Alex, Have You Lost Your Mind? You’re Leaving Me for a Girl Young Enough to Be Your Daughter? After 15 Years of Marriage, Tanya’s World Is Turned Upside Down—But a Makeover, a Girls’ Night Out, and an Unexpected Twist at Her Ex’s Wedding Change Everything!

Author Walton MerrittReading 8 minViews 3

Graham, I just dont understand you. Have you gone completely mad? What does it mean, Im leaving?

It means exactly that. Ive had a lover for ages! Shes sixteen years younger than I am! And Ive decided Im happier with her!

She could be your daughter!

Rubbish! Shes already twenty.

Graham came a little closer.

Anyway. Victorias father is frightfully wealthy. At last, Ill be able to live the way Ive always dreamt of! Understand? And shell give me a child, not like you!

Each word landed on Clara with a crushing, horrible force. Shed known it would happen eventually, given their lack of children.

But never, not for a moment, had she imagined it would unfold with such humiliating cruelty.

She and Graham had spent nearly fifteen years together. Theyd had their share of ups and downs like anyone. But Clara had always believed mutual respect mattered most in a family. Without it, nothing worked.

Clara, at least burst into tears, will you? For decencys sake. Otherwise, I just feel weird.

Clara raised her chin, proud.

Why should I cry? Im delighted for you! Truly! At least one of us gets to chase their dream.

Graham grimaced.

Why do you always bring up your silly painting? Thats hardly even a job, more like nothing at all!

Yes, its a hobby. Still, if I worked a little less and you earned a bit more, maybe I could spend my days with brushes and colours too.

Oh, give over. What else would you even do with yourself? You cant have children, anyway. Just keep working.

She turned to watch as Graham tried to close his suitcase.

Graham, this new flame of yours. She wont be earning a living, so what will you two live on? Youre hardly one for hard work.

That, Clara, is no longer your concern. But since Im in a generous mood, Ill tell you. We wont have to make do on our own money for long.

Once Victoria is expecting, her father will shower us with pounds! Well be set. Dont you worry!

Graham finally managed the suitcase and stormed out, the front door echoing through the flat. Clara winced; she hated loud noises. She turned back to the window.

A flash of red a sleek car eased up by the kerb. Out tumbled a young woman, flinging herself around Grahams neck.

Every old dear in the square gawked at the spectacle. Couldnt he at least go quietly, without making her a laughingstock?

Yet, curiously, Clara felt a weight lift in that moment. Lately, life with Graham had felt farcical. He scarcely spent a night at home. She knew, but couldnt bring herself to untangle the web of what had been.

She grabbed her mobile.

Ruth, hi. What are you up to tonight?

Her friend sounded surprised.

You what? Crawled out of your hole, have you?

Dont be daft. No hole, just a bout of the blues, thats all. Lets go out, have a drink, a natter Ive got a reason to celebrate.

A pause, then Ruths careful voice:

Clara, are you all right? What are you taking these days? Painkillers, cold medicine? You havent got a temperature, have you?

Ruth, seriously, enough!

If you mean it, Im all for it. Cant stand your miserable face anymore! Only

What?

Not that I cant. Just, howll your precious Graham let you out? Wholl bring him food on the sofa, wipe his nose?

Ruth, seven oclock at The Diamond.

Clara hung up, grinning to herself. One day shed throttle Ruth. That day was probably soon.

Truth was, shed wanted to smack Ruth since the day theyd met. Still, never got in the way of their friendship. Clara grabbed her bag, dashed out. Lunchtime already, and so much to do.

Ruth kept peering at her watch Clara, always punctual, was running five minutes late for the first time ever.

Then, in swept Clara, leaving Ruth gaping in open-mouthed shock as did everyone else.

Clara always kept her hair long, fastened in a bun. Now it was cut into a sleek, honey-blonde bob. She never wore much makeup just a hint of mascara, bit of lotion. But tonight her face glowed: perfect, radiant, understated glamour.

Clara preferred trousers, but tonight wore a loose dress that revealed more than even the clingiest jeans.

