At the divorce proceedings, his wife said, Take it all! But a year on, he deeply regretted that he believed her.
Margaret gazed at the papers calmly, with a strange absence of anger.
So youve finally gone through with it? Richard looked at his wife with thinly veiled irritation. What now? How do you want to split things?
Margaret raised her eyes. There were no tears or pleading, only a newfound resolve born from another sleepless night reflecting on a life unfulfilled.
Take everything, she replied quietly, yet firmly.
What do you mean, everything? Richard squinted suspiciously.
The house, the cottage, the car, the accounts. All of it. She gestured vaguely around the solicitors office. I dont want any of it.
Youre joking, right? He began to smile. This is some kind of womens tactic?
No, Richard. No games, no drama. Thirty years I put my life on hold. Thirty years I washed, cooked, cleaned, waited. Thirty years you told me holidays were a waste of money, hobbies were childish, dreams were nonsense. Do you know how many times I wanted to visit the seaside? Nineteen. Know how many times we went? Three. And every time, you moaned about the cost or that we neednt bother.
Richard snorted.
Here we go again. We had a roof, meals…
Yes, we did, Margaret nodded. Now youll have everything else as well. Congratulations on your prize.
The solicitor was visibly taken aback, more used to tears, shouting, finger pointing. Yet here was a woman simply giving away what others would battle to the end for.
You do realise what youre saying? he asked her quietly. By law, youre entitled to half of everything youve built together.
I know, she smiled softly, as if a heavy rucksack had slid off her shoulders. But you see, half a wasted life is just a wasted life in miniature.
Richard tried not to look triumphant. He hadnt expected this turn: hed planned to bargain, perhaps threaten, to jockey for position. Yet here was fate dropping him a rather convenient gift.
Well, thats grown-up of you! He smacked the table jovially. Finally showing some sense.
Dont confuse sense with freedom, Margaret replied, and signed the documents.
They rode home together in the same car, though they felt as if they were worlds apart.
Richard hummed quietly to himself an old tune from his childhood. The car dipped gently over potholes, and his whistling fluttered in the air before fading again.
Margaret didnt hear it, not really. Her gaze was fixed on the foggy glass, beyond which spruce and pine swept by, her heart fluttering like a young birds at its first flight.
So odd: just a normal road, an ordinary evening, yet suddenly an overwhelming sense of space inside. As if a heavy stone had finally vaporised. Margaret smiled, touched her cool cheek, and thought, this must be freedom.
Sometimes all it takes is a moment, a glance out the window at passing trees for all of life to regain forgotten colour.
Three weeks later, Margaret stood in a small rented flat in Harrogate.
Her new place was modest: a bed, a wardrobe, a table, a tiny television. On the window sill, two pots of violets her first independent purchase for the new start.
Youre absolutely mad. Her son Adams voice came sharply down the phone. You left everything and moved to this dump?
I didnt leave, Adam, Margaret replied calmly. I let go. Theres a difference.
Mum, really? Dad said you gave him everything willingly. Hes even thinking of selling the cottage says its too much trouble for just one.
Margaret smiled at her reflection in the small mirror. Shed had a new haircut something shed never dared when with Richard. Not age-appropriate, Childish, What will people think echoed in her head.
Let him sell it, she replied lightly. Your fathers always been good with property.
What about you? Youve got nothing left!
Ive got the most important thing, Adam. My life. And you know whats funny? Turns out you can start living all over again at fifty-nine.
Margaret took a job as administrator at a small privately run nursing home. It was challenging but fulfilling. Shed made new friends, and, best of all, decided for herself how to spend her time.
Richard, meanwhile, was revelling in his victory.
For two weeks, he strode through the house like some lord of the manor, basking in a sense of ownership. No one to nag, no reminders about socks on the floor or dirty plates.
Jammy sod, Rich, his mate Dennis would say over a whisky in the kitchen. Most blokes lose half or more but you? House, cottage, car, everything: all yours.
Richard smirked. Finally, Margaret saw sense. Realised she couldnt manage without me.
After the first month, euphoria faded as inconveniences grew.
Clean shirts stopped magically appearing in the wardrobe. The fridge yawned empty. Cooking a proper dinner proved trickier than hed imagined. At work, colleagues began to note how unkempt Richard now looked.
You look a bit peaky, Rich, observed his boss. Everything alright at home?
Absolutely, Richard replied with forced cheer. Just a fewadjustments.
One evening, opening the fridge, he found only a bottle of ketchup, a pack of processed cheese, and a half-finished bottle of wine. His stomach growled in protest hed only managed a sandwich all day.
Bloody hell, he muttered, slamming the door. This cant go on…
He ordered a takeaway straight away after all, whats a man to do, fridge bare as a church on a weekday? As he waited for the delivery, bills lay scattered before him. Suddenly, the numbers hit him like a wave of cold water: council tax, internet, the bank, electricity…
Previously it had all been background noise, problems in a parallel world. Funny how, while someone else is there, home life just ticks along. You dont notice the costs. You just live.
A sharp ring brought him out of his daze the delivery driver stood at the door, card reader in hand.
Thatll be thirteen pounds fifty, please.
How much?! Richard jumped so hard he nearly dropped his keys. For a stew and a bottle of water?
Standard these days, shrugged the driver, with the air of someone who gets this astonishment daily.
He paid, returned inside, and paused in the kitchen doorway. Silence. Even the fridge seemed to hum with a note of loneliness. The flat was large, with trendy lamps and mirrors, filled with all the things hed once longed for Yet now it felt like a waiting room. Cold. Empty. So vast a gale could howl down the corridorjust like the hollow wind inside him.
