Olivia had felt for a long time that her relationship with James was falling apart. The warmth between them had faded, love had given way to routine, and conversations had dwindled. Unspoken grievances hung thick in the air, like the heavy stillness before a storm.
She waited, telling herself things would improve. If she pushed too hard, she might uncover something irreversible. And then what? They had a daughter to think about.
Olivia kept the flat tidy, cooked meals, and made sure Lily didn’t stay out too late or neglect her homework. Lately, Lily had her own secrets—typical for a girl her age, growing up. As for James… he handed over his salary. That was the extent of his contribution. These days, he barely looked up from his phone, glued to it like a teenager.
Then Olivia fell ill. A fever spiked, her head throbbed, and her body ached. She asked James to make dinner—Lily was off with friends again.
“Come on, we can manage with tea and toast,” he said.
Too weak to argue, she drifted in and out of sleep. Two days later, she dragged herself to the kitchen and found the sink piled with dirty dishes, not a clean mug in sight. The bin overflowed with takeaway boxes. The washing machine was stuffed with his shirts, sand crunched underfoot in the hall, and the fridge was empty. She cleaned, cooked, and by evening, collapsed.
After dinner, another mountain of dishes waited. Olivia nearly cried. Months of swallowed resentment burst free.
“Enough. I’m not your housekeeper. I work just like you, then come home to this. Couldn’t you even wash a plate?”
“You’d just do it anyway,” James said, unbothered.
“Take the rubbish out tomorrow before work. I’ll leave a bag by the door.”
“Fine,” he muttered, eyes still on his phone.
“Not ‘fine’—don’t forget.” She sighed. “You used to help. Even hoovered. I’m not asking for the moon—just take out the bin. Are you listening? Put the damn phone down!”
“What? I do my part.”
“What part?”
“Why the fuss? You’re the woman—this is your job. I earn the money. What more do you want? Two women in this house, and I’m meant to wash dishes?”
“Did you just call our daughter ‘a woman’?” Olivia snapped.
“Speaking of, where is she? Your doing, letting her run wild. Over a bloody plate.”
“It’s not about the plate—it’s about you not caring!”
“Christ, enough!” James stormed out. Moments later, the bathroom door slammed.
His forgotten phone lit up on the table. Olivia caught a name before the screen went dark.
So that was the crack she’d sensed but refused to name.
James returned, snatched up his phone.
“‘Emily’—who’s that? Emma? Emilia?” Olivia kept her voice flat.
He froze, then turned sharply.
“You went through my phone?”
“It’s locked. Something to hide?” Inside, she pleaded: Lie to me. Just once.
“What if I did?” He met her gaze, defiant. “Yeah, there’s someone else. Let’s handle this like adults.”
“Handle what?” Her voice cracked; tears spilled.
“Here we go,” he scoffed. “Play the victim all you like, but nothing changes.”
Her world shattered. Thunder crashed, and the downpour began—no end in sight.
“Stop gawping. Pack your things.”
“What? Where?”
“This is my flat. My parents bought it. I’m not selling.”
“And Lily and I just vanish? You’re joking.”
“Dead serious. Go to your mum’s.”
“I’m not leaving,” Lily’s voice cut in.
“Eavesdropping now?” James snapped.
“You were shouting loud enough for the neighbors.” Lily folded her arms. “Are you divorcing? I’m staying with Dad.”
James smirked. “See? Who’s the villain now?” He left—probably texting his mistress that the flat would soon be free.
“You can’t stay with him, Lily. He’s—” Olivia choked. “He won’t be alone.”
“So? I’ve got my room. I’m not moving to Nan’s middle of nowhere. My school, my friends—I’m not going.” Lily vanished into her room.
Panic swallowed Olivia. What now? Her family—gone. She was being thrown out, uprooted. Like a tornado had flipped her life and spat her out, breathless.
No. This couldn’t be real. Even Lily had turned on her. She locked herself in the bathroom and wept. Later, she found a pillow and blanket on the narrow sofa. James was texting again.
“What’s this?”
“Figure it out.”
Olivia curled up, knees bent—the sofa too small to stretch. She didn’t sleep, just schemed. She’d been a good wife, a good mother. Yet she’d failed at both. She wouldn’t beg. Couldn’t forgive. The flat wasn’t worth fighting—but Lily was.
At dawn, she slipped out. The office was empty; the security guard startled when she arrived.
A colleague took one look and asked, “What’s wrong?”
“No family, no home. I’m homeless.” Olivia buried her face.
“That bad?”
“Worse. I need a flat.”
“Look, I’ve got one. Tiny, rundown. My dad’s old place. Needs work, but you can stay. Just cover bills.”
“Thank you.” Hope flickered.
“See it first, you fool.”
The flat was cramped, dated.
“Dad died three years ago. Do what you want with it.”
Olivia scrubbed all night. The curtains, grey with dust, made her sneeze. Lily was better off with James—she’d hate this. No one called. No one noticed she was gone.
She took time off work to collect her things while James was out. Her colleague and husband helped her move. That night, she drank wine, mourning her shattered life.
She called Lily daily. “Everything’s fine,” Lily said. Emily—25, fun—had moved in. She gave Lily makeup, clothes…
So everyone was happy. Except Olivia.
Once, she waited outside Lily’s school. Her daughter, heavily made-up, glared. “Don’t come again.” Olivia cried all evening.
To distract herself, she took a second job—stocking shelves at a hardware store, mopping floors late into the night. She saved every penny, even skimping on meals. A year later, she bought a one-bedroom flat. If Lily ever came back, they’d be fine.
She slept on a discounted mattress, then bought a wardrobe and sofa. A coworker, William, offered to assemble them. She cooked him borscht and potatoes.
Over lunch, William shared his own divorce—his wife left him for someone richer. He’d moved in with his mum. He shook his head at Olivia’s story. They commiserated.
The sofa took another day. William refused payment. “You need a distraction,” he said, inviting her to the cinema.
“Pitying me?”
“Why? You’re lovely, got your own place. I reckon James kept Lily so he wouldn’t look heartless. She’ll figure it out. No stepmum replaces a mother.”
William started visiting often—fixing lights, hanging shelves. One night, they talked till dawn. He stayed. Soon, he moved in. He proposed; she refused. She was waiting for Lily.
But Lily didn’t come. Didn’t even answer calls.
Time dulled the pain. William kept her steady. “If she’s happy with James, let her be.”
Then, one evening—a knock.
Olivia gasped. “Lily! Darling!” She crushed her in a hug. “Look at you! William, look who’s here! How’d you find me?”
“Your work. Nice place.” Lily eyed the flat.
Over tea, Lily admitted she’d failed her A-levels. James refused to pay for university.
“Emily said they need the money for holidays. Mum, can you help?”
“I can barely cover the mortgage,” Olivia faltered. “Try again next year.”
William agreed. “Your mum worked two jobs for this flat. We could get you a job at the store, save up.”
Lily pouted. “I don’t want to waste a year.”
Olivia studied her daughter. When had she become so entitled?
“It’s late,” William said. “Sleep on it.”
Olivia fetched the air mattress. “It’ll fit here.”
“Here? The kitchen?” Lily scoffed.
“Just tonight. We’ll sort something tomorrow.”
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Olivia whispered in bed.
“And her problems,” William murmured. “You were fretting about money.”
“I’m her mother. I have to help.”
In the morning, Lily was gone. No note.
Olivia called, frantic. “Where are you?”
“Going back to Dad. I won’tLily’s voice was cold as she said, “You chose him over me—just like Dad chose her,” and the line went dead.