Clara crikey…

Clara grandly plonked her handbag on the chair and sat.

Like it?

I should say! You look ten years younger. Just dont tell me you chucked Graham out!

Wouldnt dream of it. He left me.

The friends stared, then burst out laughing.

Half an hour later, two drinks arrived from a gent at the next table, a touch older than them, perhaps fiftyish.

Ruth grinned wickedly at Clara.

Well, look whos getting admirers.

Clara gave a half laugh, beckoned the man over. Ruths eyes nearly popped.

I like you this evening!

They stayed long past closing time. The man, Peter, was clever, funny, charming, and thoroughly good company.

After Ruth got a taxi, Peter offered Clara his arm.

Id gladly walk across London for you! Ive got a car, but Im not fool enough to drive now.

No need! I live round the corner, two crossings away.

They wandered through winding streets till dawn. Chatting, laughing, lost in dreamlike reverie.

Clara, I never asked, but what were you celebrating tonight? Birthday, by any chance? I owe you a present, then!

Not exactly Though you might say so. Yesterday, my husband walked out.

Clara smiled her brightest smile. Peter looked at her, bemused.

Clara, you really are full of surprises.

Three weeks later, they sat with Ruth in a café.

Clara, how are things with Peter?

She beamed.

Ruth, I cant remember feeling this happy. Theres nothing I hide from him. He sorts out my worries easy as breathing.

Still, somethings bothering you?

Well Theres Graham. He just wont stop. For some reason, hes sent me an invitation to his wedding.

Blimey What for, you reckon?

To see me in tears, maybe. Show his new wife Im a wreck.

What a sod Clara, take Peter with you. Pop in, congratulate them, then leave. Main thing is, wipe the floor with him!

Graham gazed at Victoria.

You look incredible tonight

I know. Do you think Dad will come?

How could he miss his only daughters wedding?

Only daughter Not a penny for a year, always hinting I should get a job. Some father!

Graham squeezed her.

Hell come, dont worry, youre his precious girl!

The wedding was on credit, of course. Both Graham and Victoria believed her father would forgive his wayward daughter and turn the money back on.

Graham, will your ex come?

Imagine, yes! Rang yesterday.

No! Shell beg you to come back, probably.

I hope so. I do love a scene!

When Clara told Peter her plan, he was surprised.

What times the wedding?

Two in the afternoon. Why, are you busy?

And your exs name is?

Graham.

Amazing. Ill come with you, of course.

He explained everything on the way. Clara was so taken aback she forgot to object.

They strolled up the path to the happy couples table, Clara on Peters arm, chin high, radiant.

Graham and Victoria looked like theyd bitten lemons. They approached.

Victoria whispered:

Dad?

And Graham just managed:

Clara?

He barely recognised her. Never dreamed she could look like that.

Peter handed Victoria flowers and an envelope and said:

Well done, getting married and all. Youll do brilliantly. Clara and I are off to travel the world.

He looked at Graham.

I trust youll take good care of your new mother-in-law. She needs a holiday. Now, if youll excuse us, we really must go.

Outside, Clara wanted to laugh, but didnt know how Peter would take it. Suddenly, he turned and said:

You do realise youll have to marry me now.

Clara thought a moment, then replied solemnly,

If it must be done, so it must.

Arm in arm, they set off towards the car. Peter was already booking tickets for somewhere warm, by the sea.