Meanwhile, Margaret stood on the Brighton pier, her face tilted to the sun and salty breeze.
Around her laughed a group of fellow travellersa club for active pensioners had organised a week by the sea. For the first time, she could travel without constant reminders about wasted money, grumbling, or calculating how much shed saved by staying home.
Maggie! Come for a snap! called her new friend Barbara, an energetic widow shed met at the local art class.
Margaret ran, laughing, to the group lining up for a photo. Whod have thought, at her age, shed walk in a bright summer dress, hair loose, laughing like a schoolgirl?
Now for a selfie! commanded Barbara, whipping out a selfie stick. Well post these for everyone!
That evening, Margaret looked through the photos in her hotel room. In them, she saw a woman with sparkling eyes and a beaming smilea woman she barely recognised. Now, when had that furrow between her brows disappeared? When did her shoulders relax, her step regain its bounce?
Should post these online, she thought, and after a pause, uploaded a few to her mostly forgotten account.
Back in Birmingham, Richard was fighting a leaking pipe under the kitchen sink. Water flooded the floor, ruining the cupboard. The plumber who eventually came only shrugged, They dont make that model anymore. Youll need the whole pipe replaced.
For crying out loud! Richard cursed, mopping the floor with old towels. Wheres the blasted plumbers number? Margaret always knew who to call.
He realised, suddenly, that his wife had kept dozens of contacts in her memory the plumber, a good hairdresser, the best butcher at the market, the reliable shoe repair man. That invisible web of comfort had vanished, leaving him alone with problems that once fixed themselves as if by magic.
Bloody pipe! he growled, flinging the soaked rag aside. And now Ive got to cook, got to clean, still have work
The evening he managed to stem the leak and mop the water, Richard remembered he hadnt checked social media in a while. Bored, he scrolled. Then frozethe screen glowed with a joyous picture of Margaret by the sea. Hair newly cropped, bright dress, she lookedhappy?
What the? he muttered, zooming in. She left with almost nothing!
Comments only doubled his confusion:
Maggie, you look years younger!
Looking fantastic!
The seaside suits you!
Scrolling further, Richard found more: Margaret at a book club gathering, painting with new friends, sitting with a bouquet of wildflowers on a sunny bench.
What in the world Richard set down the phone, glancing at his kitchens dirty dishes. She was supposed to She should have
He couldnt finish the thought. For suddenly, he realised hed honestly believed Margaret would suffer without him and all the things he deemed important. But in those pictures was a woman rejuvenated, bursting with newfound freedom.
A few days later, the roof at the cottage started leaking. With a thunderstorm closing in, Richard needed to cover the loft fast.
Dennis, help me out! At least bring some nails; I cant do this alone.
Sorry, mate, replied Dennis. Mother-in-laws in hospital, Im with her. Why not call Margaret? She always helped.
She Richard hesitated. Shes gone.
Gone where?
She just left, Richard snapped. Never mind, Ill do it myself.
Coping was harder than he thought. Rain beat down as, cursing, he tried to drape tarpaulin. Suddenly he slippedtumbling heavily to the ground and feeling a sharp pain in his ankle.
Just a sprainyou got off lightly, the young doctor reported at A&E. Couldve been worse. Weeks rest, keep your foot raised.
A week? Wholl fix the roof? Its leaking!
Not my problem, the doctor shrugged, writing the script. Get your wife to help, and you rest.
Richard bit back a retort.
He spent three days alone, hobbling about on crutches. Takeaways ran out, and costs stacked up. Cooking was impossible, standing on one leg.
On the fourth day, he couldnt stand ithe rang their son.
Adam, hi, he began, voice falsely upbeat. Hows things?
Alright, Dad. His son sounded wary. Something up?
Er, no just hurt my leg a bit. Any chance you could pop in, help your old man out?
A pause.
Sorry, Dad, Im in Manchester for work. Back in three days.
Oh alright, then, Richard choked. Ill manage.
Umhave you tried Mum? Shed prob
No! Richard cut in sharply. Why ring her? Im fine.
He hung up first, tossing the phone down. Some odd pride kept him from admitting he missed Margaret, her care, even just her presence. Never before had he realised all she did for himbecause it was all invisibly, silently, without fuss or demand for thanks.
A week and a half later, Richard could walk without a crutch. First thing, he drove out to the cottage to survey the water damage. It was dishearteningmould creeping across the ceiling, his favourite old sofa ruined, a damp, stale odour everywhere.
For heavens sake he muttered, slumping on the garden bench.
The apple trees, cared for every year by Margaret, now stood unpruned. The paths she had once lovingly edged with stones were lost under a sea of weeds. Everything seemed to have withered without her care.
On the way back, he stopped at a roadside cafe. Tired and upset, Richard ordered a shepherds pie and a cup of tea. But the first forkful made his throat achebland food could never be like Margarets Sunday roast or her apple crumble.
All alright, love? asked the waitress sympathetically.
Yes, just He trailed off. How could he explain that a pie had reminded him of everything hed lost?
That evening, Richard sat quietly, staring at old photos on the mantle. He and Margaret, young and grinning in front of Westminster Abbey. A family snap with Adam as a boy. Their twentieth wedding anniversary
What a fool Ive been, he whispered, staring at her smiling face frozen in time.
Mustering his courage, Richard typed a message. The reply, though, was nothing like hed hoped.
Margaret had moved to a coastal town. Around her, new friends laughed and music played; she truly had her own life at last.
At nearly sixty, Margaret was finally living.
Sometimes, you have to let go of what weighs you downonly then do you discover the life you were meant for. We often cling to comfort and possessions, thinking theyre everything, but in giving up what no longer serves us, we might just find the freedom to begin again.
