I set my cup down, the gentle clink echoing through the quiet kitchen just as the phone rang. The number was unfamiliar, but the call itself was insistentlong, purposeful rings, the sort that refuse to be ignored. I looked at the screen and understoodit was him. Edward. My ex-husband, whod abandoned our marriage for another woman five years ago and fathered a child with her.
I didnt pick up straightaway. I stood by the window, gazing out at the communal garden where children tumbled over the grass, and wondered: why? Why now?
The phone finally went silent. Then, moments later, it rang again.
With a sigh, I answered.
Emma, hello, Edwards voice was muted, almost apologetic. I need to talk to you. Its urgent.
What about? I perched on the windowsill, pressed the phone to my ear, bracing myself for yet another favour. Edwards requests always had a way of sounding like obligations.
Can we meet? Id rather not say this over the phone, you see
I dont see, I replied coolly. Either say it now or dont say it at all.
He hesitated. Then exhaled heavily, almost raggedly, like hed been smoking too much again.
Helens got cancer. Stage four. The doctors say a couple of months, maybe three at best.
Helenthe woman for whom he left me. The one whod given birth to his son. I felt a coldness settle innot pity, but apprehension, knowing he was about to ask something that would steal my breath away.
Im very sorry, I said flatly. But I dont know why youve called me.
Emma I need help. Ive nowhere else to turn.
I stayed silent. Outside, a blackbird flitted past and settled on the garden fence, eyeing me, as if to warn: dont believe him.
Emma, please, lets meet. Ill explain everything. Its importantits about Michael, my son.
Your son, I thought. Not mine. Never mine.
All right, I said tightly. Tomorrow. Corner Café on Victoria Road, three oclock.
I hung up and sat by the window for a long while, staring into nothing. My tea cooled, cucumber slices wilted on the cutting board. An old photograph hung on the fridgeEdward and me in the Lake District, arms linked, both laughing. Id been meaning to take it down for ages, but never had. Perhaps I just couldnt admit the woman in the picture no longer existed.
I arrived at the café early the next day, ordered tea, and took a seat by the window. Edward arrived about ten minutes late: thinner, haggard, patches of grey showing at his temples. He slid into the seat across from me, nodded politely at the waitress, and looked at me as if begging forgiveness before hed even begun.
Thank you for coming, he said softly.
I havent got much time, I replied, cradling my mug to warm my fingers. Get on with it.
Im not sure where to start
Try starting with why you asked me here.
He sighed, rubbing his hands over his face.
Helens dying. Its definite now. The chemotherapys failed, its too late for surgery. She doesnt have any familyher mother died three years ago, she never knew her father. Michael will be alone. Hes only five.
I kept quiet. Something knotted inside me, but I refused to show it.
I want to ask you He faltered, looking down. Could you help us? Financially. We need money for her care, for nurses. I swear Ill pay you back. Ive got nothing right now.
How much? I asked.
About sixty thousand pounds. Maybe more.
I set my cup down sharplytea sloshed over, a droplet spreading across the tablecloth like a stain.
Sixty thousand? I repeated. And where would I find that kind of money, Edward?
You could sell the flat. The one on Rose Lane. You always said you didnt need it, that you never lived there.
The flat on Rose Lane. A one-bed in an old Georgian terrace, a gift from my parents when we married. Later, Id given it to Edwardfor his birthday, back when I thought wed last forever. Hed rented it out, pocketed the proceeds. Now he wanted me to sell it.
Youre serious? I looked him dead in the eye. You want me to sell the flat I once gave you as a gift?
Emma, I know this is awful, but
No, I said firmly. No, Edward. That was a gift, not a lifelong obligation.
He blanched.
But Helens dying! Michael will be an orphan
Michael has a father, I said, rising and collecting my things. You are his father. And this is your responsibility. Not mine.
Emma, wait
I didnt. I left the café, phone clutched in trembling hands. Was I right? I wondered. Or just heartless?
At home, I rang my friend Sarahthe one whod stuck by me after the divorce, never telling me to be more forgiving for the sake of appearances.
He asked you to sell your flat? she repeated, incredulous. Emma, hes totally lost it!
Sarah, the womans dying. And the child is so young
And? Its not your problem. You owe him nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Still, I feel awful, I admitted. Like Im refusing a dying person
Youre allowed to say no, even if it breaks your heart, Sarah said staunchly. Remember that, Em. Youre not here to rescue him from himself.
I lay on the sofa that night, replaying Edwards words, seeing that womans face in my minda flash from years ago in town, pushing a pram, radiant and smiling. She stole my husband, Id thought. Now she was dying, and I was supposed to bail her out?
No. I was not.
Two days later, Edward rang again. This time, no pleasantrieshis voice was ragged, desperate.
Emma, I know youre angry. But think of Michael. Hes innocent.
Im not angry, I said evenly. But I wont get involved.
