I still remember the day the phone buzzed with a short, cold message from Mark: Divorce filed. Take the children and clear out by Friday. I stared at the screen, cup of tea trembling in my hands. Divorce? I whispered, almost spilling the tea.
The next ring was my motherinlaws number flashing on the screen. Good afternoon, Mrs. Thompson? I answered, trying to keep my voice steady.
Emily, you know the drill, she said, oddly bright. Mark has made his decision. The house is ours we bought it before you two were married. He even transferred the car into his name last week.
I sat upright, a cold knot forming in my stomach. Last week? Hed been planning this?
And the children? Where will they go? I asked, fearing the answer.
Thats your problem, she snapped. Mark promised hed pay child support the bare minimum, and only when the courts order it.
I
Oh, Ive got another call. Goodbye! Mrs. Thompson hung up.
I glanced at the clock; Harry and Blythe would be home from school any minute. How could I explain that we had to pack up the home wed lived in for seven years?
A text from my sisterinlaw buzzed next: Finally. You never appreciated Mark. Always whining. I could feel my anger rise. I worked two jobs while he was finding himself? I muttered, almost throwing the phone.
Within a day we were on the move. I found a spare room in a council house on the outskirts of Manchester. The landlady, a stout woman with weary eyes, looked at the children and said, Move in. First and last months rent up front.
Harry, twelve, clutched his backpack, his brow furrowed like an adults. Blythe, nine, held his hand tightly. When we stepped into the tiny, peelingwallroom, Harry asked, Mum, does Dad know where were going?
No. And he wont find out unless he asks.
And Grandma? Blythe whispered.
We wont be calling her either, I replied.
That evening, after the children were folded onto the sofa, I sat by the grimy window listening to a neighbour snore through the thin wall and to a drunken argument drifting up from the street below. And now what? I asked the darkness.
At work the following day, my manager said, Were making redundancies, avoiding my eyes. I knew Mark had pulled some strings; he had contacts in town.
A week later, Mrs. Thompson called again. Emily, how are you? Im worried about the grandchildren.
Splendid, Mrs. Thompson, I said, forcing cheerfulness. Everythingsfantastic.
Do you have any money? Maybemaybe call Mark? Make up? Why put the children through this?
Thanks, but well manage. I told her.
Oh, dont be proud! How long will you last without us? A month? Two? Mark says you cant even hammer a nail. Her voice was laced with the same old disdain Id heard for a decade of marriage.
I closed my eyes, recalling the endless chorus of Youre nothing without us, We pulled you out of the mud, Thank us for marrying you. The words still echoed.
That night a gentle knock came at the door. An elderly neighbour from the flat above, Nina, stood there with a welcoming smile. Im Nina, neighbour. Heard youre in a bind. Fancy a cup of tea?
Over tea Nina told me about the benefits I could claim, the free activities at the community centre, and where to look for odd jobs. My daughter was in the same boat. She made it, and you will too, she encouraged.
I stayed up till dawn scribbling adverts: House cleaning, Pet walking, Simple clothing repairs. The phone was silent; Marks family never called again, and I stopped waiting for them.
Three days later a call came. Twohour cleaning job, twobedroom flat, across town, a woman said. Five hundred pounds.
Thats low, I replied, surprised at my own nerve. Seven hundred.
Six hundred, no more, she countered.
On the way home I bought bread, pasta, and minced beef. I called the kids into the kitchen. Were learning to cook tonight. Harry muttered, Dad always said youre a bad cook. I ruffled his hair. Your father said a lot of things. Now well all learn together.
Nina helped me fill out the benefit forms and suggested free clubs for the children. Dance and chess at the community centre, she said. Blythe will love the rhythm, Harry the strategy. You can work while theyre there.
Evenings found me sewing. I rescued an old sewing machine from a dump and got it running. My first orders were curtains for neighbours. Youve got golden hands, Nina praised. Charge what youre worth.
Meanwhile at Marks house, the conversation was still bitter. Shell survive a month at best, Mrs. Thompson declared over tea with her daughter and Mark. Where can she go with two kids, no skills, no education?
Think shell crawl back? Marks sister, Lena, sneered. Youre not rushing child support, are you?
Were not officially divorced yet, Mark grumbled. And things are tight for me too. Blythes leaving the salon, business is shaky.
Your mistress? Lena shot back. The one you tore the family apart for?
I didnt tear it apart; I freed myself, Mark snapped. Enough about Emily. Lets finish our tea and go to the new restaurant.
On Saturday at the market, I sold my first handmade aprons and potholders. The kids helped; Blythe arranged the stalls, Harry shouted out to customers. A welldressed woman in her forties stopped. What a lovely family, she said. And whos this work?
Its mine, I answered shyly. I sew in the evenings.
Professional seamstress? she asked.
No, selftaught.
She examined an apron thoughtfully. Im Marina, wife of the director at the town sports school. We could use someone with your skills. Come Monday, lets talk.
Back home, Harry asked, Mum, why are you pacing?
Ive got a job offer! A real one! I announced.
Yay! Blythe cheered. Can we buy new pencils?
And maybe move out of this place? I added, hopeful.
At the sports school, I was welcomed by the director, a tall man with a military bearing. We need someone for two roles cleaner and seamstress. Uniform repairs, number stitching, occasional costume work.
I can do that, I said firmly.
I believe you, Marina smiled. Start next week.
That night I wept, not from sorrow but from relief. Nina, its happening, I whispered in her kitchen. Its really working!
What did you expect? she replied, nodding. You just never got a chance before. Now fly, little bird.
