I couldn’t stand his temper anymore, but life gave me a second chance.
Another evening in our little flat in Manchester unfolded just like hundreds before—me, Alice, clearing away the dinner dishes, my husband Jeremy sprawled on the sofa watching telly, and our son Thomas buried in his GCSE revision. But this night was different. A simple chat about visiting my parents spiralled into a row that became the final straw. My life with Jeremy, full of his anger and indifference, had crumbled, but fate, ever unpredictable, handed me a fresh start. Now, standing on the brink of something new, my heart races with nerves and something dangerously close to hope.
I walked into the lounge, twisting the edge of my apron. Jeremy, as usual, was glued to the telly, barely acknowledging my existence.
“Jeremy, Mum rang,” I forced out. “Dad’s poorly—needs help with the farm. The hay won’t bale itself.”
Jeremy shot up, hurling the remote across the room. His face turned the colour of a squashed tomato.
“I don’t give a toss about your dad’s hay!” he bellowed. “We’re going to my mum’s next week, end of!”
“I can’t say no to them,” I muttered. “I’ll go alone, then meet you at your mum’s.”
He gaped like a goldfish, too furious to speak. Silently, I turned and slipped into the bedroom, though inside, I was boiling over. By morning, everything had changed.
Back in my naive twenties, head full of romance, I’d fallen for Jeremy. We’d met at a uni social—me studying to be a teacher, him engineering. Back then, his sharp temper seemed like confidence, and I, smitten as I was, smoothed over every outburst. My mates warned me: “Alice, he’s a right grump, never happy—think twice!” But I didn’t listen, convinced love would soften him. After we married, we settled in Manchester, Thomas was born, and for a while, it was—almost—happy. But year by year, Jeremy soured.
I taught primary school, adored my pupils, and they loved their Miss Alice Hart. Jeremy, an engineer, constantly moaned about work. “They don’t appreciate me, Alice,” he’d grumble. “I pitch ideas, and they laugh!” I’d try to soothe him, but he’d snap, “Oh, you’re on their side? Stay in your little classroom—no brains needed there!” His words stung, but I bit my tongue to keep the peace.
Then came the first sacking. He found another job, only for history to repeat—rows with coworkers, the boot. At home, he became unbearable—shouting, blaming me for not backing him. I stayed for Thomas, not wanting him fatherless. But love had long faded, and I realised my mistake—mistaking infatuation for something real. Jeremy loved only himself and couldn’t stomach criticism.
Thomas grew up, and after one particularly nasty row, he said, “Mum, why d’you put up with him? Just leave.” I was stunned he’d noticed. “Sweetheart, I didn’t want you growing up without your dad,” I said. He frowned. “Mum, he’s rotten to you, and he barely knows I exist.” That hit home.
That fateful night began with my call to Mum and Dad. Hearing Dad was ill, I made up my mind to go. Jeremy erupted like a volcano, his fury crashing over me. Next morning, as I packed, he stormed in, hurling abuse. I cried but didn’t back down. When he slammed out, I grabbed my bag, hailed a cab, and left.
Mum hugged me tight as I spilled everything, begging her not to upset Dad further.
“Alice, this isn’t living,” she sighed. “You deserve better.”
Two months later, the divorce was final. Jeremy rang, threatened, but I’d already moved towns. Thomas stayed at uni, cutting ties with his dad. I found work at a cosy little school, rented a flat, and buried myself in teaching. My pupils kept me sane—their laughter dulled the ache.
Just before Christmas, trudging home from school, I spotted a man stumbling from his car before collapsing. I dashed over, cushioned his head with my bag, dialled 999.
“Relative?” the paramedic asked. “Coming with us?”
“No, just walking by,” I mumbled. “Don’t know him.”
“Leave your number, just in case.”
On January 2nd, an unknown number flashed. Expecting Thomas, I heard a man’s voice instead.
“Hello, Alice—Happy New Year. It’s Robert. You saved my life calling that ambulance. Fancy visiting? If you’ve time, I’d love to thank you properly.”
I blinked—had almost forgotten. Helping strangers came naturally, but this call felt different.
“Alright, I’ll pop by.”
In that hospital room sat a silver-haired man in his fifties, eyes bright as he grinned at me like I’d hung the moon.
“Hello, I’m Alice. How’re you feeling?”
“Thanks to you—brilliant.” His smile was warm. “You’ve no idea how grateful I am.”
Robert was here on business, stranded by his collapse. I visited often during his stay, chatting about everything, growing oddly comfortable. Before discharge, he said,
“Alice, I won’t leave without you. What’s keeping you here? I’ve a home, work, schools nearby. Thomas could come—plenty of space. Live with my dad—he’d be chuffed.”
Robert confessed he’d lost his wife and daughter in a crash seven years back. Alone ever since, till me. His words unspooled something in my chest. Not pity—something real, strong, like love I’d never quite known.
“Suppose I could,” I smiled. “Nothing really holding me here.”
At forty-three, I’m stepping into a new life. Robert handed me hope, and I’ve finally got my shot at happiness. My heart, bruised from years of hurt, feels lighter—like maybe, just maybe, the best is yet to come.