Thenanother favour, he stammered. If Helen dies could you take Michael in? Temporarily. Until I get back on my feet.
I didnt comprehend for a second.
What?
Youre a motheryouve got experience, you raised Charlotte. Michael needs a womans guidance, and I cant do this alone
Edward, I cut him off, my voice freezing over. Youre asking me to mother your child? The child you conceived when you were cheating on me?
Emma, I realise how it sounds, but
No, I said crisply. Absolutely not. Rub my name out of your plans. I wont step into your new life.
I hung up and slid down against the hallway wall. My heart hammered in my chest. How dare he?
That evening, Charlotte arrived. My twenty-eight-year-old daughtersmart, beautiful, successful, renting her own place in Notting Hill. We didnt see each other often, but it was always warm.
Mum, Dad called, she said the moment she closed the door behind her. Told me about Helen and Michael.
I nodded, filling the kettle.
What did he say?
That you refused to help. That youve gone cold.
I turned. Charlotte lingered in the doorway, arms folded, studying me.
Cold? I echoed. Thats his word, is it?
Mum, how can you be like this? Hes just a child. Innocent.
Youre right, I poured water into the cups, placed them on the table. But hes not my responsibility.
You could at least do something! Anything!
I wont sell the flat, Charlotte. Nor will I take on a child that isnt mine. This is your fathers story, not mine.
Youre selfish, Charlotte murmured, disappointment clouding her features.
It stung, but I said nothing to defend myself.
Maybe, I conceded. But its my right.
Charlotte left half an hour later, her tea untouched. Silence closed around me, thick as velvet.
The next days were a torment. Edward bombarded metexts swinging from pleading to threats. Hed go to court, hed ruin me in Charlottes eyes, everyone would know how heartless I truly was.
I read the messages and deleted them.
One evening, Helen turned up at my door. Gaunt, pale, a scarf covering her head. She stood, looking at me with exhausted eyes.
May I come in? she asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
I let her in. We sat in the kitchen. She stared a long while at the glass of water I set before her.
Im not asking you to love Michael, she said finally. Im only asking give him a chance. Hes so little. Hell need someone when Im gone.
What about his father? I asked.
Edward cant cope alone. You know that as well as I do.
I did know. Edward was always charming, never strongthe kind of man who only ever knew how to beg.
Im sorry, I said. But I cant.
Helen nodded, standing. At the threshold, she turned to me.
Youre a very strong woman, she said. I envied you. Edward used to tell so many stories about you But now I see its a strength that comes from coldness inside.
The door closed. I stood, motionless, the chillness almost a living thing within me.
From coldness inside.
That night, I couldnt sleep. I lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Michael, about Edward and Helen, about how Id become so cold. I remembered a version of myselfa woman willing to forgive, to sacrifice, to bend over backwards for others.
But Edward had chosen someone else. Left me. And Id learned: sacrifices mean nothing if betrayal awaits you at the end.
But was I right?
In the night, I wandered to the window. The street was empty, lamplight pooling on the pavement, a fox yelping somewhere out of sight.
I have the right to say noI echoed Sarahs words. Even when it hurts. Even if the world judges me.
I do not owe anyone for their mistakes. Im no character in someone elses tragedy.
In the morning, I called Edward.
Lets meet. Today. Same café.
He arrived, hope lit in his familiar eyes, hands clasped on the table.
Emma, I knew youd
Dont, I said, holding up my hand. Listen closely. Im not selling my flat. That gift was freedom, not a chain. I will not mother your child. This is not my story, not my sorrow.
He swallowed.
So you want Michael to suffer?
I want you to stop using him to manipulate me, I said, voice calm and unwavering. You have a family, friends. Helen had people who cared. Look to them. But not me.
Youre cruel, he whispered. Cold-hearted.
I stood and reached for my bag.
If thats what I am, so be it. But this is my life, and youll not drag me into yours again.
I left the café and walked down the street, stride light, back straight. I didnt look back.
Two weeks passed. No more calls from Edward. Charlotte kept her distance. Sarah would visit, wed drink tea in the kitchen and talk of everything except Michael and Helen.
Life resumed. I went to work, cooked dinner, devoured novels late into the night. Id sit by the window, watching children play below.
Now and then Id think of Michael. What did he look like? Whose smile did he have? But the thoughts drifted by, clouds across the skyI never tried to catch them.
One morning, Charlotte texted: Mum, forgive me. You were right.
I smiled, wrote back: Thank you, darling. Love you.
I sat by my window with a cup of tea and surveyed my little flatsunlit, peaceful, mine.
I hadnt been a heroine. I hadnt saved a child, hadnt sacrificed myself.
But I had saved myself. And that, too, was a victory.
A quiet victorywithout parades or applause. But a true one.
I sipped my tea and opened a book. The sun shone outside; life kept turning.
And for the first time, I no longer felt guilty for choosing me.
