The Heavy Burden of Freedom
“Irene, have you seen the blue folder with the documents? I left it on the side table in the living room!” Alex’s voice trembled with worry. He’d turned their quiet home in the outskirts of Manchester upside down, but the folder had vanished.
“Oh, that old thing?” Irene replied carelessly. “Looked scuffed and stained, so I binned it.”
Alex froze as if struck. That folder contained his two-week report—due tomorrow. He could redo the typing, but the signatures? Where would he get those at ten in the evening?
“How could you?!” he hissed, barely containing his anger. “That was a crucial report! Barely a scratch on the folder! Do you realise I could lose my job?”
“Don’t leave your mess lying about!” she sniffed, pushing aside her half-drunk tea. “Honestly, if it meant so much, you should’ve put it in your room, not cluttered up my space!”
“It was on the side table, not the floor!” Alex felt his pulse pounding in his temples.
This wasn’t the first time Irene had thrown out his belongings—his “ratty” shirts, his old notebooks—but this crossed the line.
“My house, my rules!” she snapped, chin lifted. “If you don’t like it, no one’s keeping you here!”
Alex clenched his fists, counting silently. Calm wouldn’t come. Her house? True. She’d insisted he and his wife, Emily, move in after they married. “Renting’s a waste when I’ve got plenty of space,” she’d argued.
At first, it made sense. Alex was climbing the corporate ladder, working late. Emily, pregnant with their son Oliver, could barely get out of bed. Cooking and cleaning? Impossible. Irene’s help seemed a blessing.
But after Oliver was born, Alex suggested moving out. Even a rented flat would be theirs. Emily refused. “Why? Mum does everything—looks after Oliver, and I get to relax!” She adored her life of shopping, salon visits, and an hour of playtime with their son. Being a housewife didn’t appeal.
Alex gave in—but not forever. Secretly, he’d been saving, building a house on the city’s edge. Emily knew nothing—he’d anticipated her protests. Her life was effortless; moving meant chores, cooking, and responsibility.
Furious, Alex grabbed his coat and headed to the bins. The rubbish hadn’t been collected yet—maybe he’d find the folder. Relief washed over him when he spotted it, documents intact. He shot Irene a glare as he returned. It was time to talk to Emily.
“We’re moving tomorrow,” Alex said, collapsing into an armchair. “I won’t tolerate your mother’s meddling anymore. Why should I, a grown man, endure her nagging?”
“Moving? Where?” Emily panicked. “Everything’s perfect here! And don’t you dare insult Mum—she does so much for us!”
“I agreed to stay while you needed help,” Alex cut in. “You’re well now. Time to be a proper wife and mother.”
“Mum looks after Oliver! He’s a handful!”
“Looks after him?” Alex scoffed. “She’s raising him—and turning him against me. I’ve heard her calling me a bad father!”
“Oliver’s not even one! He doesn’t understand!”
“I’m done,” Alex snapped. “From next month, my job’s regular hours—no more overtime. But the office is across town. Staying here makes no sense.”
“You’ve got a car!”
“We have our own house.”
“What house?!” Emily gasped.
“Big, spacious, near the countryside. Finished two weeks ago. Furniture’s already in.”
“I won’t live in some rural dump!” she shrieked.
“Then it’s divorce.”
“You can’t! Oliver’s just a baby—I’ll fight it!”
“Do that,” Alex said coldly. “But I won’t stay under your mother’s roof. I’ll live where I’m master of my own home. Eat what I want, leave things where I please. Think hard—your mum’s pension’s peanuts. My alimony won’t cover your salon trips.”
Emily relented. They moved. But the new life crushed her—cleaning, cooking, endless childcare. No more leisurely afternoons. A month later, she fled back to Irene, taking Oliver. Furious, she filed for divorce, demanding half the house. She dreamed of selling her share dirt-cheap, forcing Alex to buy her out—except he’d sunk every penny into the build.
Her plan? He’d crawl back to Irene’s.
But the house was in Alex’s parents’ name. Emily got nothing but modest alimony.
Irene was livid too—no more target for her rage. Emily cried at every criticism, and Oliver was too young to scold.
Six months later, Alex offered reconciliation—for Oliver’s sake. Emily jumped at it. To her surprise, she thrived as a homemaker. The carefree days under her mother’s roof faded, replaced by hard but fulfilling work. Freedom, though heavy, brought unexpected joy.
