Im not dragging myself out to that godforsaken village to bury your mum, Victor snapped. But when he heard there was money in the bank, he showed up with a bunch of flowers.
Natalie was jolted awake by her phone buzzing. It was still dark outside; the clock read just after eight on a Monday morning in early August. Beside her, Victor groaned, pulled the pillow over his head and tried to drown out the annoying sound.
Hello? Natalies voice was hoarse and halfasleep.
Natalie, its Valerie, your mothers neighbour, said an anxious older woman. Love, Im so sorry your mum her heart gave way last night. We called an ambulance, but they didnt make it in time.
The phone slipped from Natalies hand. The world spun. Mum gone. Just three weeks earlier theyd been chatting Margaret had been moaning about the heat, bragging about the apple trees and the gardens harvest
What happened? Victor muttered, still half closedeyed.
My mums dead, Natalie breathed. The words felt unreal, like they didnt belong to her.
Victor propped himself up on his elbows and gave a quick glance. No grief, no sympathy just a flicker of annoyance.
Well, thats sad. My condolences, he muttered, then turned back to the wall.
Natalie pushed herself up slowly. Her legs felt like jelly, but she had to think about the funeral, the paperwork, the packing Her head swirled. She opened the wardrobe, grabbed a suitcase and started stuffing a black dress, shoes, her passport.
Victor sat up, picked up his phone and flicked open the news feed.
Where are you off to? he asked indifferently, eyes glued to the screen.
To the village. For the funeral.
What village? That backwater place a hundred miles away?
Victor, my mums died. Cant you understand?
He winced as if hearing something unpleasant.
Look, Ive got an important presentation this week. The board are coming from London. I cant just drop everything and crawl off to that hole.
Natalie froze, holding a shirt, and turned slowly.
Im not asking you to quit your job. Its my mothers funeral.
So what? The dead dont care who shows up. Ive got a mortgage to think about, remember?
She kept packing in silence. Fifteen years of marriage had taught Natalie to put up with his temper, his stinginess, his indifference to home life. Something finally snapped.
How long will you be there? Victor asked, heading to the kitchen.
Three or four days. I need to sort everything, do the paperwork.
Just dont splurge. Weve already got enough expenses.
Natalie clenched her jaw. What expenses? His new smartphone that cost £800? His endless fishing trips?
Two hours later she stood at the coach station with her bag. Victor hadnt even offered a lift said he was going the other way. No hug, no words of support.
Let the locals dig the grave, hed muttered as she left. Im not dragging myself out to that dump.
On the coach, Natalie sat by the window. Golden fields rolled past under the August sun. Her mum had loved this time of year, always saying August was the most generous month, when the earth gave back for all the hard work.
A plump, kindlylooking woman sat down opposite her and asked gently:
Going on holiday?
For a funeral. My mums dead.
May she rest in peace Burying a parent is the hardest thing.
Natalie nodded, not feeling like chatting. Victors words echoed in her head: not dragging myself. How could anyone be so cold? Margaret had always looked after Victor sending homemade jam, knitting socks, caring for him when he broke his leg. Shed looked after him for a month.
The village greeted her with quiet and the scent of freshly cut grass. The cottage at the edge of town whitewashed with blue shutters. Her mum refreshed the whitewash every year: A home should look nice, like a holiday.
Valerie met her at the gate.
Natalie, love Margaret didnt complain at all, she was out in the garden looking cheerful
Where is she?
In the house. Weve got her ready with the neighbours. In her favourite blue dress. The coffin was made by Albert, the local carpenter.
Natalie stepped into the sitting room. The coffin lay on a table draped in white. Her mum looked peaceful, as if asleep. Her face seemed smoother, younger. Natalie fell to her knees and wept for the first time that day.
The funeral was set for the next morning. Natalie rang up her relatives a cousin, a nephew. Everyone promised to attend.
That evening, Albert, the head of the parish council, paid a visit. Greyhaired and bearded, he knew everyone in the village.
Natalie, my deepest condolences. Margaret was a rare soul. Everyone here respected her.
Thank you.
Im here on official business. Your mother came to me a year ago asked me to notarise a copy of her savings book. The balance was in your name.
Natalie took the document, stunned. Her mum had never mentioned it. Shed lived modestly, saving where she could.
Its a decent sum about £8,000, Albert continued. Shed been saving for years, and with interest it added up.
Natalies heart tightened. Eight thousand pounds could change things pay off part of the mortgage, buy a car, refurbish the flat
And she left you the cottage too. The will is with the solicitor in the district office. She thought ahead, clever woman.
After Albert left, Natalie sat on the porch. The sky blushed pink. Cows lowed in the distance, returning from pasture. Her mum loved these evenings, a cuppa in hand, watching the sunset.
Her phone stayed silent. Victor hadnt called once all day. Natalie dialled him herself.
Yes? His voice sounded irritable.
The funerals tomorrow at two.
So what? I told you Im not going.
Thats not why Im calling. Mum left a deposit. In my name. £8,000.
Silence. Then a thin cough.
Eight thousand? Are you serious?
Yes. And she left me the house too.
That’s thats great! His tone suddenly softened. Maybe I should come after all? Help with the paperwork?
No need. I can manage.
Natalie, come on. Im your husband. I should be there for you.
She gave a bitter smile. When she grieved he turned his back. When money entered the picture he remembered his duty.
Come if you want, she said quietly. If not stay where you are.
Victor never showed up. Only relatives and neighbours attended. Margaret was laid to rest with dignity quiet eulogies, warm memories, genuine tears from those whod known her as a hardworking, kind woman.