“Who Do You Think You Are to Tell Me What to Do!” — Mrs. Zoe Peterson Threw a Rag Right in Her Daughter-in-Law’s Face. “You Live in My House and Eat My Food!” Tamara Wiped Her Face and Clenched Her Fists. Three Months Married, and Every Day Feels Like a Battlefield. “I Cook, I Clean, I Do the Laundry! What More Do You Want?” “What I Want Is for You to Keep That Mouth Shut! Stray! Turned Up Here with Someone Else’s Child!” Little Ellie Peered Fearfully Out from Behind the Door. Just Four Years Old and Already Knows—Grandma’s Mean. “Mum, That’s Enough!” — Stephen Came in from the Yard, Dirty After Work. “What Now?” “She’s Rude to Me! I Told Her the Soup’s Too Salty, and She Answers Back!” “The Soup’s Fine,” Tamara Said Wearily. “You’re Just Picking on Me.” “There! You Hear That?” Zoe Wagged Her Finger in Tamara’s Face. “Says I’m Picking on Her! In My Own Home!” Stephen Moved to His Wife and Put an Arm Around Her. “Mum, Stop. Tamara’s Worked Hard All Day, and You Just Nag.” “Oh, So Now You’re Against Your Own Mother! I Raised You, Fed You, and This Is What I Get!” The Old Woman Stormed Out, Slamming the Door. Silence Fell in the Kitchen. “I’m Sorry,” Stephen Stroked Tamara’s Hair. “She’s Gotten Impossible as She’s Aged.” “Stephen, Maybe We Should Rent Somewhere? Even Just a Single Room?” “With What Money? I’m a Tractor Driver, Not a CEO. Barely Enough to Eat as It Is.” Tamara Snuggled Into Her Husband. He Was Good, Kind, Hardworking. But His Mother—She Was a Real Nightmare. They’d Met at a Village Fair. Tamara Sold Her Knitted Goods, Stephen Was Buying Socks. They Got Talking. He Said Right Away He Didn’t Mind She Had a Child—He Loved Kids. Their Wedding Was Modest. From Day One, Mrs. Zoe Peterson Disliked Her Daughter-in-Law. Tamara Was Young, Beautiful, With a University Degree in Accounting, While Her Son Was an Ordinary Tractor Driver. “Mum, Come for Supper,” Little Ellie Tugged at Her Mother’s Skirt. “Just a Minute, Sweetheart.” At Dinner, Mrs. Peterson Pushed Her Plate Away with a Flourish. “I Can’t Eat This. It’s Fit for Pigs the Way You Cook.” “Mum!” Stephen Pounded the Table with His Fist. “Stop It!” “What? I’m Just Being Honest! Look at Sylvia—What a Homemaker! But This One!” Sylvia, Mrs. Peterson’s Daughter, Lived in the City and Only Visited Once a Year. The House Was in Her Name, Though She Hardly Lived There. “If You Don’t Like My Cooking, You Can Cook for Yourself,” Tamara Said Calmly. “Oh, You!” The Mother-in-Law Jumped Up. “I’ll—” “That’s Enough!” Stephen Stood Between the Two Women. “Mum, Calm Down or We’re Leaving. Right Now.” “Where to? Out on the Street? The House Isn’t Yours!” It Was True. The House Belonged to Sylvia. They Were Allowed to Stay Out of Pity. *** A Precious Burden Tamara Couldn’t Sleep That Night. Stephen Held Her Close and Whispered: “Hold On, Love. I’ll Buy a Tractor. Start a Business. We’ll Save Up for Our Own Home.” “Stephen, That’s So Expensive…” “I’ll Find an Old One and Fix It Up. I Know How. Just Keep Believing in Me.” In the Morning, Tamara Woke Up Feeling Sick. She Rushed to the Bathroom. Could It Be? The Test Showed Two Lines. “Stephen!” She Burst Into the Room. “Look!” He Rubbed His Eyes Sleepily, Looked at the Test, and Suddenly Jumped Up, Spinning Her Around. “Tamara! Darling! We’re Having a Baby!” “Shhh! Your Mother Will Hear!” But It Was Too Late. Mrs. Peterson Stood in the Doorway. “What’s All the Noise?” “Mum, We’re Having a Baby!” Stephen Beamed. The Mother-in-Law Curled Her Lip. “And Where Will You All Live? It’s