Mum, I can’t go on like this,” Emily said, standing by the window, gazing at the grey sky heavy with clouds.
“What do you mean, you can’t? You managed for forty-five years, and now suddenly you can’t?” Margaret threw her hands up, her wrinkled face twisted in indignation. “Have you lost your mind at your age? What are you thinking?”
Emily gave a bitter smile. What was she thinking? Of the sleepless nights waiting for her husband to return from “business meetings.” Of the disdainful glances he gave her over dinner. Of the way he called her a “dried-up old hen” in front of his friends and laughed it off, saying she ought to have a sense of humour.
“I’m thinking that I finally want to live for myself,” she replied quietly.
“For yourself?” her mother let out a short, derisive laugh. “And what about me? What am I supposed to do? My pension barely covers my bread and bills! James supports both of us, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Emily felt a lump rise in her throat. It was always this way—the moment she spoke of herself, her mother tallied up the debt. Obligation, guilt—the chains she’d dragged through her whole life.
“I’ve got a job, Mum. As an accountant at a private firm.”
“What?” Margaret sank into 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—”
“Yes, you do!” her mother snapped. “I raised you, gave up my nights for you! I gave you life! And now you want to throw it all away? Over some silly whim?”
The front door clicked shut—James was home. His heavy footsteps echoed like a sentence. Emily clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.
“What’s all the fuss, ladies?” His voice oozed honey, as it always did when others were near. “Margaret, you’re shouting loud enough for the neighbours to call the council.”
“Your wife’s lost her mind!” her mother turned on him instantly. “Says she’s got a job, wants a divorce!”
James slowly turned to Emily. Something cold flickered in his eyes.
“Oh really?” he drawled. “And when did you dream this up, darling?”
Emily felt ice run down her spine. That tone—deceptively smooth—always promised a storm.
“Not dreamed, James. Decided.” She surprised herself with the steel in her voice.
“She’s decided!” Margaret threw up her hands. “James, talk some sense into her! It’s the menopause, she’s not thinking straight!”
“Mum!” Emily spun around. “Enough! I’m fifty-two, not hysterical or mad. I just won’t take it anymore—”
“Take what, love?” James stepped closer, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Don’t like this house? The car not flash enough? Or is it the jewellery?”
“Stop it,” Emily retreated to the window. “You know exactly what this is about.”
“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 proper women do!”
Something inside Emily snapped. *Bear it.* How many times had she heard that word? Bear it when he belittled her. Bear it when he strayed. Bear it because it was expected, because “everyone does it,” because “think of your mother.”
“Listen, darling,” James perched on the armchair, crossing his legs, “let’s be frank. You know you won’t survive alone, right? Who hires women your age? Who’d even want you?”
“No one wants me?” Emily suddenly laughed, and the sound made Margaret flinch. “Exactly what you’ve spent years telling me. That I’m worthless. That I should be grateful for every scrap you throw my way.”
“Sweetheart,” her mother reached for her hand, “you’re overreacting—”
“No, Mum.” Emily gently pulled away. “For the first time in years, I see clearly. I’m leaving.”
“You’re going nowhere,” James hissed, the pretence of softness gone. “Forgotten whose name’s on the deeds? Who pays for your mother’s care?”
“There it is,” Emily felt an eerie calm. “Finally showing your true colours. Couldn’t even keep up the act in front of Mum.”
“Emily, darling,” Margaret clutched her chest, “you wouldn’t leave me? Where would you go?”
“I’ve got a flat. Rented it last week.”
“What?” mother and husband exclaimed in unison.
“Yes, imagine that. Tiny, in a quiet neighbourhood. But mine.”
James barked a laugh.
“And how’ll you pay for it? On a trainee accountant’s wages?”
“I’m not a trainee,” Emily said softly. “I qualified with distinction. They’ve given me a proper position.”
“Traitor!” Margaret shrieked. “I didn’t raise you to throw your life away in some rented hovel! What will people say?”
“People, people…” Emily shook her head. “Your whole life, you’ve worried what people say. Never what I say.”
She walked to the bedroom, pulled out a pre-packed bag. James blocked the doorway.
“Stop right there! You’re not going anywhere!”
“Move.” Her voice turned to steel. “I’m filing for divorce. And don’t bother threatening me—I’ve got recordings of your rants and proof of your affairs. Think your business partners will enjoy the scandal?”
James paled. She’d never seen him so shaken.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.” Emily smiled. “Twenty-eight years I stayed quiet. Gathered every piece you hid. Thought I was blind? Stupid? No, darling. I was waiting for the children to stand on their own feet.”
“The children!” Margaret gasped. “Exactly! What’ll they think? You’ll shame us all!”
“They know, Mum. I spoke to them last week. Know what Lily said? ‘Mum, I’ve been waiting for this.’”
Silence fell. Margaret slumped into the armchair, lips trembling. James flexed his fists.
“So this is all planned?” he spat. “Just know—walk out, and there’s no coming back. And I won’t lift a finger for your mother.”
“Don’t bother.” Emily fastened her bag. “I’ll manage.”
“Manage, will she?” Margaret leapt up. “And who’ll buy my pills? Pay my rent? My pension’s pennies!”
“Mum, I told you—I’m working. I’ll help where I can.”
“Where you can?” Margaret clutched her head. “What if you can’t? If they sack you? At your age—”
“Enough!” Emily raised her voice. “Enough with the age! I’m not some helpless crone—I’m a woman in my prime. And I deserve happiness.”
“Happiness?” James scoffed. “Who’d want an old—”
“Don’t.” Emily cut him off. “You’ll never demean me again. Never.”
She walked to the door. Her hands shook, but her step was firm. Pausing, she turned back.
“Mum, I love you. But I won’t live for others anymore. I’m sorry.”
“Wait!” Margaret rushed after her. “Don’t you dare! I’ll… I’ll curse you!”
Emily froze on the threshold. Slowly, she turned.
“Really? Curse your own daughter for refusing to be a doormat?”
“I didn’t mean—” Margaret faltered, then rallied. “But you’re destroying everything! Our life! What’ll I tell the neighbours?”
“Tell them the truth,” Emily opened the door. “Tell them your daughter finally learned her worth.”
Three months later.
Emily sat in her cosy rented kitchen when the doorbell rang. Margaret stood there, holding a pie dish.
“Brought you an apple pie,” she murmured. “Your favourite.”
Emily wordlessly stepped aside. Her mother glanced around.
“It’s… nice here.”
“Come in. I’ll put the kettle on.”
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.”
Emily smiled.
“I have, Mum.”
“How’s work?”
“Promotion. I’m head accountant now.”
“And James…?”
“Filed for divorce himself.” Emily shrugged. “Guess he believed me about the evidence.”
Margaret stirred her tea, silent for a long moment. Then her voice wavered.
“You know… I nearly left your father once. When you were little.”
“Really?” Emily looked up, surprised.
“Drank, hit me. I endured it. Thought that’s just”He was a brute,” Margaret whispered, her hands trembling around the teacup, “but I stayed because I was afraid—just like you were, until you weren’t.”