Four days later Natalie returned to the city. The key barely turned in the lock Victor had forgotten to oil it again. His scuffed shoes were by the hall, his jacket tossed carelessly on the coat rack. The living room looked like a storm had passed through a few empty beer cans on the coffee table, pillows strewn about, an ashtray overflowing with cigarettes. The kitchen was worse: a mountain of dirty dishes, crusted food, the bin brimming over. Just four days, and the flat looked like someone who didnt care lived there.
In the bedroom, Victor lay in a wrinkled tee, staring at his tablet. He glanced up when he heard her step in but didnt get up.
So, youre back? Im hungry.
Natalie stood in the doorway, taking in his unshaven face, greasy hair, the lazy posture. Fifteen years with this man How had it come to this?
Did you ever wash the dishes while I was gone?
No time. Work.
Todays Sunday.
So what? I need a rest too.
She slipped into the kitchen in silence and began cleaning. Her hands moved on autopilot, but her mind drifted to her mum, whod saved every penny for a better life, and to the man who couldnt even take out the rubbish while his wife buried her mother. To a life that was supposed to get easier but had become a burden.
That evening something unexpected happened. Victor came in with a huge bouquet of red roses and a bag of eclairs from the bakery her favourite.
Love, Ive been thinking I behaved terribly. Your mum died and I wasnt there. That was wrong.
He set the flowers in a vase, laid the pastries on a plate, brewed a mug of tea. His face was strained, as if he were forcing remorse.
Forgive me, Natalie. Remember how we met? At the county fair, you were selling tomatoes and cucumbers. Your mum smiled at me like I was family.
Natalie nodded. She remembered. Back then Victor had been different alive, attentive, caring. Where had that man gone?
I was thinking about the money We need to handle it properly. I can take a day off, go with you to the bank, to the solicitor. There are so many scams now I just want to protect you.
Thanks, but I can do it myself.
But were a family! We should decide together how to invest it. I know a bloke who does investments, he could help.
Its my mums inheritance, Victor. Ill make the decisions.
He frowned, then composed himself.
Of course, love. But you know, in a family everything is shared. Weve been paying the mortgage together for years
That mortgage is in my name, Natalie reminded him quietly but firmly.
Thats just a formality! The flat belongs to us, youre registered here
Registration isnt ownership. Inheritance is separate property.
Victor jumped up, the façade of a repentant husband falling away.
What are you saying? You wont share?
Im saying I wont rush into anything. My mum died a week ago. I need time.
Time? His voice sharpened. When I needed a car, you didnt ask for time! You just said we had no money!
Because we didnt. We were barely getting by.
But now we do! £8,000! We could buy a decent car, maybe a short break in Europe not that shabby spa you dragged me to!
That shabby spa was the only thing we could afford. I saved for it for six months.
Enough! Victor slammed the table. The vase with roses rattled. Im your husband! I have a right to half!
No, you dont. The law says inheritance is personal.
How do you know that?
I read it. On the bus, actually. And I also found out I can file for divorce without your consent.
Victor froze, then sank into a chair.
You want a divorce?
Im thinking about it. Victor, face it. You didnt come to my mums funeral because you didnt care. And now you care only because of the money.
I truly regret it! Its just work, stress
Dont lie. You dont care that I lost my mum. You care about the account.
How dare you! Ive worked for us fifteen years!
Worked? When was the last time you cooked? Did the laundry? Asked how I was? I work just as hard, but I run this house alone!
Thats a womans job!
And a mans job is what? Being rude, demanding, doing nothing? Where were you when I needed support?
Victor grabbed the vase and hurled it at the wall. The roses scattered, glass shattered.
You ungrateful wretch! I pulled you out of that village and gave you a decent life!
From the village? I went to university, got a job, earned my own money! You just showed up later and took credit!
The argument peaked. Victor shouted, flailed, spat. Natalie looked at him and, for the first time in years, saw a stranger aggressive, greedy. How long had she excused him? Hes just tired, He means well, Hell change.
You know what? she said quietly, standing. Get out.
What? This is my flat!
This is a mortgaged flat and I pay half. If you want, Ill call the police and tell them youre breaking things.
She took his keys off the rack and handed them to him.
Ill pack your things and leave them in the hallway. Take them and go.
You wouldnt dare!
At that moment the hallway door opened. Nina, the downstairs neighbour, stepped out, drawn by the noise.
Everythings fine, Nina, Natalie said calmly. Victors just leaving.
Nina glanced at his flushed face, then at Natalie tired but resolute. She nodded.
If you need anything, call me. Albert can help.
Victor realised he had lost. With a witness present he didnt dare cause more trouble. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out.
Youll regret this! he shouted down the stairs.
Natalie shut the door and leaned against it. Her hands trembled, but inside there was a strange, unexpected relief. After years of feeling trapped, she finally felt free.
The next day she packed his belongings into boxes, left them in the hallway, changed the locks and informed the concierge.
A week later she filed for divorce. No children, no property battles. In court Victor tried to claim half the deposit, but the judge made it clear: inheritance is personal property.
A month later everything was settled. The £8,000 sat in her account. The cottage in the village was officially hers. Natalie took a short break and went up to the cottage to sort through her mums things, tidy up, breathe the fresh country air.
Standing on the porch she watched the sunset. The warm wind smelled of apples and hay. Somewhere in the distance kids laughed, cows mooed. Peace. For the first time in years real peace.
Her phone buzzed. Victors number. Natalie calmly declined the call and blocked him.
The past was behind her. Ahead lay a new life. No humiliation. No pretending. No having to endure a stranger beside her.
Her mum had been right: happiness isnt about money. Happiness is having the right to choose how to live.
And now Natalie finally had that choice.