Crowded Enough With You Here. If Sylvia Returns, You’ll Be Out on Your Ear.” “We Won’t Be Thrown Out!” Stephen Frowned. “This Is My Home Too!” “It’s Sylvia’s House, Remember? I Signed It Over To Her. You’re Just Lodgers.” The Joy Evaporated. Tamara Slumped onto the Bed. A Month Later, Tragedy Struck. Tamara Was Lifting a Heavy Bucket (No Running Water in the House). Sudden Pain, Bloodstains on Her Trousers… “Stephen!” She Cried. A Miscarriage. The Doctor Said It Was Overexertion, Stress. She Needed Rest. But How Do You Rest Living With a Mother-in-Law Like That? Tamara Lay in the Hospital, Staring At The Ceiling. She Couldn’t Take Any More. She Wouldn’t. “I’m Leaving Him,” She Told Her Friend Over The Phone. “I Can’t Go On.” “Tamara, What About Stephen? He’s Good.” “He Is. But His Mother… She’ll Be The Death Of Me.” Stephen Rushed To Her After Work, Covered In Dirt And Exhaustion, A Bunch Of Daisies In Hand. “Tamara, My Love, I’m So Sorry. It’s All My Fault. I Didn’t Take Care Of You.” “Stephen, I Just Can’t Live There Any More.” “I Know. I’ll Take Out a Loan. We’ll Rent a Flat.” “They Won’t Lend To You. Your Wage Is Too Low.” “They Will. I’ve Found a Second Job. Night Shift At The Farm. By Day On The Tractor, By Night Milking Cows.” “Stephen, You’ll Collapse!” “I Won’t. I’d Move Mountains For You.” Tamara Was Discharged a Week Later. At Home, Mrs. Peterson Met Her At The Door: “Well, Didn’t Keep It, Did You? I Knew It—Too Feeble.” Tamara Walked Past In Silence. Her Mother-in-Law Wasn’t Worth Her Tears. Stephen Worked Like a Man Possessed. Tractor By Day, Farm By Night. He Slept Three Hours A Night. “I’ll Take a Job Too,” Tamara Said. “There’s an Opening For An Accountant.” “The Pay’s Pennies.” “Pennies Add Up.” So She Took The Job. Mornings, She Took Ellie To Nursery. Then Off To The Office. Evenings, Collected Her Daughter, Cooked, Did Laundry. Mrs. Peterson’s Nagging Continued, But Tamara Learned To Tune Her Out. *** Their Own Corner and a New Life Stephen Continued Saving For The Tractor. He Found An Old, Broken-Down One For Next To Nothing. “Take The Loan,” Tamara Said. “Fix It, We’ll Earn Our Own Money.” “What If It Doesn’t Work?” “It Will. You’re Brilliant With Your Hands.” The Loan Came Through. They Bought The Tractor. It Sat In The Yard Like a Heap of Junk. “Well That’s Just Grand!” Mrs. Peterson Laughed. “Junkyard’s Where That Belongs!” Stephen Worked On The Engine In Silence. Night After Night, After The Farm, Only the Flashlight for Company. Tamara Helped—Handing Tools, Holding Parts. “Go Rest. You’re Exhausted.” “We Started This Together, We’ll Finish Together.” A Month Went By. Then Two. The Neighbours Laughed—Fool Of A Tractor Driver, Buying a Heap of Scrap. But One Morning, The Engine Roared To Life. Stephen Sat At The Wheel, Not Quite Believing Their Luck. “Tamara! It’s Running! It Works!” She Rushed Out, Throwing Her Arms Around Him. “I Knew You Could Do It! I Always Believed In You!” The First Job—Ploughing Mr. Smith’s Vegetable Patch. Second, Delivering Firewood. Third and Fourth—The Money Started Coming In. Then, Tamara Once More Felt Sick In The Mornings. “Stephen, I’m Pregnant Again.” “This Time, You Don’t Lift a Thing, Do You Hear? I’ll Do It All!” He Wrapped Her In Cotton Wool. No Heavy Lifting. Mrs. Peterson Grumbled: “Delicate, Aren’t We! I Had Three Kids and Never Complained! And Her?” But Stephen Was Adamant. No More Overdoing It. In The Seventh Month, Sylvia Arrived with Her Husband and Big Plans. “Mum, We’re Selling The House. Got a Good