Emily, have you lost your mind? Your temperatures 104 degrees! I shouted, feeling a mix of panic and disbelief. My friend Sophie clutched my shoulders, trying to push me back onto the sofa, but I stubbornly tugged at my coat, my hands trembling so badly the sleeves barely slipped over them.
Leave me alone, Sophie! I have to get to work! My report is on fire! I gasped.
What report? You can barely stand! Call your boss and say youre ill! she urged.
I cant! Ive already taken two sick days this month. Theyll sack me! I snapped.
Sophie snatched the coat from my arms and flung it onto the armchair.
Sit down now! Ill call a doctor! she commanded.
I collapsed onto the sofa, my strength utterly gone. My head spun, my vision blurred. I worked as an accounts clerk at a small Manchester firm. The pay was modest, but losing the job would mean no money for the next month we were living paycheck to paycheck.
Ive phoned Andrew, Sophie said, dialing my husbands number. Tell him to come and pick you up.
No, hes in a meeting! I protested.
Forget his meeting! His wife is dying, and hes sitting in a boardroom! Sophie retorted.
Half an hour later Andrew arrived, helped me into bed and called the doctor. He handed me the prescription: antibiotics and strict bed rest.
Youll be stuck in here for a week. No work, the doctor warned.
But I have
No buts. A 104degree fever isnt a joke. One more day and youll be in hospital. He left, and Andrew sat on the edge of the bed.
Emily, why didnt you say you were ill earlier? he asked gently.
Because of work I muttered.
Work can wait. Your health comes first. I closed my eyes, exhausted by the endless cycle of work, housework, cooking, cleaning. Andrew did little to help, always complaining about his own fatigue.
The phone buzzed. A text from my motherinlaw, Margaret Peters: Emily, dont forget my birthday celebration in two days. Be there by two oclock. No tardiness. My stomach dropped. Sixty years. Margaret was throwing a big party at a local restaurant, inviting relatives, friends, colleagues.
Andrew, Moms text about the birthday, I said.
Oh right, the day after tomorrow. You remember? he answered.
I do, but Im ill. I cant go, I replied, my voice trembling.
Andrews brow furrowed. How can you not? Its my mothers birthday!
My temperatures 104! The doctor said a week in bed! I insisted.
Itll drop in a day or two. Take a painkiller and well go.
Its serious, Andrew! I pleaded.
Mom will be upset! You know how she is! he warned.
I knew Margaret well a domineering, easily wounded woman who threw tantrums if things didnt go her way. She never spared a daughterinlaw a kind word, always thinking Andrew could do better.
Let her be angry. I physically cant go, I said.
Emily, try to manage for me! he begged.
Im dying here! And youre talking about a birthday! I snapped.
Andrew headed to the kitchen, making a call.
Hey Mum yes, we remember Listen, theres a problem. Emilys ill, high fever I dont know if shell make it Please dont shout Got it Well try. He returned, looking guilty.
Mom says if you dont come she wont see you again.
Great, I dont need to see her anyway.
Emily!
What? Im sick! Shes issuing ultimatums!
Shes upset. Its a big day, an important one.
For her. Whats it to me? I snapped.
Andrew sank onto a chair, rubbing his face.
Fine. Ill go alone and tell her youre too ill. Shell understand.
Shell think Im faking, I muttered.
Let her think what she wants. At least youll keep your health.
I glanced at Andrew, grateful that he finally saw my side.
The next morning my fever eased to 38°C. I shuffled to the kitchen, boiled some broth. Though weak, at least my head didnt spin.
Sophie called.
How are you?
Better. Fevers down.
Good, I was worried. Going to work tomorrow?
No, the doctor gave me a weeks sick leave.
Right. And the birthday?
Andrew wants me to go.
With a fever? Hes out of his mind.
He says Mom will be hurt.
Does he care about your health?
Apparently not. She fell silent.
Do you really want to go? Or stay home?
Ill stay. No strength left.
Good. Let him go alone.
The mother will throw a fit.
Let her. Youre not to blame for being sick.
Sophie was right, but the thought of Margarets fury still gnawed at me. She could hold a grudge for months, turning Andrew against me.
That evening Andrew came home with a bunch of flowers.
Got these for Mum tomorrow, he said.
Nice.
Emily, youre definitely not going?
Absolutely not. I cant.
He sighed. Alright. Ill tell Mum youre seriously ill.
Thanks.
Shell still be angry. You know her.
I know.
Morning came, temperature spiked to 39°C. I took a pill, slipped back into bed. No energy to get up.
Andrew was dressing for the birthday, polishing his shoes.
Im off. Youll manage alone?
Ill manage.
Call if you need anything. Ill have my phone with me.
Okay.
When he left, relief washed over me. No need to smile through the day, no forced conversation, just lying there.
Sophie rang again.
Still at home?
Yes, Andrew left alone.
What about Mum?
Andrew promised to explain.
Explains theyre all the same. Sons are pampered, daughtersinlaw get the short end.
