Maureen stood by the kitchen window, a mug of cooled tea in her hands, watching children play in the garden. Yesterday, she’d signed the final divorce papers, and today, oddly, she felt lighter than she had in years. Strange, considering it should have felt the opposite.
“Mum, where’s Dad?” asked ten-year-old Katie, entering the kitchen in her school uniform.
“Dad lives somewhere else now, remember, we talked about it,” Maureen replied softly, smoothing her daughter’s hair. “He’s picking you up for the weekend tomorrow.”
“Why can’t you two just make up? Sophie Henderson says her parents argued, then got a new Volvo and stopped.”
Maureen offered a sad smile. If only it were that simple. If only arguments were the cause.
“Come eat your breakfast, love. You’ll be late for school.”
Katie sat obediently at the table but stirred her porridge thoughtfully.
“Mum, aren’t you sad?”
“A little sad. But you know what? Sometimes people part ways not because they stop loving each other, but because being together makes them unhappy. Apart, they can be better.”
Her daughter nodded, though Maureen knew that was hard to grasp at ten. She hadn’t understood it herself at first.
It hadn’t started yesterday, or even a year ago. It probably began when Geoffrey started coming home later and later, and she began finding receipts in his pockets from cafés she’d never visited. Back then, Maureen assumed work meetings. Geoffrey was a project manager at a construction firm; meetings happened.
“Out late again?” she’d ask as he bolted breakfast, eyes glued to his phone.
“Yeah. Project deadline, proper rush on. Don’t wait up.”
“Maybe we could go somewhere this weekend? Katie wanted to see your mum’s cottage.”
“Working weekends too, I’m afraid. Sorry, Mo, but it’s like this now. We’ll rest later.”
Later never came. Maureen grew used to dining alone, putting Katie to bed alone, watching telly alone. Sometimes she felt more like a widow than a married woman.
Her girlfriends sympathised.
“Blokes are all like that now,” Lena said when they met for coffee. “Work, work. Still, he brings home a decent wage?”
“The money’s decent,” Maureen agreed, “but what’s the point? We live like lodgers in a shared house.”
“D’you ever think he might be seeing someone?” Olivia ventured cautiously.
“I did. But how do you know? I couldn’t ask him outright. Didn’t fancy snooping through his things. Besides, where would he find the time for an affair if he’s always at work?”
Olivia just gave her a meaningful look.
At home, Maureen kept waiting. Waiting for Geoffrey to come back to her, for them to talk properly again, for him to care about her day, Katie’s school plays, their future. But Geoffrey seemed to inhabit a different world.
“How was work?” Maureen would ask when he finally stumbled in.
“Fine,” he’d reply, phone still in hand.
“Katie had her school play today. She recited a lovely poem.”
“Right.”
“Geoffrey? Are you listening?”
“Yeah, yeah. Good for Katie.”
But his expression said he heard nothing but the sounds from his phone. Gradually, Maureen stopped telling him about her life. Why bother, if he wasn’t listening? She went full-time at work instead of part-time, joined an evening French class, met up with friends regularly. Life slowly improved, yet felt incomplete, like something vital was missing.
“Mum, why can’t Dad come ice skating?” Katie asked once.
“Dad’s busy, sweetheart.”
“He used to come.”
“He wasn’t this busy before.”
“When will he be not busy?”
Maureen hadn’t known what to say. When? Ever?
That night, she decided to talk. She waited until Katie was asleep, cooked dinner, set two places. Geoffrey came in at half ten.
“Sit down, eat,” she said. “We need to talk.”
“What about?” Geoffrey slumped into a chair but kept hold of his phone.
“Put the phone away. Please.”
Reluctantly, he placed it screen-down.
“Geoffrey, what’s happening with us? We’re not living, we’re existing. You come home, eat, sleep, leave. We don’t talk, do anything together, you barely see Katie.”
“Mo, I’m working. I have to provide.”
“But there *isn’t* a family here anymore! There’s me, you, Katie, but we’re not a proper family. Like three separate people sharing a flat.”
“Don’t make a drama. It’s just a rough patch, loads of work. Bear with it.”
“I’ve been bearing with it three years. How much longer?”
Geoffrey sighed irritably. “Mo, I’m knackered. Can we talk later?”
“When later? Tomorrow you’ll be late, the day after too. When do we talk?”
“Dunno. When things ease up.”
The phone buzzed. Geoffrey instinctively reached.
“Geoffrey!”
“What? Oh, sorry.” But he’d already glanced at the screen.
“Is there someone else?” Maureen suddenly asked.
“What?” Geoffrey looked up, something like fear flashing in his eyes. “Where d’you get that idea?”
“Don’t answer with a question. Is there?”
Silence hung thick. Geoffrey stared at his plate. Maureen watched him. Her heart pounded as if audible in the next room.
“Yes,” he finally said quietly.
Oddly, Maureen felt relief, not pain. Truth at last.
“Long?”
“Six months.”
“Do you love her?”
Geoffrey looked up. “Dunno. Suppose so.”
“And me?”
“You too. Different, but yeah.”
“How different?”
“Well… you’re Katie’s mum. We’ve years together.”
“So, I’m old furniture? Comfortable, familiar, but not exciting anymore?”
“Mo, don’t put it like that.”
“How *should* I? Geoffrey, do you see we stopped being husband and wife ages ago? We’re flatmates, nothing more.”
“Maybe we can try changing things? I could finish it?”
“And start up with someone new in a year?”
Geoffrey was silent.
“Don’t finish it,” Maureen suddenly said. “I don’t want you staying out of duty. I won’t wait any longer for you to remember I exist.”
“So?”
“So let’s get divorced. Clean, honest, no rows. For Katie’s sake too.”
Geoffrey exhaled with relief, and Maureen knew he’d wanted it too, just feared saying it first.
The divorce was surprisingly calm. Geoffrey didn’t contest the flat in her name, paid his child support on time, had Katie weekends. They even talked better now than they had in the final years of marriage.
“How are you?” he’d ask, arriving for Katie.
“Alright. You?”
“Not bad. Katie, love, get your coat. Off to the zoo?”
“Brill! Mum, are you coming?”
“No, sweetheart, Mum’s got things on. Have a lovely time.”
And that was true. Maureen genuinely had things. She joined a fitness studio, took up photography courses, met friends often, went to the theatre. Life suddenly felt vibrant.
“You’ve bloomed,” Lena said. “Haven’t seen you this happy in five years.”
“It surprises me too. Thought I’d be gutted, but it’s the opposite. Like a huge weight’s lifted.”
“Don’t you miss him?”
“Geoffrey? No. The family we never really had? No, either. I missed it *when* we lived together – missed real closeness, talking, connection. I don’t now.”
“How’s Katie?”
“Katie’s fine. Says having two homes is smashing. And her dad spends more time with her now. He values it more, I suppose.”
Six months after the divorce, Maureen met Simon. He taught her evening photography class. First
Then Emily gazed out her London kitchen window, cradling cold tea, watching young Sophie chase the neighbour’s spaniel across the communal garden in Camden, her heart light with the quiet certainty that true blessings lay not in grand gestures but in the peaceful, boring, everyday things—Timothy helping Sophie with maths whilst dinner simmered, the shared laughter over burnt toast on Sunday mornings, this simple life built on genuine affection and unwavering presence was perfect.