Offer. You’re Moving In With Us.” “And Them?” Mrs. Peterson Nodded To Stephen and Tamara. “Well, What About Them? They’ll Have To Find Somewhere Else.” “Sylvia, I Was Born Here, This Is My Home!” Stephen Protested. “So? It’s My House. Did You Forget?” “When Do We Have To Leave?” Tamara Asked Calmly. “A Month.” Stephen Boiled With Rage. Tamara Rested A Hand On His Shoulder—Quiet, Don’t Argue. That Evening, They Sat Together In Silence. “What Are We Going To Do? The Baby’s Due Soon.” “We’ll Find Somewhere. As Long As We’re Together, That’s What Matters.” Stephen Worked Like A Madman. The Tractor Roared From Dawn To Dusk. In A Week, He Made As Much Money As Usually Took A Whole Month. Then Mr. Michaels, A Farmer From The Next Village, Rang. “Stephen, Selling My Cottage. It’s Old, But Solid. Cheap, Too. Want To Take A Look?” They Went That Very Day. The Cottage Was Indeed Old, But Sturdy—Three Rooms, A Range, A Shed. “How Much?” Mr. Michaels Named His Price. They Had Enough For Half. “How About Instalments?” Stephen Suggested. “Half Now, The Rest In Six Months.” “All Right. You’re A Reliable Lad.” They Came Home Elated. Mrs. Peterson Met Them At The Door: “Where Have You Two Been? Sylvia’s Brought The Papers!” “That’s Fine,” Tamara Said Calmly. “We’re Moving Out.” “Where To? The Pavement?” “To Our Own Place. We Bought It.” The Mother-In-Law Froze. Didn’t Expect That. “Lying! Where’d You Get The Money?” “We Earned It,” Stephen Hugged His Wife. “While You Were Wagging Your Tongue, We Were Grafting.” They Moved Within Two Weeks. Not Many Possessions—What’s Yours In Someone Else’s House? Ellie Ran Round The Rooms, The Dog Barked. “Mum, Is This Really Our House?” “It Is, Darling. Genuinely Ours.” Mrs. Peterson Arrived The Next Day. She Stood On The Threshold. “Stephen, I’ve Thought It Over. Maybe You Could Take Me In? The City Air’s Stifling.” “No, Mum. You Made Your Choice. Live With Sylvia.” “But I’m Your Mother!” “A Mother Doesn’t Call Her Grandchild ‘Someone Else’s’. Goodbye.” He Closed The Door. Hard, But The Right Thing To Do. Matthew Was Born That March. A Strong, Healthy Boy. He Yelled Loudly and Made His Demands Known. “Just Like His Dad!” The Midwife Laughed. Stephen Cradled His Son, Afraid To Breathe. “Thank You, Tamara. For Everything.” “No, Thank You. For Not Giving Up On Us. For Believing.” They Settled Into Their New Home. Planted A Garden, Got Chickens. The Tractor Earned Its Keep. Evenings Were Spent On The Porch; Ellie Played With The Dog, Matthew Slept In His Cot. “You Know What?” Tamara Said One Sunset. “I’m Happy.” “Me Too.” “Remember How Bad Things Once Were? I Thought I Would Break.” “You Didn’t. You’re Strong.” “We’re Strong—Together.” The Sun Set Behind The Woods. The House Smelled Of Fresh Bread And Milk. A Real Home. Their Home. A Place Where No One Could Insult, Throw Them Out, Or Call Them Outsiders. A Place To Live, Love, And Raise Their Children. A Place To Be Happy. *** Dear Readers, Every Family Faces Their Own Trials, And Overcoming Them Isn’t Always Easy. Tamara and Stephen’s Story Is Like a Mirror—We See Both Our Struggles And The Strength That Helps Us Rise Above. So Life Goes On: From Hardship To Joy, Then On Again—Until Fate Smiles. What Do You Think—Should Stephen Have Broken Away From His Mother Sooner? Or Was He Right To Persevere for So Long? And What Does ‘Home’ Mean To You—Just Bricks And Mortar, Or The Warmth Of Family? Share Your Thoughts—Life Is A School, And Every Lesson Matters!

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