“I want a divorce,” she whispered, turning her gaze away.
It was a chilly evening in London when Emily quietly said, “I want a divorce,” avoiding the eyes of her husband, James.
James face paled instantly. A silent question hung in the air.
“Im leaving you for the woman you truly love,” Emily continued, realising the most important woman in his life had always been his mother. “I wont be second best anymore.”
Her throat tightened, and her eyes betrayed her with unwanted tears. Years of disappointment and pain surged through her, stealing her breath.
“What are you talking about? What other woman?” James stared at her, bewildered.
“Weve talked about this so many times. Since our wedding, your mother has drained usfinancially, emotionally, and time-wise. And you let her because ‘her roast is juicier and her Yorkshire puddings are fluffier.’ I cant do this anymore.”
Tears streamed down her flushed face. She mourned the dreams she once held so clearlya promising fiancé, a respected career, life in central Londonall now a constant battle for her own happiness.
Five years earlier, Emily had nervously stepped into the spacious living room of his flat. The furniture, the china, the decorall seemed expensive and fragile to a girl whod spent most of her life in shared houses and student halls.
“Who knew Id be lucky enough to find a man with his own place?” shed joked, resting her hands on James shoulders.
“Just wait till I leave socks everywherethen tell me how impressed you are.”
Emily had moved in quickly after they met. It was a whirlwind romance, one that demanded progression.
Back then, she was in her final year studying journalism at Kings College, while James, five years older, worked as a sales manager with a solid income.
A year after moving in, they married.
“Soon, we can turn the guest room into a nursery,” Emily had once hinted, wrapping her arms around him, signalling she was ready for a child.
But a month later, an unexpected arrival appearedJames mother, Mrs. Whitmore, stood at their door with two suitcases. She had an excellent relationship with her sonat least, in her eyes.
Raised with constant guilt and the demands of a single parent, James felt indebted to her. She was proud of his success, convinced it was solely her doing.
Every payday, James repaid the debts for the flat, the car, and his childhood. Emily watched from a distance, careful not to disrupt their bond, only occasionally raising the issue.
“Where did the money from selling the house go?” Emily asked lightly, pouring tea. Mrs. Whitmore had come from a small village near Oxford, where shed inherited a modest cottage.
Every year, James offered to help her find a place in the city, but she refused. Then, suddenly, she sold her homequickly, and cheaply.
“Part of its for my future holiday, part of its invested in my new business.”
Mrs. Whitmore, despite her struggles, was ambitiousand domineering.
Dealing with people like her required cautiontheyd bite your hand off if you offered a finger.
Recently, shed discovered an online cosmetics company. The catch? Monthly bulk purchases were required to stay affiliated. Thats where the house money went.
“Ive decided living here wont be a problem,” Mrs. Whitmore declared, stirring honey into her tea.
“Of course, we love having guests!” Emily pressed gently, hoping this was temporary. “Ill ask my friendshes an estate agent. Shell find you a lovely flat in a nice area.”
“Unnecessary. Two homes are wasteful. Well save money this way,” Mrs. Whitmore countered, painting herself as the victim.
Emily looked at James, silently pleading. She had nothing against his mother, but sharing their space permanently was untenable. James shrugged. “Whatever you prefer.”
He always backed his mother, no matter how unreasonable, believing he had no right to question her.
And there was plenty to question: macramé, candle-making, soap-making, scrapbooking.
Mrs. Whitmore hunted for a goldmineand found it in James, who funded every whim, every material, every “business expense.”
Since his promotion, she hadnt worked a single day.
James childhood guilt crushed his will, manifesting in excessive financial support and blind obedience.
It was astonishing how a grown man could be so easily manipulated, reacting like a child.
The guest room never became a nursery. Three years passed, and little changed. Emily now worked at a publishing house, writing articles on family and relationships.
While she dissected happy and tragic stories with psychological insight, her own family remained a tangled mess.
Her opinions meant nothing. Mrs. Whitmore ruled their home.
Emily understoodan only child of a single mother marrying a woman whod demand his time and money? A threat only neutralised by total self-absorption.
Mrs. Whitmore mixed superiority with the belief James owed her. Only she could fix her own issuesbut James, blind to it all, never would.
Their flat was now stocked with her pyramid scheme products. Emily couldnt stand the sight of them. The “business” brought no profit, just empty spending.
Shed brought it up before, only to hear: “Mum knows what shes doing,” from James and “Good things take time,” from Mrs. Whitmore. But three years had passed with no progressonly mounting expenses.
When Mrs. Whitmore suggested Emily “invest in the family business,” she knew drastic action was needed.
The final straw was a conversation that should never have happened.
On New Years Eve, theyd finally gone on a rare dateice skating, then a cosy café.
Rosy-cheeked and glowing, Emily radiated love.
“James, are you happy?”
“Of course,” he squeezed her hand. “How could I not be, with you beside me?”
“I want a baby,” she whispered, leaning closer.
“Right now?” He laughed, kissing her fingers.
That night, they agreed it was time. But 24 hours later, Mrs. Whitmore stormed into their bedroom. Emily had just returned from work.
“You cant have a child now!”
Shocked, Emily froze.
“James hasnt paid off the mortgage, the car”
“Youre just afraid hell stop funding your endless whims,” Emily shot back, finding her voice for the first time.
“Ive only ever wanted the best for my son. Hes all I haveI raised him, clothed him, made him the man he is.”
“He owes you nothing for that. You chose to have him. You can hope for his help out of lovenot duty.”
Mrs. Whitmore understood but refused to surrender her comfortable life. “James will see Im right.”
Emily feared she might be correcthis dependence ran deep.
Nothing would stop her from wanting a child, but for James, his mother was obstacle enough.
The next evening, after a tense talk, it was clearJames was hopelessly lost.
Yesterday, hed loved the idea. Today? “Maybe its not the right time. Were not ready.”
Emily knew this couldnt continue.
“I want a divorce.” The conversation that would settle everything. Their marriage was at a dead end.
James face drained of colour.
“Im leaving you for the one you truly love. I wont be second best.”
The injustice burned. How many times had she tried to talk? He never listened, never acknowledged reality.
Tears welled.
“What are you on about? What other woman?” James stared, baffled.
“Since we married, its always ‘Mum this, Mum that.’ Her roast is juicier, her puddings fluffier. She controls our money. I cant take it anymore.”
James barely heard the rest, stunned. When had he lost control? Or had he ever had it?
As she fell silent, he sat beside her, studying her tear-streaked face.
“Is this really just about Mum living here?”
“How can you not see? Shes consumed you. You dont even belong to yourself. Without my salary, wed struggle. She forbade a baby because shes afraid of losing your money.”
“Your mothers a good woman, but she needs boundariesand you erase them with your compliance. You suffer. I suffer. Our future child would suffer. Your debts are paid, James. Live for yourselfnot her.”
The talk was painful, but James begged for a chance, promising to redefine his relationship with his mother and prioritise their future.
The first steps were hard: cutting off the monthly funds to her sham business, then suggesting she move out.
A month later, Emily picked wallpaper for the nursery. Mrs. Whitmore, now visiting occasionally, had taken the changes hard but eventually relented.
Without James money, her “business” collapsed. She found a proper job, learning to rely on herself.
A year later, they had a baby. Mrs. Whitmore helped happily. The family spent time togetherfinally, everyone was content.
