“I want a divorce,” she whispered, turning her face away.
It was a chilly evening in London when Emily quietly said, “I want a divorce,” her gaze shifting from her husband, James.
James’s face went pale in an instant. A silent question hung between them.
“I’m leaving you to the woman you truly love,” Emily said, realising the most important woman in his life had always been his mother. “I wont play second fiddle anymore.”
Emily felt her throat tighten, her eyes betraying her with unshed tears. Years of pain and disappointment rose up, stealing the breath from her lungs.
“What are you talking about? What other woman?” James asked, stunned, staring at his wife in disbelief.
“Weve had this conversation so many times. Since we got married, your mother has drained usfinancially, emotionally, every way possible. And you just let it happen because ‘her roast is juicier and her Yorkshire puddings fluffier.’ I cant do this anymore,” Emily burst out.
Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks. She mourned the dreams shed once held so clearlya promising fiancé, a respected career, a life in the heart of Londononly to find it all slipping through her fingers.
Five years earlier, Emily had hesitantly stepped into the spacious living room of Jamess flat. The furniture, the china, the décorfor a girl whod spent most of her life in shared flats and student halls, it all looked expensive and fragile.
“Imagine my luck, finding a man who already owns a place,” shed joked, resting her hands on Jamess shoulders.
“Just wait till you see my socks piled up everywherethen youll really be impressed.”
Emily had moved in with him quickly. Their romance had blossomed fast, demanding progression.
Back then, she was in her final year at Kings College, studying journalism, while James, five years older, worked as a sales manager with a comfortable salary.
A year after moving in, they married.
“Soon we can turn the spare room into a nursery,” Emily had once remarked, hugging James, hinting she was ready for children.
But a month later, unexpected company arrivedJamess mother, Mrs. Whitmore, stood at their door with two suitcases. She had an excellent relationship with her sonat least, in her eyes.
Her parenting, steeped in guilt and the demands of a single mother, had shaped a man who felt forever indebted to her. She took pride in his success, convinced it was all her doing.
Every payday, James repaid debtsfor the flat, the car, his childhood. Emily watched from the sidelines, reluctant to disrupt his bond with his mother, only occasionally broaching the subject.
“Where did the money from selling the house go?” Emily asked carefully, pouring tea. Mrs. Whitmore had come from a small village near Oxford, where shed inherited a modest cottage.
Every year, James offered to help her find a place in the city, but she refused. Then suddenly, she sold her homequickly, and cheaply.
“Some for a holiday, some invested in my new business.”
Despite her struggles, Mrs. Whitmore remained ambitiousand domineering.
Dealing with her was like walking on eggshellsgive her an inch, and shed take a mile.
Recently, shed discovered an online cosmetics company. To stay partnered, she had to buy stock monthlyso she invested the house money into it.
“Ive decided Ill stay here,” she declared, stirring honey into her tea.
“Of course, we love having you!” Emily tried to clarify it was temporary. “Ill ask my friendshes an estate agentshell find you a lovely flat in a nice area.”
“No need. Two homes are wasteful. Well save by me staying hereits no trouble,” Mrs. Whitmore countered, painting herself as a victim.
Emily looked pointedly at James. She didnt dislike his mother, but sharing their home indefinitely was too much. Yet James just shrugged. “Whatever you think is best.”
He always backed his mother, no matter how unreasonable, believing he owed her everything.
And there was no shortage of her venturesmacramé, candle-making, soap-crafting, scrapbooking.
She hunted for a goldmine and found it in James, who funded every whimmaterials, supplies, her living costs.
Since his promotion, Mrs. Whitmore hadnt worked a day.
Jamess childish devotion smothered his own will, showing in endless financial support and blind obedience.
It was staggering how a grown man could be so easily manipulated.
The spare room never became a nursery. Three years passed, and little changed. Emily now worked at a publishing house, writing articles on family and relationships.
Analysing others joys and sorrows, she still couldnt fix her own marriage.
Her opinions meant nothingMrs. Whitmore ruled the household.
Emily understoodan only child of a single mother marries a woman whod demand his time and moneya threat his mother countered by clinging tighter.
Mixed with superiority and entitlement, Mrs. Whitmores issues could only be solved by heror if James woke up. But he remained blind.
Their home was filled with her useless cosmetics stock. The “business” brought no profit, just empty spending.
Emily had raised it before, only to hear:
“Mum knows what shes doing,” from James, and
“Good things take time,” from his mother.
Yet three years had passed, and expenses only grew.
When Mrs. Whitmore suggested Emily “invest in the family business,” she knew drastic action was needed.
The final straw was a conversation that should never have happened.
On New Years Eve, theyd finally gone on a rare date. After ice-skating, they sat in a cosy café.
Rosy-cheeked and glowing, Emily radiated love.
“James, are you happy?”
“Of course,” he took her hand. “How could I not be, with you?”
“I want a baby,” she whispered, leaning closer.
“Right now?” He kissed her hand.
That night, they decided it was time. But the next day, Mrs. Whitmore stormed into their bedroom as Emily returned from work.
“You cant have a child now!”
Stunned by her audacity, Emily froze.
“James still has the mortgage, the car loan”
“Youre just scared hell stop funding your endless whims,” Emily shot back, finally snapping. It was the first time shed stood up to her.
“Ive only ever wanted the best for my soneven if Ive asked for a little help. Hes all I haveI raised him, clothed him, made him the man he is!”
“You dont own him for that. You chose to have himhe owes you nothing. You can hope for his love, not demand it.”
Mrs. Whitmore understood but wouldnt surrender her comfort. “James will see Im right.”
And Emily feared she might be.
No obstacle would stop her wanting a babybut for James, his mother was barrier enough. Still, she hoped hed see reason.
But that evening, it became clearhe was lost, even to himself.
Yesterday, hed loved the idea of a child. Today, he argued:
“Maybe its not the right time,”
“Were not ready,”
“We cant afford it.”
Emily knew this couldnt continue.
“I want a divorce.”
James paled.
“Im leaving you to the one you truly love. I wont be second best anymore.”
She couldnt ignore the injustice any longer. How many times had she tried to talk, only for him to deny reality?
Tears welled.
“What are you on about? What other woman?”
“Since we married, its always ‘Mum, Mum’ Her roast is juicier, her puddings fluffier. She controls our money. I cant take it anymore.”
James barely heard the rest, too shocked to comprehend how things had come to this. When had he lost control? Or had he ever had it?
As she fell silent, he sat beside her, staring at her tear-streaked face.
“Is this really just about Mum living here?”
“How can you not see? Shes consumed you. Youre not your own person. Without my salary, wed struggle. Your mother forbade me getting pregnantafraid of losing her cash flow.
Shes not a bad woman, but she needs boundariesones you keep erasing. You suffer, I suffer, our future child suffers. Your debts are paid, James. Live for yourself, not her.”
The talk was painful, but James begged for a chance, promising to redefine his relationship with his mother and prioritise their future.
The first steps were hardcutting off her monthly allowance, then suggesting she move out.
A month later, Emily picked wallpaper for the nursery. Mrs. Whitmore took the changes badly but eventually accepted she couldnt control James anymore.
Without his money, her “business” collapsed. Forced to find real work, she learned to stand on her own.
A year later, they had
