“Mum, I can’t go on like this,” Elizabeth stood by the window, gazing at the leaden sky choked with heavy clouds.
“What do you mean you can’t?” Margaret Whitmore flung up her hands, her wrinkled face twisting in outrage. “You managed for twenty-two years, and now suddenly you can’t? Have you lost your mind in your old age? What on earth are you thinking?”
Elizabeth gave a bitter smile. What was she thinking? Of sleepless nights waiting for her husband to return from his “business meetings.” Of the scornful glances he threw her across the dinner table. Of how he called her an “old crone” in front of his friends, then laughed—as if she ought to appreciate his sense of humour.
“I think I’d like to live for myself at last,” she answered quietly.
“For yourself?” her mother let out a sharp laugh. “And what about me? Where am I supposed to go? My pension barely covers a loaf of bread! Daniel keeps us both afloat, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Elizabeth felt the lump rise in her throat. Always the same—the moment she spoke of herself, her mother presented the bill. Debt, duty, guilt—eternal shackles dragging her through life.
“I’ve found work, Mum. As an accountant in a private firm.”
“What?” Margaret sank onto a chair, pressing a hand to her chest. “So that’s why you’ve been taking those courses? Planning behind my back?”
“I don’t owe—”
“Oh, you do!” her mother’s voice sharpened. “I raised you, lost sleep over you—gave you everything! And now you want to ruin it all? Over what? A whim?”
The front door slammed—Daniel was home. His heavy footsteps echoed like a verdict. Elizabeth clenched her fists, fingernails digging into her palms.
“What’s all this, ladies?” His voice dripped honey, as it always did when others were near. “Margaret, you’ll have the neighbours calling the constable at this rate.”
“Your wife’s gone mad!” her mother snapped, switching targets. “She’s taken a job—wants a divorce!”
Daniel slowly turned to Elizabeth. Something cold flickered in his eyes.
“Oh?” he drawled. “And when did you cook this up, darling?”
A chill ran down her spine. That tone—deceptively gentle, promising a storm—was painfully familiar.
“I didn’t cook it up, Daniel. I decided,” she said, surprised at the steel in her own voice.
“She’s decided!” Margaret threw up her hands. “Daniel, talk sense into her! She’s gone off her rocker—must be the change!”
“Mum!” Elizabeth whirled around. “Enough! I’m fifty-two, not hysterical or mad. I just won’t stand for—”
“Won’t stand for what, love?” Daniel stepped closer, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Is the house not good enough? Or the car? Or perhaps I’ve been stingy with jewellery?”
“Stop,” she backed toward the window. “You know full well it’s not about that.”
“Is it that young secretary you saw him with?” Margaret cut in. “So what! All men have their weaknesses. Close your eyes and bear it, like any decent woman would!”
Something inside Elizabeth snapped. There it was—”bear it.” How often had she heard that? Bear the humiliation, the infidelity, because it was expected, because “everyone lives like this,” because “think of your mother.”
“Listen, dear,” Daniel perched on the armchair, crossing his legs. “Let’s be honest. You know you’d never survive alone? Who hires a woman your age? Who’d want you?”
“Nobody wants me?” Elizabeth laughed suddenly, the sound making her mother flinch. “Yes, Daniel. That’s what you’ve spent years telling me. That I’m worthless, that I should be grateful for every scrap you throw my way.”
“Darling,” Margaret reached for her hand, “you’re overreacting—”
“No, Mum,” Elizabeth gently pulled free. “For the first time in years, I see clearly. And I’m leaving.”
“You’re going nowhere,” Daniel hissed, all pretence of sweetness gone. “Forgotten whose name’s on the deeds? Or who pays for your mother’s medicine?”
“Ah,” Elizabeth felt an odd calm. “Finally, the real you shows his face. Couldn’t keep up the act, even in front of Mum.”
“Lizzie, darling,” Margaret clutched her chest, “you wouldn’t leave me? Where would you go?”
“I’ve a flat. I rented it last week.”
“What?” they exclaimed together.
