“Everything’s fine,” she said—then cried all night.
“Mum, what’s wrong with you?” Emily tugged at her mother’s sleeve. “Why won’t you talk to me? I’m asking you!”
“Everything’s fine, love,” Helen wiped her hands on her apron and turned to the window. “Just tired today.”
“Tired? You’re retired!” Emily’s voice was sharp with frustration. “I’ve been explaining the move to you for half an hour, and it’s like you’re not even listening.”
“I am, I am. Moving to a new house—good for you.”
Emily huffed and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, where untouched cups of cold tea sat.
“Mum, look at me, will you? What’s happened?”
Helen slowly turned to face her. Unexpressed tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them back stubbornly.
“I told you, everything’s fine. Go on about your new place.”
Emily studied her mother closely. Something was off, but she couldn’t place it. She looked worn, dark circles under her eyes.
“Mum, where’s Dad? Isn’t he back from the allotment yet?”
“Dad’s… delayed,” Helen hesitated. “Lots to do there, in the garden.”
“In December?” Emily frowned. “What garden work is there in December?”
“Well… clearing snow, checking the shed. Winter weather.”
Emily’s frown deepened. Dad never went to the allotment in winter. Said it was a waste of time and petrol.
“Mum, call him. I need to talk to both of you.”
“Don’t bother him,” Helen answered quickly. “He’s… busy.”
“Doing what?” Emily pulled out her phone. “I’ll call him myself.”
“Don’t!” Her mother snatched the phone away. “Please, don’t.”
Emily froze at the outburst.
“Mum, what’s going on? Did you two have a row?”
“We didn’t row. Everything’s fine, I told you.”
“What’s ‘fine’ about this? You’re pale as a sheet, your eyes are red, Dad’s not home, and you keep saying ‘everything’s fine’!”
Helen pressed her lips together and turned back to the window. Outside, thick snowflakes swirled, blanketing the garden white.
“Fancy a fresh cuppa?” she asked abruptly. “This one’s gone cold.”
“I don’t want tea! I want the truth!”
Emily stood and moved close, gripping her mother’s shoulders.
“Mum, I’m your daughter. If something’s wrong, I need to know. Where’s Dad?”
Helen shut her eyes. The ache in her chest—the one she’d carried for a week—tightened. A week of silence, half-truths, pretending.
“Dad…” she began, then stopped.
“What about him?” Emily’s grip tightened. “Mum, you’re scaring me!”
“He’s not hurt. He’s healthy.”
“Then where is he?”
A heavy silence hung between them. Helen stared at the floor, fiddling with her apron.
“With Margaret,” she finally whispered.
“Margaret who?”
“Margaret Thompson. From down the road.”
Emily blinked, confused.
“What’s he doing there?”
“Living,” Helen said softly.
The word dropped like a stone, rippling with sudden, awful clarity.
“…Living?” Emily repeated.
“Moved in with her. A week ago. Said he couldn’t stay with me anymore—that he loves her.”
Emily sank onto a chair as if her legs had given way.
“Mum… is this real?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been saying ‘everything’s fine’?”
Helen finally faced her daughter. Tears streamed freely now, unstoppable.
“What was I supposed to say? That after thirty-eight years, your father left me for a neighbour? That I’m just some unwanted old woman now?”
“Mum—” Emily jumped up and hugged her. “Why didn’t you tell me straight away?”
“Didn’t want to upset you. You’ve got the move, the kids, work. Why burden you?”
“What kids? Mine are grown! You’re my mum—your troubles are mine!”
Helen shuddered and clung to her.
“Em, I feel so lost. I don’t know what to do. How to go on.”
“Tell me everything. From the start.”
They sat together on the sofa. Helen dabbed her eyes with a tissue and began.
“It started three months back. Dad was late a lot—said it was work. Then he got distant. Used to ask about my day, what I’d cooked. Stopped all that. Just telly or his phone.”
Emily listened quietly.
“At first, I thought he was tired. Work was mad, that new contract. Then I noticed—new shirts, aftershave. But at home, he was miserable.”
“And you didn’t suspect?”
“I did. But I told myself I was imagining it. After all these years, grandkids soon… It seemed impossible.”
She broke down again.
“Then I bumped into Margaret at Tesco. She acted odd, wouldn’t meet my eye. And I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“They were together. Just felt it. Got home, Dad was heading out—said he was off to the pub. All dressed up.”
“So you followed him?”
“Yes. Hate to admit it, but I did. Went straight to her place. Up the steps, inside.”
Emily clenched her fists.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. Sat up all night, thinking. Next morning, he came back like normal. Wanted breakfast, went to work.”
“Mum, why didn’t you confront him?”
“I was scared,” Helen admitted. “Scared if I spoke, he’d leave. This way, at least he was still home.”
“How long did it go on?”
“A month. A whole month pretending. Cooking, cleaning, while crying myself to sleep.”
Emily shook her head.
“Mum, why torture yourself?”
“What else? Scream at him? I hoped he’d snap out of it.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No. A week ago, over breakfast, he just said it. I was serving porridge, and he goes, ‘Helen, I’m leaving. I’m in love with someone else.’”
She trembled.
“Can you believe it? Over porridge! Like the weather forecast!”
Emily hugged her tighter.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. Just sat there. He packed a bag and left. I didn’t move.”
“God, Mum…”
“The worst part? He didn’t even apologise. Like I was just some flatmate.”
Emily stood, pacing.
“What’s Margaret like?”
“Ordinary. Fifty-five, works at the library. Widowed last year. Always seemed quiet, polite. We’d chat sometimes.”
“How could she do this?”
“Dunno. Maybe lonely. Dad paid her attention, I suppose.”
“But she knew he was married!”
“Course she did. I showed her photos of you lot once, talked about the grandkids.”
Emily stopped in front of her.
“Have you spoken to him since?”
“Once. Asked how I was. I said ‘fine’. Didn’t beg. Too proud.”
“And he?”
“Sounded relieved. Said, ‘Good, we’re handling this like adults.’ Adults! After thirty-eight years!”
“Mum… do you want him back?”
Helen thought.
“Sometimes. Then I think—why? A man who threw me away?”
“Exactly.”
“But I’m scared, Em. Sixty-two. What now? Alone in this house.”
“You’re not alone. You’ve got me, James, the kids.”
“You’ve got your own lives. I won’t be a burden.”
Emily knelt beside her.
“Listen. We’re buying a big place—five bedrooms. One’s yours. Come live with us.”
“I’d be in the way—”
“No! You’ll help with the kids, I’ll have less stress. You won’t be lonely.”
Helen shook her head.
“No, love. Old folk just cause rows.”
“James suggested it! When we got the house, he said, ‘Your mum should have a room.’”
“Really?”
“Yes. He adores you. Kids do too.”
For the first time in a week, hope flickered in Helen’s eyes.
“What about this house?”
“Sell it. Or rent it. Extra income.”
“But… all our memories…”
“Mum, he trampled those when he left. Why stay where you’ll just hurt?”
Helen wiped her eyes.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I am. Life’s not over. You’ve
