Forget that you ever had a daughter, my daughter Emma said, cutting me off as if she were slicing a rope.
Everything was moving forward at a breakneck pace. I felt sorry for both my child and my estranged husband. We had once been regarded as a respectable family, a household built on love, understanding and support. In an instant it all collapsed.
Emma was only fifteen thena turbulent age. Then her father left me for another woman. How could I comprehend that, let alone accept it? Emma spiraled down a dark slope, surrounding herself with dubious friends, suspicious lads and cheap alcohol.
I, too, was at a loss. What should I do with my returning husband? Throw him out or forgive him? Forgive, but how could I live afterward, suspecting everything? There were no answers.
My husband James knew how to love. Wed known each other since school. He courted me beautifully, could surprise and delight. I fell head over heels; no other suitor ever crossed my mind. James and only James. My parents approved, saying no better soninlaw could be found.
We threw a splendid wedding, one to be remembered forever. Then the ordinary days began. James always tried to brighten them. One evening I came home from work to find our bedroom strewn with rose petals. I asked, Whats the occasion? and kissed his cheek.
Remember, love? The day we sat sidebyside in class and got to know each other, he laughed.
I brushed it off, but my heart sang. He never forgot the small moments. A few weeks later he returned from a business trip laden with face creams.
Emma, Ive been briefed on every jar and scrub. Put away the pots and pans; I need a pampered wife, not a kitchen maid, he said, pulling me onto the sofa beside him.
Time passed and James remained gentle, caring, considerate. I was proud of him; Emma adored him. Our joint family business thrived; we never wanted for anything. Life seemed simple and happy.
We moved to London, chasing better prospects. We left everything we owned behind and set out to conquer new horizons. The business grew, and we befriended a sharpwitted businesswoman named Claire, whose firm became our partner. If I had known how that partnership would end, Id have turned my back on her then, but at the time everything seemed wonderful.
James and I decided to enlarge our family and planned for a second childnaïve optimism, perhaps. One afternoon Emma came home from school, hesitated, and asked, Mum, is Dad really on a work trip?
Of course, why would I lie? I replied, unaware.
Just Vicky saw him in the supermarket. She might have been mistaken, Emma whispered before retreating to her room.
Vicky, Emmas close friend, was a frequent visitor to our house and could never confuse James with anyone else. I called her.
Hello, Vicky. Did you see Uncle James at the supermarket today? Ive been trying to reach him, I asked, feigning innocence.
Yes, Aunt Martha, she replied, Uncle James was with a girl. They were hugging and laughing loudly.
James, I should note, had been away for five days.
I decided to wait for the story to unfold.
Three days later James returned, weary but cheerful.
How was the trip? I began, trying to keep my tone light.
It was fine, he answered shortly.
I know everything, James! There was no trip at all! Youre lying! I shouted.
What makes you think that, love? he retorted.
I have witnesses to your blatant lie, I pressed.
Darling, just feed a tired husband and stop being angry for no reason, he tried to defuse the tension with a joke.
I wanted it to be a joke, a misunderstanding, a fleeting absurdity, but the truth was clear. Doubt vanished. How could I have missed the signs, failed to protect the husband I loved?
A cold silence settled between us, heavy with unspoken words. Emma sensed the strain; children feel the shifts in their parents relationship instantly.
I didnt want to interrogate James, to dig through dirty laundry. Whatever would happen, I thought, he wouldnt leave while I was pregnant.
Then the unthinkable happened. An ambulance rushed me to the hospital, and I emerged without my baby. The doctor blamed the miscarriage on the stress Id endured. I felt like a live wire about to snap.
Jamess affairs unraveled; he soon left for Claires company, eager for something new. Emma and I were left alone, grieving endlessly. The ground seemed to vanish beneath my feet, the world shook, and I saw no reason to keep living. If it werent for Emma, I would have given up.
But I imagined Emma suffering alone, her fragile heart shattered. She kept me from committing the ultimate sin. She stayed by my side, and we grew closer during those bleak months. Eventually Emma fell silent, focusing all her energy on caring for her mother.
I had to relearn how to breathe, how to interact, how to live again.
Two years later my exhusband returned. I could barely look at him; his face repulsed me. He had caused too much pain to Emma and mepain that cannot be forgiven. I let him into the house out of duty, not love. Now only Emma remained between us. Everything else had slipped away like water through sand.
How are you, Martha? James asked, oddly polite.
Whats it to you? Why bring up the past now? Missing me? I retorted with sarcasm.
Is Emma home? he pressed, perhaps hoping to find solace in his daughter.
Emma reluctantly emerged, crossed her arms, and stared at him with contempt.
Emma, dear, please forgive me, James pleaded, looking pitiful.
Forget you ever had a daughter, Emma muttered, retreating to her room.
Should I repeat that? I sneered at my former husband.
James left.
Friends later told me that Claire had swindled James out of his business, leaving him penniless. Thats why he kept showing up, hoping for forgiveness and a place to stay.
Three more years passed. Emma attended university, I worked for a large corporation. Life was peaceful, without drama or torment. I began dreaming againmarrying Emma off to a good lad, looking forward to retirement, perhaps adopting a kitten or a puppy. At thirtyseven, that seemed enough for happiness.
Then fate smiled. Our firm often hosted delegations from abroad. One Turkish delegation caught my eye, and a charismatic businessman named Farid began showering me with attention. He was polite, strikingly handsome, and genuinely interested. We soon married.
Farid won over my parents; at first they were shocked by a foreign soninlaw, but his Turkish dishes and witty jokes won them over, and they blessed our union. Emma, seeing her mother radiant and in love, gave her full consent.
Mother and Farid, may you be happy forever! she announced at our wedding.
Years later, Emma forgave her errant father and even invited him to her own wedding.
Through all the upheavals, I learned that grief can be a deep well, but lovewhether for a child, a partner, or even a new beginningcan draw fresh water from it. The greatest lesson is that forgiveness, when genuine, does not erase the past, but it can free the heart to move forward, allowing lifes next chapter to be written with hope.
