28May2025 I stood on the front step of our old terraced house, the same place where Eleanor, my exwife, had let me out four years ago. In my hands I clutched a bunch of white roses, and on my face I wore the same grin that once made her twentytwoyearold heart melt.
Eleanor, Ive come back, I announced, almost as if I were declaring victory in a battlefield. Ive realised I made a terrible mistake. Youre the finest woman Ive ever known.
She smiled, a thin, practiced smile, and stepped aside. Well, Victor, what a surprise, she said, gesturing to the hallway. Come in, but do remove your shoes I dont want you trampling over my memories again.
Eleanor slipped into the kitchen, continued her breakfast, and never offered me a seat. How are you, Victor? she asked, flatly, as she sliced an omelette. Did the latest loveaffair drive you out, or have you simply decided to seek a temporary shelter?
I was taken aback. In the four years since we split, Eleanor had become a model of composure in any crisis. I recalled the young, idealistic girl Id once known, eager to forgive everything for the sake of family. Now, across the table, sat a confident thirtysixyearold woman with steellike nerves.
Eleanor, I want to rebuild our family, I said, setting the roses beside her plate. These years Ive lived as if in a dream. Only now do I understand my place is here, with you and the children.
She took a sip of coffee. And whats changed? Did your innate talent for disappearing at the worst possible moment finally run out?
I felt a surge of anger. Im serious, I snapped. I want to be with you, to look after the kids, to care for you. I came with flowers and an open heart.
She raised an eyebrow, the hint of sarcasm sliding into her tone. An open heart and an empty wallet, as usual? she teased, then softened. Sit down. Want a cup of tea? Or are you on some new selfdiscovery diet?
Ten years earlier, a twentyoneyearold Eleanor had been studying economics at a teachertraining college in Manchester when she first met me at a student party. I was three years older, working as a security guard at the local shopping centre, and I seemed worldly and selfsufficient.
Marry me, I had said after two months of courting. Why wait? I see youre the one.
She hesitated. Victor, we hardly know each other, she replied.
Whats there to know? I had laughed, kissing her hand. Love isnt a maths problem, love. No calculations needed.
Blinded by romance, she said yes. I rented a onebed flat for us, and she juggled her studies with nighttime translation gigs to pay the rent. I earned a pittance and constantly complained about my boss.
Darling, I explained one evening after yet another dismissal, I need a creative job, something that lets me express myself. Those grey office drones just dont get me.
Eleanor, ever the accountant, would tally our household budget. While you look for yourself, Ill work double shifts. No worries.
After she earned her degree, Eleanor aimed for a bank job her bright red diploma and language skills opened doors. Then she discovered she was pregnant. Our son Christopher arrived when she was twentythree; a year and a half later, daughter Imogen was born.
The children are our joy, I would coo while rocking Imogen. Money will come later. The important thing is love at home.
Exactly, Eleanor would reply, mentally calculating the next utility bill. Kids are everything; the rest will follow.
Most of the income came from Eleanor. Even with two toddlers she managed to earn online translating, teaching English on Skype, writing articles. I, meanwhile, hopped from job to job, changing employment five times in four years, each time offering a flimsy excuse for the low pay.
I cant work where my soul isnt at home, I would philosophise. Better to earn less than to kill my spirit.
She would sigh, Inner peace is sacred. Well sort the rest out.
When Christopher turned four and started nursery, I announced, Ive burnt out emotionally. I need space to find myself. Im filing for divorce.
What does find myself even mean? Eleanor asked, stunned. We have two kids, a mortgage Victor, what are you talking about?
I need time to think, I replied coldly. Im choking in this routine. I want a fair split of assets. Half the flat is mine.
But I bought that flat! she protested. I took out the mortgage, Im still paying it!
Were a marriage, I shrugged. Everything acquired together is split equally. Thats the law, love.
Eleanor realised we might end up on the street. The twobed flat in the new development was all we had. We borrowed from friends and took another mortgage to buy out my share. My mother, a retired teacher, could not help financially.
Darling, if I had the money Id give everything, she cried into the phone. But my pension is minuscule and you she choked.
Dont worry, Mum, Eleanor soothed her.
The court set a maintenance order. I paid dutifully for two years, then vanished. No birthday calls, no New Year wishes, just silence.
A month after the divorce, Michael a former university mate of mine and a friend of Victors knocked on the front door, holding a bunch of daisies.
Eleanor, Ive loved you forever, he confessed. I know its not the best timing, but… will you marry me? I dont mind the kids; Ill love them as my own.