My first paycheck arrived in crisp notes a tidy £170. I spread the cash on the table. Lets count, I told the kids. Rent, food, savings.
Can I get new shoes? Harry asked quietly. My toes stick out of the old ones.
Of course, I said, and added, Lets look for a flat tiny, but ours.
A week later we found a onebedroom flat on the fifth floor of a block of flats. No fancy finishes, just peeling wallpaper and a view of the back gardens, but it was ours.
£90 a month, plus bills, the landlord informed us gruffly.
Ill take it, I said without haggling.
Nina helped with the move, lugging an old couch and two stools. My dowry for you, she laughed. Youll settle in slowly.
At the school I arrived early, cleaned the halls, then sat at the sewing machine repairing uniforms and adding patches. The director praised my work. Youre a real find, Emily. Might even get a bonus at quarters end.
One day, sorting through old performance costumes, I suggested, May I try a new design? I have some ideas. Marinas eyes lit up. Show me sketches.
That night, after the children were tucked in, I drew until my hand ached. In the morning I handed Marina five designs. Brilliant! she exclaimed. Yuri, look what our seamstress has created!
Two weeks later the school allocated funds for new costumes. I was officially named a designer and my salary rose by £55.
Rumours spread through town. Did you hear? Emilys kids are at the fancy sports school now, women whispered in the supermarket line. She works there too. The director values her.
At a Sunday lunch at Marks house, the topic surfaced again. Mrs. Thompson served salad and said, Your ex has settled well. Works at the sports school, the kids go there too.
No way, Mark muttered. Probably just mops floors.
My friend saw her at a parent meeting, Lena added. She sews school uniforms on order. Theres a line for her.
What line? Mark stopped chewing. She didnt know anything!
Then she learned, Lena shrugged. The kids look neat. You wouldnt say their mum raised them alone.
Imagine she doesnt even ask for money, Mrs. Thompson said, surprised.
Its true, Lena smirked. Maybe she wasnt as useless as you thought.
Mark slammed his plate down. Ive got a business to run.
His sisters words haunted him: Not as useless. Ten years hed dismissed me as a burden; now Id built a life without him.
His phone rang incessantly his motherinlaw demanding child support. Shed been silent for months, but now she exploded, having heard of my progress.
By evening he finally dialed my number. Hello? my voice was calm.
Hi. How are the children? he asked.
Fine. Harry has a competition soon, Blythes doing dance.
I heard youve settled well, he forced.
Yes, thank you, I replied, a hint of irony in my tone. Were managing.
Could I come by? See the kids? he pressed.
A long pause. No, Mark. Not now.
But Im their father! he snapped.
The father who vanished for two months, I cut in. Sorry, I have to go. We have costume fittings.
Three months after the move my life steadied. I was promoted to fashion designer at the sports school, took commissions for school uniforms, and my client list grew.
Mom, maybe you need an assistant? Harry asked one afternoon, eyeing the pile of patterns. You cant keep up.
Ill manage, I said, ruffling his hair. Were even planning a New Years holiday at a seaside resort.
Really? Blythe clapped. Will there be snow?
There will be snow, sleds, an ice rink, I promised.
That evening Mrs. Thompson called again, her tone unusually gentle. Emily, how are you?
Fine, Mrs. Thompson.
New Years is near. Maybe let the children visit us? Grandpa and I miss them.
I smiled. Three months ago shed thrown them out; now she claimed to miss them. Sorry, we already have plans. Were going away.
Where to? she asked, surprised.
To a ski resort.
A pause. Emily, perhaps make peace? Mark says he overreacted. Maybe try again?
No, Mrs. Thompson. Thats in the past.
But the children without a father
And where was that father when they were hungry? I said, gripping the phone. When we slept on the floor of a council flat?
Everyone makes mistakes
My mistake was letting you think I was worthless. I wont repeat it.
The next day at the school, Mark arrived with a huge bouquet of roses. Can we talk? he asked, extending the flowers.
Why? I said, refusing the bouquet.
Ive realised everything. I was wrong. Maybe we can start over?
Mark, I said, looking him straight in the eye, when you kicked us out I thought Id die of grief. Then I realised it was the best thing that ever happened to me.
What?
For ten years you convinced me I was worthless, that Id be lost without you. In these months Ive learned I can do anything: work, raise the children, make plans. I dont need a partner who doesnt value me.
He lowered the roses, awkward.
The children need a father.
A reliable father. Pay child support on time. Visit on a schedule. But we cant go back.
At home the kids found a surprise a new laptop for their studies. Were also enrolling in fashion design courses, I told them. Well keep moving forward.
Mom, are you really never going back to Dad? Blythe asked that night. Grandma called, said Dad misses you.
No, sweetheart. Well live our own life. Dad can visit if he wishes.
Im glad, Harry said suddenly. Before there was always shouting. Now its quiet.
I hugged him. And it will get better. I promise.
In spring I opened a small atelier, taking out a modest loan and buying the needed equipment. Nina helped watch the children when I stayed late. Youre amazing, love, she said. Youve climbed out of a deep pit.
You know, Nina, I smiled as I locked the shop, sometimes you have to lose everything to discover what youre capable of.
Walking home that evening I thought about the upcoming recital at the sports school. My costume designs had won an award at the regional contest, and the director was keen to expand our collaboration.
Back at the modest flat, homework, a halffinished dress for Blythe, and the ordinary hum of family life awaited. I knew now, without doubt, that we would make it together. Because the end of one life often marks the beginning of a brighter one.
