To Stay or To Go
Elizabeth opened the door and was surprised to see her daughter Emily standing there with an unfamiliar young man, who smiled warmly.
“Hi, Mum, meet James,” Emily said quickly, nudging him forward. “Thought it was time you got to know him. Is Dad not home?”
“Hello,” James greeted, slightly shy, before stepping inside.
Elizabeth smiled to put him at ease and nodded in return.
“Sorry for dropping in unannounced, Mum,” Emily chattered. “We’ll just have a cuppa, then we’re off to the cinema.”
James was polite, offering quiet smiles but keeping up with the conversation.
“Mum, where’s Dad? I wanted him to meet James.”
“Oh, you know where he is—tinkering in the garage, of course. Said he needed to hoover and wash the car. Never trusts the car wash, does he?” Elizabeth replied.
Soon, Emily and James prepared to leave, the young man thanking them graciously before stepping out.
“What a well-mannered lad,” Elizabeth thought as she closed the door behind them.
Emily was in her second year at university—grown up now. Elizabeth hadn’t even noticed the years slipping by. These days, Emily often sought her mother’s advice—asking how to handle life’s challenges, looking for guidance.
Sometimes Elizabeth had answers, but there were moments when she could only say:
“Love, there isn’t always a clear answer. Life doesn’t give us perfect choices. Sometimes it lays traps, as if to remind us that everything has its own time.”
Each person’s path was different, shaped by fate. Elizabeth, after over twenty years of marriage, still found herself at a crossroads. She remembered clearly the day her friend Lucy introduced her to Henry.
“Liz, this is Henry—my Tim’s mate,” Lucy had said, steering a tall, awkward-looking man toward her. “Works with Tim, who’s been nagging me to set him up. Anyway, chat away!” With a grin, she vanished into the crowd of dancing students.
The university disco was in full swing. Elizabeth and Lucy were nearing the end of their studies. Lucy and Tim were set to marry in two months. Henry seemed out of place among the students, shoulders hunched as if ashamed of his height, eyes darting nervously over the lively crowd.
“So, Henry, are you studying?” Elizabeth had asked.
“No, been driving lorries for three years now. Did my National Service before that.”
“Odd,” she’d thought. “Most lads come back from service all bravado. But him? Still a bashful beanpole.” Her own older brother had been proof of that.
“Tim and I served together,” Henry had added. “Stuck as friends after. Never went to uni—just school for me. You and Lucy studying here?”
His smile was boyish, disarming. Against her better judgment, Elizabeth found herself smiling back, though she had no intention of encouraging him. He wasn’t her type.
That was their first meeting. Had someone told her then that he’d be her husband one day, she’d have laughed.
But fate has its own plans. Life would be dull if we knew exactly where we’d be in a year. Each time Henry asked her out, Elizabeth told herself it was the last. They’d talk, part ways, and next time she’d say no.
Yet time passed, and she never refused. Part of her pitied this kind, unassuming man; part of her had no better prospects.
“Still seeing Henry?” Lucy had asked once.
“I suppose. Don’t really know,” Elizabeth replied flatly.
They attended Lucy and Tim’s wedding as witnesses. Laughed, celebrated. Elizabeth graduated, found work. They kept seeing each other. Gradually, she grew used to Henry, recognising his steadiness. Eventually, she sought her mother’s advice.
“Mum, I’ve introduced you to Henry. He’s talking about marriage, and I don’t know what to say. He’s reliable, hardworking, caring—but he’s not exactly bookish, is he?”
“Love, don’t fret. Who cares if he doesn’t read? He’s devoted, isn’t he? Those smitten eyes haven’t changed. Given time, differences smooth over.”
Soon after, Henry—flushed and nervous—proposed, as if half-expecting refusal.
“Liz… this is for you,” he fumbled, pulling a ring from his pocket. “Will you marry me?”
Elizabeth studied the ring, then smirked.
“Yes. But where are my flowers?” She slid it onto her finger.
“Blimey, forgot! The ring and your ‘yes’ were all I could think of. Promise I’ll get you flowers.”
Later, she wondered at how they’d ended up married. He was so ordinary—someone she’d never taken seriously.
Perhaps it was because all her friends had married. She hadn’t wanted to be left behind. She’d never lacked confidence in her looks—a little curvy, but it suited her.
They became a family. Like all couples, they accumulated shared routines, relatives, and problems—Henry always handled those. Yet the more their lives intertwined, the more Elizabeth felt the gulf between them.
Dinner conversations revolved around chores. She couldn’t discuss films or gallery visits with him. They disagreed on TV shows or weekend outings. Elizabeth led; Henry followed.
“Henry, must you watch cartoons? You’re not a child.”
“Since when are cartoons just for kids?”
She knew his lack of education and polish showed. She coached him on table manners, social graces—fearful of embarrassment when they dined with friends.
The breaking point came when she attended an office banquet alone, where she was to receive an award. Henry was ill—feverish, sore throat.
“Go without me,” he’d croaked.
Sitting at the banquet, a thought struck her:
*Thank God he didn’t come.* No dread of him saying something gauche, no blushing on his behalf. Something had to change.
She returned early. Henry brightened. She resolved to talk once he recovered—until the doctor’s news two days later:
“You’re expecting. Will you keep it?”
“Yes, of course.” But she was rattled. A child hadn’t been in her plans.
Henry was overjoyed.
“Liz, I’ll love you even more. Take such care of you.”
He already doted on her.
Years flew. Emily grew. Elizabeth knew a child deserved two parents, yet she longed to leave. But divorce waited.
Emily arrived. Henry adored both wife and daughter—feeding, bathing, walking her, rising at night before Elizabeth could.
Emily flourished. The couple lived quietly, without rows or smashed plates. Yet Elizabeth felt stifled. Thoughts of leaving never faded.
On Emily’s first day of school, they walked her hand in hand.
“Mum, Dad, I’ll get top marks! They told us in nursery that’s the best!” Emily chirped, skipping ahead.
“That’s my girl. Clever and kind, just like your mum,” Henry said.
Years rolled by. Emily thrived in school. One by one, their parents passed. Henry and Elizabeth became each other’s only kin. They lived amicably. Emily grew, started university, brought a boyfriend home.
Watching friends’ marriages crumble—husbands drinking, cheating, shouting—Elizabeth often went to bed thanking God for her kind, steadfast man.
“You’re lucky, Liz,” sighed Lucy, long divorced from Tim, raising two children alone. “Henry’s your rock. Still looks at you like you’re twenty.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Yes, he’s reliable.”
She never confessed how that “rock” had once felt like a prison. To leave or stay—she’d faced that choice often. Life had always halted her.
Now, with Emily grown, Elizabeth mused privately: *She wouldn’t understand if I left. And truthfully, without Henry and her, I’ve no one.*
They’d built a life, raised a daughter. Now, with maturity’s twilight ahead, perhaps it wasn’t time to go—but to stay. Beyond the next turn? Only age awaited.