I smiled despite the pain. Margaret loved her son, but she treated me like a nuisance. Every little thing a soup recipe, a pressed shirt, a tidy flat was an occasion for criticism.
The phone rang. It was Margaret.
Hello, Emily?
Good afternoon.
This is Margaret. Andrew told me youre ill and wont come.
Yes, Im genuinely unwell. My doctor said I must stay in bed.
There was a heavy pause.
So on the day of my 60th you chose to stay home?
Im seriously ill!
Everyone gets sick, dear, but they still manage for important events.
I havent.
Its clear then. I know when someone truly cant, and when they simply dont want to. You didnt want to come.
That hit me like a punch.
Alright, then I have nothing more to do here.
Exactly. Leave.
I left the apartment, collapsed on the stairs and cried. Id come to apologise and got a fresh dose of poison instead.
Back home I told Andrew.
I went to see your mother. I wanted to apologise.
And?
She kicked me out.
You must have said something wrong.
Andrew, I just said I was sorry! She started accusing me of everything!
Your mother cant just accuse you for no reason.
Maybe she can!
Andrew fell silent.
Emily, lets get a divorce.
I froze.
What?
We should split. Were clearly not meant for each other.
Because I didnt go to her birthday?
Not only that. You dont respect her.
I dont respect her? She just threw me out, called me liar and hypocrite!
Probably deserved it.
I grabbed my bag.
Dont bother divorcing. Ill leave on my own. Live with your mum. Shes clearly more important than your wife.
Dont have a tantrum, Emily!
This isnt a tantrum, its the realisation that Ive wasted five years of my life on you!
I walked out and went straight to Sophies flat.
She opened the door, saw me in tears, and pulled me inside.
What happened?
Were separated.
How?
He suggested divorce and I agreed.
Sophie wrapped me in a hug.
Good riddance. He didnt deserve you.
I poured my heart into him for years! Loved him, cared for him!
He chose his mum. Thats his choice.
I wept all night while Sophie brewed tea, assuring me that things would improve.
A week later Andrew hadnt called. I stayed with Sophie, returned to work, and in the evenings walked home alone. One day Sophie said,
Emily, maybe this is for the best. Youre free now. You can live for yourself.
Probably, I replied.
Exactly! Youll find a decent bloke who values you, not his mother.
Im not looking for men right now. I just want a break, I said.
Take it. Youve earned it.
Then, unexpectedly, Andrew called.
Emily, we need to talk about the divorce.
About what?
About the paperwork. Whens a good time?
Tomorrow after work, at the café?
We met, sat opposite each other at a small table.
So were divorcing? I asked.
Yes. I think its best for everyone.
For your mother, definitely.
He grimaced.
Emily, dont.
What dont I do? Speak the truth? You chose her over me. Thats a fact.
I didnt choose! I just realised were different.
Different. I respect my parents, but I wont let them run my life. Youre a mothers boy.
He stood up.
Fine. Ill have the lawyers handle it.
I watched him leave, tears streaming, but this time they felt like relief. At last it was over. I was free.
The divorce was quick; there was almost nothing to split. I took my few belongings, left the flat, and moved into a studio flat. A new job offered a better salary, I joined a gym, saw friends, even traveled a bit.
Sophie beamed, Look at you! Youre thriving!
Yes, I feel so much better.
Has Andrew called?
No, and I dont need him to.
Six months later I met Alex, an engineer whod been divorced once, no children. We started dating, going to the cinema, cafés, theatre. He never talked about his mum every five minutes.
My mum lives up north, visits once a year. We chat on the phone, but she doesnt interfere, he said.
Thats sensible, I replied.
How are things with your parents?
They respect me, dont meddle.
Great.
A year later we married, a modest ceremony with close family and friends. Alexs mother liked me straight awaykind, no meddling.
Live however you like, she told us. Just be happy.
I was finally happy, for the first time in years.
One afternoon I ran into Andrew on the street with a young woman, Oksana.
Emily? Hi! he called.
Hi, I replied, smiling.
How are you?
Great. Im married now.
Congrats! And this is Oksana, my girlfriend, he said.
We chatted for a few minutes, then went our separate ways.
Sophie later asked, How do you feel? Still sorry for him?
Not at all. Im glad everything turned out this way, I said.
Exactly. You deserve happiness.
I thought back to that illfated birthday Id missed. At the time it felt like the end of the world, that Id lose my husband and my family. In fact, it was the beginning of a new, brighter life.
Sometimes you have to say no, even if it hurts someone you love. Your health and dignity matter more than anyones expectations. Margaret never forgave me, but I no longer needed her approval. I have my own life now, free from a toxic motherinlaw and a son who chose his mother over his wife.
Sophie once told me, That birthday was the best thing that happened to you.
Why?
Because it forced you to put yourself first. Saying no set you on the road to freedom.
I realised she was right. That disastrous birthday changed everythingfor the better. And I have no regrets.
