“Everything’s fine,” she said—and cried all night.
“Mum, what’s wrong with you?” Emily tugged at her mother’s sleeve. “Why won’t you talk to me? I’ve been asking for ages!”
“Everything’s fine, love,” Margaret wiped her hands on her apron and turned to the window. “Just tired, that’s all.”
“Tired? You’re retired!” Emily’s voice was sharp with frustration. “I’ve been explaining about the move for half an hour, and you’re not even listening.”
“I am, I am. You’re moving to a new house, that’s lovely.”
Emily huffed and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, where two untouched cups of cold tea sat.
“Mum, look at me properly. What’s happened?”
Margaret turned slowly. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but she held them back stubbornly.
“I told you, everything’s fine. Tell me more about your new place.”
Emily studied her mother. Something was off—she could feel it—but she couldn’t pin down what. Her mother looked drawn, dark circles under her eyes.
“Mum, where’s Dad? Still at the allotment?”
“Dad…” Margaret hesitated. “He’s running late. Lots to do there.”
“In December?” Emily frowned. “What exactly is there to do in December?”
“Oh, you know… clearing up, checking the shed. Winter chores.”
Emily’s frown deepened. Her father never went to the allotment in winter. Said it was pointless, just wasting petrol.
“Mum, call him. Tell him to come home—I need to talk to both of you.”
“No, don’t bother him,” Margaret said quickly. “He’s… busy.”
“Busy with what?” Emily pulled out her phone. “I’ll call him myself.”
“Don’t!” Her mother snatched the phone from her hand. “Please, don’t call him.”
Emily froze at the panic in her voice.
“Mum, what’s going on? Have you two had a row?”
“No, no row. Everything’s fine.”
“‘Everything’s fine’? You’re pale as a sheet, your eyes are red, Dad’s not home, and you keep saying ‘everything’s fine’!”
Margaret pressed her lips together and turned back to the window. Outside, thick snowflakes drifted down, blanketing the garden.
“Fancy a fresh cuppa?” she asked, changing the subject. “This one’s gone cold.”
“I don’t want tea! I want the truth!”
Emily stood and stepped closer.
“Mum, I’m your daughter. If something’s wrong, I need to know. Where’s Dad?”
Margaret closed her eyes. The pain she’d carried for a week—the silence, the pretending—tightened in her chest.
“Dad…” she began, then stopped.
“What about Dad?” Emily grabbed her shoulders. “Mum, you’re scaring me!”
“He’s all right. He’s healthy.”
“Then where is he?”
A long silence settled between them. Margaret stared at the floor, fiddling with her apron.
“With Linda,” she whispered.
“Which Linda?”
“Linda Carter. From down the road.”
Emily blinked, confused.
“What’s he doing there?”
“Living there,” Margaret said softly.
The word hung between them, heavy as a stone.
Emily sank onto a chair.
“Mum… is that true?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve been saying ‘everything’s fine’?”
Margaret finally faced her daughter. Tears streamed down her face, unstoppable now.
“What was I supposed to say? That after thirty-eight years, your father’s left me for a neighbour? That I’m just some lonely old woman now?”
“Oh, Mum…” Emily wrapped her arms around her. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I didn’t want to upset you. You’ve got the move, work, the kids. My problems aren’t your burden.”
“The kids are grown! You’re my mother—your problems are mine!”
Margaret sobbed against her shoulder.
“Emily, I don’t know what to do. How to go on.”
“Tell me everything. From the start.”
They sat together on the sofa. Margaret dabbed her eyes with a tissue and began.
“It started three months ago. He’d come home late, say he had errands. Then he grew distant. Stopped asking about my day. Just glued to the telly or his phone.”
Emily listened quietly.
“At first I thought it was work stress. But then he started dressing smarter—new shirts, aftershave. At home, though, he was miserable.”
“And you didn’t suspect?”
“I did. But I told myself I was imagining it. After all these years, the grandchildren… It didn’t seem possible.”
She broke down again.
“Then I bumped into Linda at the shops. She acted odd—couldn’t look me in the eye. That’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?”
“They were together. Woman’s intuition. I got home, and there he was, dressed up, saying he was off to see Roger.”
“So you followed him?”
“Yes. Straight to her house. Up the stairs.”
Emily clenched her fists.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing. Came home and sat up all night. Next morning, he strolled in like nothing happened. Asked for breakfast before work.”
“Mum, why didn’t you confront him?”
“I was scared,” Margaret admitted. “Scared if I said anything, he’d leave. At least this way, he was still home.”
“How long did that go on?”
“A month. A whole month pretending. Cooking his meals, doing his laundry. Crying myself to sleep.”
Emily shook her head.
“Mum, how could you put yourself through that?”
“What else could I do? Make a scene? Scream? I thought he might come to his senses.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No. A week ago, he announced it over breakfast. Just like that. I was serving porridge, and he said, ‘Margaret, I’m leaving. I’ve fallen for someone else.’”
She trembled with fresh tears.
“Can you believe it? Over breakfast! Like discussing the weather!”
Emily held her tighter.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. He packed a bag and left. I just sat there, spoon in hand.”
“Oh, Mum…”
“The worst part? He didn’t even apologise. As if I meant nothing.”
Emily stood and paced.
“What’s this Linda like?”
“Ordinary. Mid-fifties, works at the library. Husband died last year. Quiet, polite. We’d chat at the shops.”
“And she’d do this?”
“Who knows? Maybe she was lonely. Your dad’s always been charming.”
“But she knew he was married!”
“Of course. I showed her photos of the grandkids once.”
Emily stopped pacing.
“Mum, have you spoken to him since?”
“Once. He asked how I was. I said ‘fine.’ Didn’t beg. Too proud.”
“And he…?”
“Sounded relieved. Said, ‘Good, we’re handling this like adults.’ Adults! After thirty-eight years!”
“Mum… do you want him back?”
Margaret thought for a moment.
“Sometimes. Other times, I think—why would I want someone who’d toss me aside?”
“Exactly.”
“But I’m scared, Emily. I’m sixty-two. Where do I go now? Alone in this house, no future.”
“Alone? You’ve got me, James, the grandkids. We’re your family.”
“You’ve got your own lives. I won’t be a burden.”
Emily sat beside her.
“Listen. We’re buying a five-bed house. One room’s yours. Come live with us.”
“I’d be in the way…”
“No, you’d help with the kids, give me peace at work. You wouldn’t be lonely.”
Margaret shook her head.
“No, love. Young families don’t need old folks underfoot.”
“Mum, James suggested it! When we found the house, he said, ‘Your mum’s got to have a room.’”
“Really?”
“Yes. He adores you. The kids do too.”
For the first time in a week, Margaret’s eyes flickered with hope.
“What about the house here?”
“Sell it. Or rent it. Extra income never hurts.”
“But… all our memories…”
“Mum, Dad trampled those when he left. Why stay somewhere that only hurts you?”
Margaret wiped her eyes.
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I am. Mum, life isn’t over. You’ve got family who love you. Your health. Start fresh.”
