“I want a divorce,” she whispered, turning her face away.
It was a chilly evening in London when Emily said softly, “I want a divorce,” her gaze drifting from her husband, James.
James went pale in an instant. A silent question hung in the air.
“Im leaving you to the woman you truly love,” Emily said, finally acknowledging that the most important woman in his life had always been his mother. “I refuse to be second best any longer.”
Her throat tightened, her eyes betraying her with unshed tears. Years of heartache and disappointment spilled over, stealing the breath from her lungs.
“What are you talking about? What other woman?” James asked, stunned, staring at his wife in disbelief.
“Weve talked about this so many times. Since our wedding, your mother has drained usfinancially, emotionally, even our time. And you let her, because her soups richer and her pancakes 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, life in central Londononly for it all to become a battle for her own happiness.
Five years earlier, Emily had hesitantly stepped into the flats spacious living room. The furniture, the china, the décorto a woman whod spent most of her life in shared flats and student halls, everything looked expensive and fragile.
“Fancy me landing a man with his own place,” shed teased, resting her hands on Jamess shoulders. “Just wait till I start leaving socks everywhere. Then tell me how impressed you are.”
Shed moved in quickly after they met. Their romance had blossomed, demanding to be pursued. Back then, she was finishing her journalism degree at Kings College, while James, five years older, was a sales manager with a steady income.
A year after moving in, they married.
“Maybe well turn the guest room into a nursery soon,” Emily had once remarked, hugging James and hinting she was ready for a family.
But a month later, the unexpected arrival cameJamess mother, Mrs. Whitaker, stood at their door with two suitcases. She and her son shared an unshakable bond, at least in her eyes.
Her parenting, steeped in guilt and the demands of a single mother, had sculpted a man who felt indebted to her. She prided herself on his success, convinced it was solely her doing.
With every paycheck, James repaid debtsmortgage, car loans, even his childhood. Emily watched from the sidelines, never wanting to disrupt his bond with his mother, only occasionally broaching the subject.
“Where did the money from the house sale go?” Emily asked over tea, treading carefully. Mrs. Whitaker had come from a small village near Oxford, where shed inherited a modest house with a garden.
Each year, James offered to help her find a place in the city, but she refused. Then, suddenly, shed sold her homequickly, and for far less than it was worth.
“Some for my holiday, some invested in my new business.”
Despite her struggles, Mrs. Whitaker remained ambitiousdomineering and presumptuous with it.
Shed recently discovered an online cosmetics company. To stay partnered with them, she had to buy their products in bulkso thats where the house money went.
“Ive decided staying here wont be a problem,” Mrs. Whitaker declared, stirring honey into her tea.
“Of course, we love having guests!” Emily tried to clarify it was temporary. “Ill ask my friendshes an estate agent. Shell find you a lovely flat in a nice area.”
“No need. Two homes are wasteful. We should save where we can,” Mrs. Whitaker countered, painting herself as a victim.
Emily glanced at James, hoping for support. She didnt dislike his mother, but sharing their home indefinitely was untenable. Yet James only shrugged. “Whatever you prefer.”
He backed his mothers whims unquestioningly, believing he owed her compliance.
And there were many whimsmacramé, candle-making, soap crafting, scrapbooking. She chased get-rich-quick schemes, funded entirely by James, who paid for materials, equipment, and her living costs.
Since his promotion, Mrs. Whitaker hadnt worked a single day.
Jamess childish gratitude smothered his independencefinancially and emotionally.
Amazing how a grown man could be so easily manipulated, blind to it all.
The guest room never became a nursery. Three years passed with little change. Emily now worked at a publishing house, writing relationship columns. She analyzed love and family dynamicsyet couldnt solve her own.
Her voice held no weight at home, where Mrs. Whitaker ruled.
Emily understoodan only child raised by a single mother sees any wife as a threat, demanding total devotion to resist.
And in Mrs. Whitakers case, that came with a superiority complexher son owed her. Only she could fix this, but James was blind to it.
Their flat was now stocked with her pyramid scheme products. Her “business” brought no profitjust an expensive hobby.
Each time Emily raised concerns, James dismissed her: “Mum knows what shes doing.”
But three years in, the “tree” still hadnt grown.
When Mrs. Whitaker suggested Emily “invest in the family business,” she knew drastic action was needed.
The final straw was a conversation that never shouldve happened.
On New Years Eve 2023, the couple finally had a rare dateice skating, then a cosy café.
Rosy-cheeked and glowing, Emily radiated happiness. “James, are you happy?”
“Of course,” he squeezed her hand. “How could I not be, with you?”
“I want a baby,” she whispered, leaning closer.
“Right now?” he teased, kissing her hand.
That night, they agreed it was time. But 24 hours later, Mrs. Whitaker stormed into their bedroom.
“You cant have a child now!”
Stunned, Emily froze.
“James still has the mortgage, the car loan”
“Youre just scared hell stop funding your whims,” Emily fired backher first real defiance.
“Ive only ever wanted the best for him! I raised him aloneclothed him, fed him, made him the man he is!”
“He owes you nothing for that. You chose to have him. You can hope for his help out of lovenot obligation.”
Mrs. Whitaker understood but refused to surrender her comfort. “James will see Im right.”
And Emily feared she was correctJames was that deep under her spell.
But nothing would stop her wanting a child. For James, though, his mother was obstacle enough.
That evening, after another failed talk, she saw the truthJames was lost, even to himself.
Yesterday, hed loved the idea of a baby. Today? “Maybe its not the right time. Were not ready.”
Emily knew it was over.
“I want a divorce,” she said firmly.
James paled.
“Im leaving you to the woman you truly love. I wont be second best.”
The injustice burned. How many times had she tried to talk? James denied reality.
Tears welled.
“What other woman?” he asked, baffled.
“Since we married, its always Mum, Mum Her soup, her pancakes. She controls our money. I cant do this anymore.”
James barely heard the rest, stunned. When had he lost control? Or had he ever had it?
Finally, he sat beside her, taking in her tear-streaked face. “Is this really just about Mum living here?”
“Dont you see? Shes consumed you. Youre not your own person. Without my salary, wed struggle. She forbade a babyafraid of losing her allowance.”
“Your mothers not evilbut she needs boundaries. And you erase them with your compliance. You suffer. I suffer. Our future child would suffer. Your debts are paid, James. Live for yourselfnot her.”
The talk was painful, but James begged for a chance, promising to redefine his priorities.
The first steps were hardcutting off his mothers funds, then suggesting she move out.
A month later, Emily picked nursery wallpaper. Mrs. Whitaker visited occasionallytheir relationship improved with distance. Shed struggled with Jamess independence but eventually accepted it.
Without his money, her “business” collapsed. She found a proper job, learning self-reliance.
A year later, they had a baby. Now, Mrs. Whitaker helped gladly. The family spent happy days together.
**Sometimes love means letting gonot of people, but of the chains we mistake for loyalty.**