Youre a wonderful man, Eleanor replied, tears welling. But I cant take advantage of your kindness. You deserve someone who loves you wholly, not someone whos grateful for a rescue.
Michael was a respectable software developer, well paid, decent. Yet Eleanor could only feel gratitude, not love.
Im not ready, she said gently. Can we remain friends? That means a lot to me.
Ill wait, he promised. Whatever time it takes, Ill wait. Youre worth it.
I cant waste my prime years on you, she smiled sadly. Find a woman who sees the treasure she has beside her.
For two years Eleanor lived with the kids, working tirelessly. She completed further training and began delivering online economics lectures to parttime students, clearing most of the debts and halving the mortgage. Michael offered financial help several times, but she always refused she didnt want to be indebted.
Eleanor, whats the point of pride? he would say. Were friends.
Its precisely because were friends that I dont want money to ruin it, she answered. Your friendship means more than any cash.
Then Victor returned, humbled.
Eleanor, Ive spent the past two years in a flat, thinking about you. Ive realised family is everything. Children are the purpose of life. Real love only comes once, he declared, kneeling in the living room.
And where were you all that time? she asked, eyes steady.
I worked, rented a room, thought of you. I needed to regain strength, understand my mistakes. Now Im ready to be a proper husband and father.
The children twelveyearold Christopher and tenyearold Imogen rushed into his arms, delighted to see the father they remembered from bedtime stories.
Dad, youre not going anywhere? Imogen asked, hugging him.
Never, sweetheart, Victor replied, finally grasping where he belonged.
Eleanor, exhausted from years of battle, finally gave in. Victor formally proposed, and they registered their marriage at the local register office.
Why bother with a marriage certificate? Michael asked when Eleanor told him. Isnt cohabitation enough?
Victor insists. He wants to show seriousness. And frankly, Id like to believe in some stability, she replied.
My mother warned me, Eleanors mum said, a man who once chased freedom never forgets it. Be careful.
Not all men are the same, Eleanor countered. Victor is truly remorseful.
Three years of married life seemed almost perfect. Victor behaved like an exemplary husband and dad, fixing up the house, taking the kids to the seaside in Cornwall, continuing his courtordered child support while occasionally suggesting it be stopped.
Dont waste it, her mother advised. Let it go into the childrens savings. A financial cushion never hurts.
Enough, Victor would say, Ill keep paying, but Id rather put it into a safety net for the kids.
Then, without warning, Victor announced another divorce.
What are you talking about? Eleanor shouted, incredulous. You swore youd changed.
I thought Id changed, but the family feels like a cage. Im an artist; I need space to create.
What artist? Youre a site manager for a construction firm! Eleanor snapped.
This is you not understanding, Victor replied. My soul craves flight. With you I become a common householder.
The second divorce hit Eleanor harder than the first. She was younger, more naïve then; now shed believed in a chance at happiness only to be pummeled again. When Victor came to collect his belongings, Eleanor hurled his suitcase down the stairwell.
Get out and never come back! she screamed, her voice unrecognisable.
Dont make a scene! The neighbours will hear! Victor hissed, gathering his things.
Let the whole building know what a scoundrel you are! Twice youve abandoned our children! she retorted.
Victor tried to claim compensation for renovation costs, but lost the case. The children were left fatherless again, and Eleanor made no secret of her feelings.
Will dad ever live with us again? nineyearold Christopher asked.
No, love, she replied. He chose his freedom over us.
Is he a bad man? sevenyearold Imogen inquired.
No, darling. He just cant keep his promises.
Six months later Michael returned, offering again.
Eleanor, enough of this misery. Marry me. Ive loved you for over ten years, he pleaded.
Not now, she snapped. I no longer trust any man. Youre all the same.
Its unfair, Michael protested. I never let you down.
You never let me down, yet you ask what if tomorrow? Will you run off for another creative pursuit? she shot back.
He then revealed the truth hed learned: Victors first affair had been with a woman called Valerie; after she left him, he returned to Eleanor, only to later leave for a new lover, Marina. Michael warned that Victor saw his wife and flat merely as a stopover between mistresses.
Are you lying? Eleanor asked, stunned.
Were friends. He bragged about it, Michael replied. Hell likely return again.
Enough! Get out! I wont listen to you! she shouted.
Michael left, but his words lingered. A friend, Gail, later said, Maybe hes right. Victor always came back just when debts were cleared and life settled. Dont repeat the mistake.
