was no longer afraid of the quiet.
