A Break Under the English Sun: Drama in Lakeshore
Sophie returned home from her holiday, her heart heavy with sadness. Her husband, James, hadn’t texted her once the entire time. At the train station in Lakeshore, no one was there to greet her… The house was dark, dinner wasn’t ready, and the flat was a complete mess. *”Guess James spent all his time at his mum’s,”* she thought bitterly. She fetched a second suitcase and started packing. That’s exactly how her husband found her when he finally stumbled in.
“Back already?” he scoffed, blocking the doorway. “Didn’t expect you! Think a little holiday means you can do whatever you like?”
Sophie laughed—sharp, almost hysterical.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be here long,” she said, her voice trembling.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” James frowned. Then it hit him.
“Jamie, how could you? We planned this holiday for ages!” Sophie was on the verge of tears. She’d dreamed of this trip all year. They’d scrimped and saved, comparing deals, imagining lazy beach days.
“Not my fault, is it? Mum got poorly. Had to stay,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze.
“And when’s ‘later’? If she’d been hospitalised or bedridden, fine—but she wasn’t even that ill!”
“She had a fever yesterday! Called an ambulance and everything!”
“It was just a mild temperature—gone after paracetamol. Jamie, this was a last-minute deal! If we don’t take it now, we’ll never get this price again!”
“Christ, you’re selfish! I said we’re not going. What if Mum takes a turn?”
“Funny, she’s got a daughter too,” Sophie pointed out. “Couldn’t Lily look after her?”
“You know Lily’s busy. Drop it. We’ll go another time. Honestly, we’ll just stay home this year. Promised Mum I’d help with the redecorating. You’re pitching in too.”
With that, James stormed off as if the conversation was over. Sophie burst into tears.
Not only did she hate her job—sticking with it just to pay the bills—but now her dream holiday was snatched away too. She’d endured her boss’s nitpicking, worked overtime, all for one little fantasy: warm sand and sunshine.
She’d wanted to quit ages ago, but James forbade it. *”The money’s too good,”* he’d say. They’d upgraded the car, redone the kitchen. Meanwhile, his wages always vanished on his mum’s whims—fixing this, buying that. Never enough!
No doubt *she* was behind the cancelled trip. Couldn’t bear not being the centre of attention. Though, let’s be honest—only her precious boy danced to her tune. His sister, Lily, had long since learned not to engage. That’s why he’d never ask *her* to step in. Easier to bully his wife than stand up to Mummy…
The sea faded from sight. Sophie pictured herself wallpapering her mother-in-law’s stuffy flat instead of sunbathing, and realised—she couldn’t do it. She *needed* this break.
Half an hour later, she faced James and said firmly, “I’m going on that holiday. With or without you.”
“Seriously? Lost the plot, have you?”
“You’re the one who’s lost it! I’ve waited for this trip like it was Christmas. And you’re robbing me of it. If you’re so worried about your mum—stay. I’m going.”
“Oh yeah? Who with?” he sneered.
“Just me.”
He smirked, then paced the kitchen like a caged animal.
“Ah, now I get it. Fancy a fling, do you? Bit of excitement?”
Sophie bit her tongue. So many words burned in her throat…
“Cat got your tongue? Knew it!”
“If you don’t trust me, come along,” she said coolly.
“Not leaving Mum.”
“Fine. Don’t.”
She left the room, choking on fury. Not only did he always choose his mother over her, but now he was accusing her of nonsense! She’d *never* given him reason to doubt her. All she’d wanted was peace—no flings, no drama.
James, of course, assumed she was bluffing.
Next morning, she asked again. He snapped, calling her daft. By afternoon, Sophie came home clutching a ticket.
James exploded. This was new. She even offered to buy *his* ticket, hoping he’d relent. But no—he’d dug his heels in. Baffling, since his mum hadn’t even had so much as a sniffle by then.
As she left for the station, he shouted:
“Don’t bother coming back! Who needs a wife like you?”
Tears streaked Sophie’s face as she boarded the train. Little did she know—this holiday would change everything…
The resort was bliss. Warm waves, golden sun, delicious food, a cosy room—it swallowed her whole. That first evening, she texted James: *Made it. It’s lovely. Wish you were here.* No reply.
Fine. She wouldn’t message again. If he cared, he’d ask. But James clearly thought silence was his punishment.
Sophie moped for a day. Then—she let go. Being alone was *glorious*. With James, they’d have bickered by the pool, stuck to the hotel. Instead, she toured, swam, wandered.
And thought. Really *thought*. Clarity came with the calm.
She worked a dead-end job not because she couldn’t do better—but because James feared losing her salary. Yet she never enjoyed the money *she* earned—*he* decided where it went.
She’d begged for this trip. *She* saved for it—he contributed zip! And she lived with a man who didn’t value her. To him, she was convenient: quiet, solvent, cooks, cleans.
She took care of herself—unlike James, who at twenty-eight already sported a beer belly. His mum? Grateful for Sophie’s help? Please. All credit went to her darling boy. Not one *”thanks”* in years.
Sipping a cocktail by the sea, Sophie wondered: *Why?* What did this job, this marriage *give* her? Stress and disrespect. Why endure it?
She’d convinced herself she loved him. But really, she’d been clinging to the *idea* of marriage, bending over backwards to please him. And now, away from him, she realised… she didn’t miss him. Dreaded going back.
James never texted. Sophie decided: good. Made leaving easier…
No one met her at the station. The house was dark, dinner uncooked, chaos everywhere. James had clearly been at Mum’s.
She didn’t unpack. Instead, she grabbed another suitcase. That’s when he walked in.
“Back?” he jeered in the doorway. “Didn’t expect you. Think you can swan off and I’ll just forgive you? Think again, love!”
Sophie laughed—bitter, relieved. Bless him for making this easy. She’d feared leaving the home they’d shared for three years would hurt. But no—she wanted *out*.
“Relax. Just grabbing my things. Then I’m gone.”
“What?!”
His face twisted with rage.
“Oh, I see! Found some bloke on holiday, did you?”
“No,” Sophie said, zipping the bag. “I found *myself*. I’m leaving, Jamie. Divorce papers will follow.”
“No! *I’m* throwing *you* out!”
“Whatever helps,” she shrugged.
She moved into her old flat—bought before the wedding. James had nagged her to sell it for something bigger. Spooky how she’d refused. Now? Lifesaver.
He thought she was bluffing. Until the divorce papers arrived. Then—panic. Calls, pleas. Too late.
Sophie started fresh. Divorced, quit the soul-crushing job, and—finally—loved herself. Life’s too short to waste pleasing people who don’t even see you. The one person who *should* matter most? *You.*