Eleanors resolve hardened. Four years of solitude had taught her much. When Victor resurfaced, he asked, Whats changed? I realise life without you is meaningless. Youre the only woman I ever truly loved.
She finished her coffee, placed the cup in the sink, and said, Interesting theory. I thought youd gone to Marina. Did she kick you out like Valerie?
Victor froze. Where did you?
She cut him off. It doesnt matter where I got the info. What matters is I now see through your selfdiscovery line. The kids are twelve and ten; theyve managed fine without a father who appears only with a bouquet now and then.
Ill do anything! Victor begged, pulling out his phone. Any condition, any wish. Look!
A notification appeared: a transfer of £650.
This proves my seriousness, he declared. I want to rebuild the family, provide for the children, make you happy.
She laughed at the sum. Do you think I can be bought? Im not waiting for you to stroll back with a wallet full of cash.
Youre still in love with me, then? he shouted.
Only if youd like to be a charity case, she retorted. Michael proposed to me several times. Hes a good, decent man.
What did you say to him? Victor demanded.
Thats none of your business, she replied coolly. Youre no longer my husband. You can mind your own affairs.
Victors face twisted with rage. Michael? That pitiful wretch whos been in love with you forever! So you were seeing him while I was searching for you?
Enough, Eleanor said, calm. You lecture about morals while youve had three marriages. Valerie and Marina are just creative retreats, arent they?
Love, you dont understand! Victor shouted. I was looking for you in them! I tried to forget, but couldnt!
Thats romantic, she said, irony lacing her tone. Just like Saint Anthony wandering the desert.
Realising hed lost his leverage, Victor tried again. Im a scoundrel, I admit that. But Im ready to make things right. Look!
Another transfer £1,300 popped up.
This is everything I have, even my loan money. Ill give it all, penny by penny, because I believe we can start anew.
She checked the balance, nodded. Thanks. That money will go to the childrens tuition. Its exactly what they need for tutors.
Victor, bewildered, asked, So you agree?
She smiled. Ill take the money, Victor. Now leave.
He sputtered, What? Youre mocking me? Ive given you almost half a million pounds! Ive put everything on the card!
She replied, No one asked for it, love. It was your initiative. Get out of my house.
You you liar! he screamed. A selfish old woman! Youve used me!
She softened, Victor, did you really think love could be bought?
At that moment, Imogen entered.
Mum, whos that? she asked, eyeing Victor.
Thats your father, sweetheart, Eleanor answered.
Imogen rolled her eyes. Great, hes back pretending to be dad again?
Eleanor scolded her, Dont speak like that about your father.
The children erupted, each demanding the truth. Christopher, now twelve, shouted, Hes a periodic dad! Shows up once every few years! Imogen added, Why does he think weve forgotten his leaving?
Eleanor, trying to keep order, told them to stop. The kids, however, continued their tirade, laying bare every wound Victor had inflicted.
Victor, desperate, shouted, Im your father! I have a right to see my children!
Christopher retorted, When was that right? When Mum was ill and needed money? When you were off chasing yourself in aunties arms?
Eleanor finally said, You see, Victor, the children are fine without you. They remember everything themselves. Now, leave for good.
Victor, humbled, exited the flat, his pride shattered, his pockets empty. The children despised him, their exwife treated him like a persistent beggar, and not a single penny remained for him.
The moment the door shut, Imogen stopped crying and grinned mischievously. Mum, how did I do? I was a good actress, wasnt I?
Eleanor laughed, then, with a sigh, embraced her daughter. Youre brilliant, love, but lets not make a habit of it.
Christopher, seeing his sisters grin, chuckled too. Im not angry any more. Its all a bit entertaining.
Imogen asked, Mum, can we buy a cake today? We have money now!
Eleanor agreed. And pizza, and icecream, and maybe a new videogame console?
The children cheered, their spirits lifted. Eleanor watched them, grateful that despite all the turmoil theyd grown resilient and clever. She realised that the hardships had forged them into strong, independent young people.
Two years later, I, Victor, was sleeping on a cheap cot in a shared flat, taking the bus to work, and receiving relentless calls from a loan officer demanding £580 every month. My savings and the little credit Id managed to scrape together were gone, handed over to Eleanor long ago. I had become a figure of ridicule, the subject of the childrens jokes, and a man with no home.
The curse of Eleanor, I muttered on the crowded bus, has turned me into the last fool she ever trusted. My mothers voice echoed in my head, reminding meNow, as the bus rattles past the familiar streets, I finally understand that chasing freedom without responsibility only leads to a lonely, empty seat at the end of the line.