“Yes, imagine that. Small, in a quiet neighbourhood. But it’s mine. Well, leased—but mine.”
Daniel barked a laugh:
“And how d’you plan to pay for it? On some half-qualified clerk’s wages?”
“I’m not half-qualified,” she said softly. “I finished top of my course. They hired me as senior accountant.”
“Traitor!” Margaret shrieked. “I didn’t raise you to throw yourself into some dingy bedsit in your twilight years! What will people say?”
“People, people…” Elizabeth shook her head. “Your whole life, you’ve worried what people say. Never what I say.”
She walked to the bedroom, retrieved a packed bag. Daniel blocked her path:
“Stop right there! You’re not leaving!”
“Move,” her voice turned icy. “I’m filing for divorce. And don’t threaten me—I’ve recordings of every cruel word, proof of every affair. Think your partners would enjoy the scandal?”
Daniel paled. She’d never seen him so shaken.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me,” Elizabeth smiled. “Twenty-eight years, I kept quiet. Collected every piece you hid. Thought me blind? Stupid? No, dear. I was waiting till the children stood on their own feet.”
“The children!” Margaret gasped. “Exactly! What’ll they think? You’ll shame the family!”
“They know, Mum. I spoke to them last week. Know what Emily said? ‘Mum, I’ve been waiting for you to do this.’”
A heavy silence fell. Margaret slumped into her chair, lips trembling. Daniel flexed his fists.
“So you’ve planned this?” he spat. “But mark my words—walk out that door, and there’s no coming back. Your mother’s on her own.”
“Fine,” Elizabeth zipped the bag. “I’ll manage.”
“She’ll manage!” Margaret wailed. “And who’ll pay for my pills? The rent? My pension’s pennies!”
“I told you—I’m working. I’ll help as much as I can.”
“As much as you can?” Margaret clutched her head. “And if you can’t? If they sack you? At your age—”
“Enough!” Elizabeth raised her voice. “Enough with my age! I’m not some feeble old woman—I’m in my prime. And I deserve happiness.”
“What happiness?” Daniel sneered. “Think anyone wants a used-up—”
“Don’t you dare!” she cut him off. “You’ll never belittle me again.”
She moved to the door. Her hands shook, but her step was firm. In the hallway, she turned:
“Mum, I love you. But I can’t live for others anymore. Forgive me.”
“Wait!” Margaret lurched after her. “Don’t you dare leave! I’ll—I’ll curse you!”
Elizabeth froze. Slowly turned:
“So that’s it? You’d curse your own child for refusing to be a doormat?”
“That’s not—” Margaret faltered, then rallied. “You’re throwing everything away! What’ll I tell the neighbours?”
“Tell them the truth,” Elizabeth opened the door. “Tell them your daughter finally learned her worth.”
Three months passed.
Elizabeth sat in her cosy little kitchen when the doorbell rang. Margaret stood there clutching a casserole dish.
“Brought you a pie,” she murmured. “Apple. Your favourite.”
Elizabeth silently let her in. Margaret glanced around:
“It’s… homely here.”
“Sit down. I’ll make tea.”
They sat at the table, the silence between them peaceful—for the first time in years. Margaret studied her daughter as if seeing her anew.
“You’ve changed,” she finally said. “I thought you’d fall apart, but—you’ve come alive.”
Elizabeth smiled:
“I have, Mum.”
“How’s work?”
“Promotion. Head accountant now.”
“And Daniel…”
“Filed for divorce himself,” Elizabeth shrugged. “Guess my threats weren’t empty.”
Margaret stirred sugar into cooling tea.
“D’you know,” her voice quivered, “I nearly left your father. When you were little.”
“Really?” Elizabeth looked up.
“He drank. Hit me. I endured—thought that’s just life. Then he walked out, and I… I was terrified. Spent years dreading you’d end up alone. Forgive me.”Tears welled in Elizabeth’s eyes as she squeezed her mother’s hand, knowing at last that their shared wounds had finally begun to heal.
