“Mum, I can’t go on like this,” Emily stood by the window, staring at the heavy grey clouds blanketing the sky.
“What do you mean, you can’t? You managed for forty-two years, and now suddenly you can’t?” Margaret tossed her hands up, her wrinkled face twisting in outrage. “Have you lost your mind at your age? What on earth are you thinking?”
Emily gave a bitter smile. What was she thinking? Of sleepless nights waiting for her husband to return from his “business meetings.” Of the disdainful looks he’d give her over dinner. Of how he’d call her “an old nag” in front of his friends, then laugh it off—just a bit of harmless banter, he’d say.
“I think I finally want to live for myself,” she said quietly.
“For yourself?” her mother let out a sharp laugh. “And what about me? Where am I supposed to go? My pension barely covers bread and milk! Christopher supports us both, you know.”
Emily felt a lump rise in her throat. It was always like this—the moment she spoke of her own needs, her mother presented the bill. Debt, duty, guilt—the shackles she’d dragged through life.
“I’ve got a job, Mum. As an accountant for a private firm.”
“What?” Margaret sank onto a chair, clutching 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’s voice rose. “I raised you, sacrificed for you! I gave you everything! And now you want to throw it all away? Over what? A midlife crisis?”
The front door slammed—Christopher was home. His heavy footsteps sounded like a verdict. Emily clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.
“What’s all this shouting about, ladies?” His voice dripped with honey, as it always did when others were around. “Margaret, you’ll have the neighbours calling the council at this rate.”
“Your wife’s lost her mind!” her mother snapped. “Says she’s got a job, wants a divorce!”
Christopher slowly turned to Emily. Something cold flickered in his eyes.
“Oh? And how long have you been plotting this, darling?”
Emily felt a chill down her spine. That tone—deceptively sweet, promising storm—she knew it too well.
“Not plotting. Deciding,” she said, surprised by the steel in her voice.
“She’s decided!” Margaret threw her hands up. “Christopher, talk some sense into her! She’s menopausal, clearly not thinking straight!”
“Mum!” Emily spun around. “Stop it! I’m fifty-two, not hysterical or mad. I just won’t—”
“Won’t what, love?” Christopher stepped closer, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Not happy with this house? The car? The jewellery?”
“Stop,” Emily retreated to the window. “You know exactly what this is about.”
“Oh, that bit of fluff from the office you saw him with?” Margaret cut in. “So what! All men have their weaknesses. Close your eyes and bear it, like every other woman!”
Emily felt something inside her snap. There it was—”bear it.” How many times had she heard that? Bear the insults, the affairs, the humiliation—because that’s just how it is, because “think of your mother.”
“You know what, darling,” Christopher perched on the armchair, crossing his legs, “let’s be honest. You won’t last on your own. Who’d hire someone your age? Who’d even want you?”
“Nobody wants me?” Emily laughed, a sound so sharp her mother flinched. “That’s exactly what you’ve spent years making me believe. That I’m worthless, that I should be grateful for every scrap of attention.”
“Sweetheart,” Margaret reached for her hand, “you’re overreacting—”
“No, Mum,” Emily pulled away gently but firmly. “For the first time in years, I see clearly. And I’m leaving.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” Christopher hissed, all pretence gone. “Forgotten whose name is on the deeds? Who pays for your mother’s medication?”
“Ah,” Emily felt oddly calm. “There’s the real you. Couldn’t even keep up the act in front of Mum.”
“Emily, love,” 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. Small, in a quiet part of town. But it’s mine.”
Christopher barked a laugh. “And how d’you plan to 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 senior role.”
“Traitor!” Margaret shrieked. “I didn’t raise you to end up in some rented hovel! What will people say?”
“People, people…” Emily shook her head. “You’ve spent your life worrying about them. Never about what I’d say.”
She walked to the bedroom, pulled out a pre-packed holdall. Christopher blocked her path. “Stop right there! You’re not leaving!”
“Move,” her voice turned to iron. “I’m filing for divorce. And don’t threaten me—I’ve recorded every one of yours, kept proof of the affairs. Think your business partners would enjoy the scandal?”
Christopher paled. She’d never seen him so rattled.
“You’re bluffing.”
“Try me,” Emily smiled. “Twenty-eight years I stayed quiet. Collected every piece you hid. Thought I was blind? Stupid? No, love. I was waiting till the kids were grown.”
“The kids!” Margaret gasped. “Exactly! What’ll they say? You’ll shame us all!”
“They know, Mum. I spoke to them last week. Know what Sophie said? ‘Mum, I’ve been waiting for you to do this.’”
Silence crashed over the room. Margaret sank into her chair, lips trembling. Christopher flexed his fists.
“So you’ve planned this?” he spat. “Just remember—walk out now, you’re not coming back. And I won’t lift a finger for your mother.”
“Don’t,” Emily zipped the bag. “I’ll manage.”
“Manage, will she!” Margaret shot up. “And who’ll buy my pills? Pay the bills? My pension’s barely enough!”
“Mum, I told you—I’m working. I’ll help where I can.”
“Where you can?” Margaret grabbed her head. “What if you can’t? What if they sack you? At your age—”
“Enough!” Emily raised her voice. “Enough telling me I’m old! I’m not some feeble crone—I’m a woman in my prime. And I deserve to be happy.”
“Happy?” Christopher scoffed. “Who’d want—”
“Don’t you dare!” Emily cut him off. “You’ll never belittle me again.”
She walked to the door. Her hands shook, but her steps didn’t. In the hallway, she turned.
“Mum, I love you. But I can’t live for others anymore. Forgive me.”
“Wait!” Margaret rushed after her. “Don’t you dare leave! I’ll—I’ll disown you!”
Emily froze on the threshold. Slowly turned.
“So that’s it? Disown your daughter for refusing to be a doormat?”
“I didn’t mean—” Margaret faltered, then rallied. “But you’re throwing everything away! What’ll I tell the neighbours?”
“Tell them the truth,” Emily opened the door. “Tell them your daughter finally learned self-respect.”
Three months later.
Emily sat in the cosy kitchen of her rented flat 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 not hostile for the first time in years. Margaret studied her daughter like she was seeing her anew.
“You’ve changed,” she finally said. “I thought you’d fall apart, but you—you’ve bloomed.”
Emily smiled. “I have, Mum.”
“How’s work?”
“Promotion. Head accountant now.”
“And Christopher—”
“Filed for divorce himself,” Emily shrugged. “Guess he realised I wasn’t bluffing about the evidence.”
Margaret stirred her tea, the spoon clinking softly.
“You know,” her voice wavered, “I nearly left your father too. When you were little.”
“Really?” Emily’s eyes widened.
“Drank, hit me. I endured it—thought that’s just how life was. Then he left, and I… I was terrified. Spent my life afraid you’d end up alone. Forgive me.”
Tears streMargaret reached across the table and squeezed her daughter’s hand, whispering, “I should’ve been brave like you,” as the afternoon sunlight spilled across their teacups, warming more than just the room.
