Divorced in Secret

**Divorced in Secret**

“Louise, have you completely lost your mind?” shrieked Natalie through the phone. “How could you get divorced in secret? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Keep your voice down,” Louise murmured, pulling the receiver away from her ear and glancing toward the kitchen door. “The children are home.”

“What children? They’re in their thirties! Lou, do you even realise what you’ve done? Twenty-eight years of marriage, and then—poof—divorce!”

“Natalie, please stop shouting. This is hard enough as it is.”

“But why didn’t you tell me? We’ve been friends since uni! I could’ve helped, supported you—”

Louise pressed the phone to her chest and closed her eyes. God, she was so tired of these conversations. First Margaret from work, then Auntie Maureen, now Natalie—as if they’d all been waiting for her to give them fresh gossip.

“Lou, are you there?” came the voice from the receiver.

“I’m here,” she sighed, lifting it back to her ear. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“What do you mean, you don’t *want* to? This is huge! You’re the first in our group to get divorced. Just tell me something. Was he unfaithful?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Did he drink?”

“No, not that either.”

“Then what? Louise, you *have* to give me something!”

She exhaled heavily. How could she explain to Natalie that she was simply exhausted? Tired of grey mundanity, the same conversations, the suffocating feeling of living someone else’s life?

“I was tired, Natalie. That’s all.”

“Tired of *what*? William’s a decent bloke—doesn’t drink, doesn’t hit you, brings home a steady wage.”

“Exactly. A decent bloke. Just not *mine*.”

“What on earth does that mean? Not yours? You spent twenty-eight years together!”

A noise came from the hallway. Louise hastily said goodbye and hung up. Her daughter, Emily, walked in, arms laden with groceries.

“Mum, hello,” she said, setting the bags on the table and studying her mother’s face. “You look pale. Are you alright?”

“It’s nothing, just a headache.”

“Was that Natalie again? I heard you defending yourself through the phone.”

Louise nodded. Emily began unpacking the shopping, her back turned.

“Mum,” she said quietly, “do you regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Divorcing Dad.”

Louise looked at her daughter. Emily had the same dark hair, the same grey eyes—but with a fierceness Louise had never possessed.

“I don’t know, love. Not yet.”

“Does Dad regret it?”

“We haven’t spoken about it.”

Emily turned. “Mum, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did you ever actually love Dad?”

Louise froze, cup in hand. Where had that come from?

“Why would you think that?”

“I’ve watched you two my whole life. You never hugged, never kissed, never even held hands. Like flatmates, not spouses.”

“Emily, don’t say that. Your father’s a good man.”

“He is, true. But you didn’t love him. And I don’t think he loved you either.”

Louise set the cup down. Emily was right. She’d married William because it was expected—her friends were wed, her parents insisted.

“Mum,” Emily whispered, “who *did* you love?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Because everyone deserves love in their life.”

Louise turned to the window. Of course there’d been love—Edward from the next building over, a med student. Handsome, clever, full of dreams. They’d met in secret; her parents considered him unsuitable.

“A doctor’s not just a career, it’s a calling,” he’d said. “I’ll save lives.”

“And I’ll help you,” she’d replied.

But her parents pushed her toward William—steadiness, a house, a sensible match. Edward left for a small northern town, sent letters, called. But Louise was already married, already expecting her first child.

“Mum, are you crying?” Emily asked anxiously.

“No, love. Just tired eyes.”

Emily hugged her. “Mum, I understand. Better alone than miserably married.”

“You think so?”

“Definitely. Look at you since the divorce—lost weight, cut your hair, bought new clothes. Like you’ve woken up.”

Louise studied her reflection in the window. It was true. No more shapeless jumpers, no more dull buns. Bright colours now, a stylish cut.

“How did Paul take the news?” Emily asked.

“Not well. Said I was selfish, that I’d broken the family.”

“Honestly. Paul’s always been Dad’s boy. He’ll come round.”

Louise nodded. Their son *was* closer to his father—fishing trips, fixing the car, football matches. Emily had always been hers.

“Mum,” Emily said, filling the kettle, “have you thought about remarrying?”

“Emily, I’m fifty-three. Who’d have me?”

“So what? Auntie Victoria married at fifty-five. She’s happy.”

“Auntie Victoria’s the exception.”

“Why? You’re beautiful. And free now.”

*Free.* A word Louise had been afraid to say aloud. Free from breakfast at seven sharp, free from socks strewn across the bedroom, free from conversations about work, football, the neighbours’ new car.

But freedom came with loneliness. Evenings alone, no one to share joys or woes.

“Emily, do you think I did the wrong thing?”

“No, Mum. You did right. Finally.”

Emily poured the tea and sat beside her.

“All my childhood, I wished you’d divorce Dad.”

*What?* Louise nearly dropped her cup.

“Don’t be shocked. You were both miserable. Dad was always angry, you always sad. Felt like living in a morgue.”

“We tried to hide it—”

“Children *feel* things, Mum.”

Louise fell silent. All those years playing happy families, and they’d known all along.

“And now look at you—glowing. Italian classes, theatre club. *Living* at last.”

“But people judge. All anyone talks about is how I’ve gone mad.”

“Since when do you care what people think?”

The doorbell rang. Emily went to answer.

“Mum, it’s Margaret from work,” she called.

Louise winced. Margaret loved other people’s business.

“Louise, darling!” Margaret swept in like a storm. “Now then, what on earth happened? I’ve been up all night worrying!”

“Hello, Margaret. Tea?”

“Yes, yes. Lou, how could you? I’d never have the nerve.”

“Why not?”

“What, alone at fifty-three? It’s terrifying!”

Louise poured the tea. “What’s so terrifying? The children are grown, I’ve got my job, my health.”

“But the loneliness! Who’ll want you now?”

“Who wanted me *in* the marriage? William treated me like furniture.”

“At least he didn’t cheat.”

“Margaret, do you love your husband?”

The question caught her off guard. “Of course! How else?”

“Truly? Or is it just habit?”

Margaret stirred her tea. “Well… Love’s a strong word. But we’re family. Shared history, routines.”

“Exactly. Routine. And for me, that wasn’t enough.”

“But at our age, romance is done with. Stability matters more.”

“Why’s it done with?” Emily cut in. “Mum’s still young.”

“Emily, grown-ups are talking,” Margaret scolded.

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m her daughter. I see how happy she’s become.”

Margaret pursed her lips. “Children shouldn’t celebrate their parents’ divorce.”

“We’re not. We’re celebrating Mum finally living for herself.”

“Selfish, that’s what it is.”

“And living for others—what’s that called?” Louise asked. “Spending your life meeting expectations?”

“Of course! Family, children, husband. That’s what life is.”

“Don’t you ever pity yourself?”

Margaret hesitated. “I do. But what can you do? That’s life.”

Their son Paul walked in—tall, broad-shouldered, William’s double. He kissed Louise’s cheek.

“Mum, can we talk?”

“Of course. Margaret, family matter.”

“I’ll go. But Louise—think it over. Maybe it’s not too late.”

Once she’d left, Paul sat down.

“Mum, Dad says he’s willing to reconcile.”

Louise sighed. William’s third attempt through the children.

“Paul, tell him it’s done. The divorce is final.”

“But it can be undone.As she hung up the phone after arranging to meet Edward, Louise smiled to herself—knowing that, for the first time in decades, she was finally choosing her own happiness.

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Divorced in Secret