“I want a divorce,” she whispered, averting her gaze.
It was a frigid evening in London when Emily murmured those words, her eyes avoiding her husband, Oliver. His face drained of colour, a silent question hanging between them.
“Im leaving you to the woman you truly love,” Emily said, realising the most important woman in his life had always been his mother. “I refuse to be the understudy any longer.”
Her throat tightened, betraying tears welling up. Years of disappointment and pain surged through her, stealing the breath from her lungs.
“What are you talking about? What other woman?” Oliver stammered, staring at her in disbelief.
“Weve spoken about this before. Ever since our wedding, your mother has drained usfinancially, emotionally, every way possible. And you let her, because her roast is juicier and her Yorkshire puddings fluffier. I cant do this anymore.”
Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks as she mourned the dreams shed once held so clearly. A promising fiancé, a respected career, life in central Londonall of it had turned into a battle for her own happiness.
Five years earlier, Emily had stepped tentatively into the grand living room of Olivers flat. The furniture, the china, the décorall of it seemed expensive and fragile to a girl whod spent most of her life in shared houses and student halls.
“Fancy me landing a man with his own place,” shed teased, resting her hands on his shoulders.
“Just wait till I leave socks everywhere. Then youll really be impressed.”
Shed moved in quickly after they met, their romance blooming, demanding a sequel. Back then, she was in her final year at Kings College studying journalism, while Oliver, five years older, worked as a sales manager with a solid income.
A year later, they married.
“Soon well turn the guest room into a nursery,” Emily had once remarked, hugging him, hinting she was ready for children.
But a month later, an unexpected arrival appearedOlivers mother, Mrs. Whitmore, stood at their door with two suitcases. Shed always had an excellent relationship with her sonat least, in her own eyes.
Raised on guilt and the demands of a single parent, Oliver felt eternally indebted. She took pride in his success, believing it was entirely her doing.
With every payday, Oliver repaid his “debts”mortgage, car, childhood itself. Emily watched from afar, careful not to disrupt his bond with his mother, only occasionally tiptoeing around the subject.
“Where did the money from selling the house go?” Emily asked one evening, pouring tea. Mrs. Whitmore had come from a village near Oxford, where shed inherited a modest cottage.
Every year, Oliver offered to help her find a place in the city, but she refused. Then suddenly, she sold the housequickly, cheaply.
“Some for a holiday, some invested in my new business.”
Ambitious and domineering, Mrs. Whitmore had discovered an online cosmetics company. To stay partnered, she had to buy their products in bulkso shed sunk the house money into it.
“Ive decided it wont be a problem if I stay here,” she declared, stirring honey into her tea.
“Of course, we love having you!” Emily probed carefully, hoping it was temporary. “Ill ask my friendshes an estate agentto find you a lovely flat.”
“Dont bother. Two homes are wasteful. Well save money if I stay,” Mrs. Whitmore countered, painting herself as the victim.
Emily stared at Oliver, hoping for support. She didnt dislike his mother, but sharing their home permanently was unbearable. Yet Oliver just shrugged. “Whatever you think is best.”
He always backed his mother, no matter how absurd her schemes. Macramé, candle-making, soap-craftingeach new hobby demanded equipment, materials, all paid for by him.
Since his promotion, Mrs. Whitmore hadnt worked a single day.
Olivers childhood guilt crushed his will, manifesting in endless financial support and blind obedience.
The guest room never became a nursery. Three years passed, Emily now working at a publishing house, her articles on family and relationships gaining traction. She analysed psychological dynamics for others, yet couldnt untangle her own.
Her opinions were ignored. Mrs. Whitmore held the reins.
An only child of a single mother, Oliver had married a woman whod demand his time and moneya threat his mother countered by monopolising both.
The entire flats cleaning supplies were replaced with her pyramid schemes products. Emily couldnt bear the sight of them. The “business” brought no profit, just Olivers wasted money and his mothers idle distractions.
When Mrs. Whitmore suggested Emily “invest” too, she knew drastic action was needed.
The final straw came on New Years Eve. After skating and hot chocolate, they sat in a café, rosy-cheeked and happy.
“Oliver, are you happy?”
“Of course,” he said, squeezing her hand. “How could I not be, with you?”
“I want a baby,” she whispered.
“Right now?” He laughed, kissing her fingers.
That night, they decided to try. But the next evening, Mrs. Whitmore stormed into their bedroom.
“You cant have a child now! Oliver still has the mortgage, the car payments”
Stunned, Emily snapped, “Youre just afraid hell stop funding your whims.”
It was the first time shed spoken so boldly.
“Ive only ever wanted the best for my son,” Mrs. Whitmore retorted. “I raised him aloneclothed him, fed him, made him the man he is.”
“You dont owe him for that. He owes you nothing. You chose to have him. You can hope for his help out of love, not debt.”
Mrs. Whitmore sneered. “Oliver will see Im right.”
And Emily feared she was correct.
Later, Oliver backtracked: “Maybe its not the right time. Were not ready.”
That was when Emily knew.
“I want a divorce.”
Oliver paled.
“Im leaving you to her. I wont be second best.”
Tears spilled as she laid bare years of neglect.
“What other woman?” he pleaded.
“Since we married, its always Mum, Mum Her roast is juicier, her puddings fluffier. She controls our money. I cant do this anymore.”
Oliver sat beside her, staring at her tear-streaked face. “Is this really just about Mum living here?”
“Dont you see? Shes consumed you. You dont belong to yourself. Without my salary, wed struggle. She forbade a baby to keep her cash flow. Shes a good woman, but she needs boundariesand you erase them. Youre hurting. So am I. So would our child. Your debts are paid, Oliver. Live for yourself.”
The conversation was brutal, but Oliver promised to change.
First, he cut off his mothers monthly allowance. Then, he asked her to move out.
A month later, Emily picked wallpaper for the nursery. Mrs. Whitmore, now visiting occasionally, had struggled with the changes but eventually accepted them. Without Olivers money, her “business” collapsed, forcing her to find a proper job.
A year later, they had a child. To their surprise, Mrs. Whitmore helped happily. The family spent time togetherfinally, everyone was content.
