**Divided, As Best I Could**
“Hello, Mum,” Emily said, trying to sound as if nothing had happened, but her voice came out brittle and stiff.
“Oh, Emmeline! What’s all this? I wasn’t expecting you today,” Margaret replied.
Emily studied her mother’s face. *Wasn’t expecting*—the words latched onto her soul like a burr, then echoed loudly in her mind. *Wasn’t expecting*. Lately, it seemed no one ever was.
“Well, don’t just stand there like a statue! Come in, I’m just bottling cucumbers. Did you drop by for a reason? Is everything alright with Oliver?”
“Everything’s fine, Mum. With Oliver. We’ve rented him a flat for now. Michael paid three months upfront, so they’ll manage…”
Emily watched her mother, busy as always with chores. It had been this way since childhood—Margaret forever rushing, always behind. *Hurry up*, *just nipping to the shops*, *sit tight, I’ll go*, *Emily, don’t interrupt, can’t you see I’m working?* Her mother cared for things, not feelings. *Wait* was her favourite word.
“Em, pour your own tea, will you? I’ve still got jars to sterilise. Alright?”
“Fine, Mum,” Emily said, filling a cup she had no desire to drink from.
“So, why *have* you come?”
“Mum, listen… did you ever think about divorcing Dad?” Emily ventured hesitantly.
“Well… no, not really. Why swap one problem for another? Men are all the same! What’s happened?”
“Mum, I… I want a divorce.”
“What?! What’s gone wrong? Has he strayed?”
Margaret froze mid-wipe, jar in hand, clearly blindsided.
“Mum, we’ve just… grown apart. Oliver’s grown up, moved in with his girlfriend. I think Michael and I should separate.”
“Good Lord, what’s got into you?!”
“Today’s our twenty-fifth anniversary. This morning, he didn’t even mention it. Just asked where his socks were and how long till breakfast. That’s all.” Emily’s voice cracked.
“That’s *all*? Emmeline, don’t be daft! A wedding anniversary, big deal! Your father never gave me so much as a thimble, and I never bothered either. Why waste money on nonsense?” Margaret huffed.
Emily blinked back tears. She’d been foolish to expect understanding. Her mother *never* understood.
“Now don’t start weeping! A divorce’ll be nothing but trouble—splitting the house, the cottage, the car… What about your savings? I withdrew mine, stashed it at home. And that lovely three-bed! All that money spent on renovations…”
Margaret prattled on about equity and percentages, but Emily barely heard. The weight in her chest grew heavier.
“Listen, love—go home and put this nonsense out of your head. Fancy some peonies from the garden? They’ll wilt soon anyway.”
“No, thanks,” Emily sniffed.
“Suit yourself. Off you pop, then. Oh—they’ve got cheap compost at the garden centre. Need any?”
Emily shook her head and hurried out. The air in her childhood home was suffocating.
She headed for the bus stop but changed her mind, veering onto the pavement toward the riverbank. Her phone buzzed—Oliver’s name flashed.
“Hi, Ollie.”
“Mum, listen—got a minute? Need to talk.”
“Of course. Meet at The Rose Café in an hour?”
“Perfect. I’ve got something to tell you too.”
Twenty minutes later, Emily sat nursing a coffee. Oliver arrived, fidgeting.
“Mum… it’s Milena. She’s pregnant.”
The words hit like ice water. Oliver had only moved in with his girlfriend weeks ago. At forty-five, Emily wasn’t ready to be a grandmother.
“Mum? You there?”
“I—yes. It’s just… sudden. Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Course. You’ll help, won’t you? What did *you* want to say?”
“Ollie… how would you feel if Dad and I divorced?”
“Wait—you’re *splitting*? Why?”
“We’re just… strangers now. Today’s our silver anniversary, and he forgot.”
“Right. Well, do what you want. I’m grown. Gotta dash.”
“Bye, son.”
She paid, trudged home, mechanically shopped for dinner. Michael returned at dusk, grumbling about his boss and his mate Andy’s new car. Emily nodded along.
The next morning, after he left, she washed the dishes, adrift. Part of her seethed at his indifference; another clung to their twenty-five years. Was she overreacting? The phone rang—Oliver again.
“Mum, about the divorce… I’ve been thinking.”
“You think I’m rushing? I’ve been wondering too—”
“No, listen. You should divide the assets *before* filing. Swap the three-bed for two one-beds, maybe pocket some cash. Sell the cottage, split the proceeds—Milena and I could use a two-bed. It’s the smart move.”
“Maybe, Ollie. Let’s talk later.”
“Just don’t dither. We can’t miss this chance.”
She hung up, numb. At the riverbank, a man sat on her usual bench.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all! Lovely day.”
“You seem down,” he remarked.
“Just… life.”
“Wait here.” He returned with two ice lollies. “They say ice cream’s full of happy hormones. Fancy testing the theory?”
Emily laughed despite herself. It *was* delicious—for a moment, she was a child again.
“I’m Victor, by the way.”
“Emily. Pleasure.”
They strolled as he spoke of his divorce six months prior—his ex-wife’s pragmatism, his own wanderlust. Emily pictured walking into a new life beside him.
—
At home, Michael scowled. “Where’ve you been? No dinner.”
“There *isn’t* any. I’m leaving.”
“Suit yourself.”
“*That’s* all you’ve got?!”
“Won’t stop you.”
By noon the next day, Emily rented a flat. The lift was broken.
“Seventh floor, I’m afraid,” said the landlady.
“I’ll manage.”
The burden she’d shed weighed more than her suitcase. On the third-floor landing, a voice called:
“Need a hand?”
“Victor?!”
“Emily! What are you doing here?”
“Moving in. Seventh floor.”
“What a coincidence—I’m on the eighth!”
He carried her case up, then left. The phone rang—Oliver, triumphant.
“Mum! Found a buyer for the cottage!”
“If you’re happy, sell it. Dad will handle it.”
She cleaned the flat, humming. That evening, Victor knocked with lilies.
“Housewarming gift.”
“My favourites…”
“I had a feeling.”
Over tea, she exhaled.
—
Three months later, the divorce was final. Michael and Oliver sold the cottage, shortchanging her, but she didn’t fight. When her grandson arrived, she visited but kept Oliver at arm’s length.
Victor proposed. They bought a cosy flat. On their first anniversary, he baked a cake and brought lilies.
Emily smiled. It was never too late.
