In This Family, You Don’t Belong

“You no longer exist in this family!” Eleanor’s voice trembled with fury. “Do you understand? You have no place here anymore!”
“Eleanor, please calm down,” Michael started, but his wife cut him off.
“Be quiet! Your silence all these years told her she could do as she pleased!”
Abigail stood in the lounge doorway, a travel bag in hand. Her face was pale, lips quivering, yet her gaze remained defiant.
“Alright, Mum. As you wish.”
“Don’t call me Mum!” Eleanor shot back. “I have one daughter, and it isn’t you!”
Michael sank heavily into an armchair, covering his face. Abigail looked at her father, waiting for even one word in her defense. The man stayed silent.
“Dad?” she called softly.
“Abigail, perhaps this is too sudden?” Michael finally lifted his head. “Can’t we discuss this calmly?”
“Discuss what?” Eleanor snatched a photograph from the table and flung it to the floor. The glass shattered. “She’s shamed us! The whole town is pointing fingers!”
Abigail glanced at the broken frame. It held their family photo from last Christmas – smiling faces, looking happy. It felt like a cruel joke now.
“Eleanor,” Abigail corrected herself, “It’s not my fault things happened this way.”
“Not your fault?” Her mother stepped closer. “You’re involved with a married man! Breaking up a family! And now you’re expecting his child!”
Abigail instinctively pressed a hand to her abdomen. She was only just pregnant, but news travelled fast in their small market town.
“I love him,” she whispered.
“Love!” Eleanor mocked. “A forty-year-old man with three children! What does he see in you to leave his wife?”
Abigail went paler still.
“He loves me. We’ll live together.”
“Where?” her mother sneered. “Here? In my house? Do you think I’d allow that man… that scoundrel…”
“Eleanor, enough,” Michael intervened. “She is still our daughter.”
“Ours?” His wife turned on him. “I never raised a daughter like this! We educated her, helped get her that job! And what does she do? Gets tangled up with the first man who noticed her!”
Abigail set her bag down.
“Victor isn’t just anyone. We’ve been together over a year.”
“Oh, over a year!” Eleanor threw up her hands. “So you’ve lied to me a whole year! Telling me you were working late, running off to your lover!”
“I didn’t lie, I just…”
“Just hid it? That is lying!”
Michael rose and went to the window. Outside, rain drizzled, grey clouds hanging low over the roof-tops of neighbouring houses.
“Abby,” he said, not turning, “What does this Victor say? Is he truly getting divorced?”
“Of course he is,” Abigail answered. “He’s filed for divorce.”
“Filed,” repeated Eleanor. “After already wrecking the family. Those children left without their father.”
“There was no love,” Abigail tried to explain. “They lived like strangers. Victor says he married for convenience, not love.”
“Of course he says that!” Eleanor laughed harshly. “All married men say that! Don’t love the wife, never wanted the children, got pushed into it! Then, once they tire of the mistress, they crawl back home!”
“Victor isn’t like that,” Abigail insisted stubbornly.
“They’re all like that!” Eleanor snapped. “Do you think I don’t know life? How many times have I seen this? They promise the moon, then vanish the moment they know about a pregnancy!”
Abigail flinched.
“He knows about the baby. He’s thrilled.”
“Thrilled? Then where is he now? Why isn’t he here with you? Defending his beloved?”
“He… he’s on a business trip. Back next week.”
“How convenient,” Eleanor remarked acidly. “Away, just when this all comes out.”
Abigail lowered her eyes. She’d been surprised herself when Victor left the very day she’d decided to tell her parents. He’d said the trip was long-planned.
“Eleanor, perhaps we shouldn’t rush to judgment?” Michael pleaded. “Give Abigail time to sort things out.”
“Sort things out?” His wife looked at him as if he were mad. “She’s decided everything for us! Pregnant by a married man! The whole town knows Michael Preston’s daughter is carrying another woman’s husband’s child!”
“We’re not living together,” Abigail said quietly. “Not yet.”
“Oh, not yet! But the baby exists! A child born out of wedlock! Do you realise what that means?”
Abigail raised her head.
“It means I’ll be a mother. And I don’t care what the neighbours think.”
“You don’t care?” Eleanor pressed a hand to her chest. “Well, I care! I live here, I work here! Everyone will talk about me! Say I raised her badly!”
“Mum, it’s the twenty-first century…”
“The twenty-first century!” Eleanor interrupted. “Do you think people have changed? They gossip as much as ever! Especially in a town like ours!”
Michael moved from the window, sinking back into his chair.
“Abigail, have you thought how you’ll manage? Your job pays poorly, barely £1000 a month. Children cost a lot.”
“Victor will help,” Abigail replied.
“Help,” Eleanor echoed. “And if he won’t? If he changes his mind? If his wife takes him back?”
“She won’t. They’ve lived apart a year.”
“A year apart, and only filing for divorce now?” Eleanor asked sceptically.
Abigail fell silent. She didn’t understand why the divorce had taken so long either. He cited not wanting to hurt the children, but doubt was creeping in.
“You see,” said Eleanor. “You can’t even answer. Because it’s lies. He’s lying to you, like they all lie to their mistresses.”
“He isn’t lying!” Abigail flared. “We love each other!”
“Love,” Eleanor snorted contemptuously. “At your age, it’s time to use your head, not just your heart.”
“Eleanor, don’t be cruel,” Michael requested.
“Don’t be cruel?” she turned on him. “She shames us, and I shouldn’t be cruel? Look at her! Twenty-six years old, acting like a teenager!”
Abigail picked up her bag.
“I see. I’ll leave. Wont embarrass you further.”
“Go,” Eleanor said coldly. “And don’t come back until you’ve come to your senses.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I have no daughter.”
Michael rose.
“Eleanor, what are you saying? She’s our child!”
“Our child wouldn’t break up another family!” his wife retorted sharply. “This one… she’s a stranger to me.”
Abigail felt tears sting her eyes. She turned to the door.
“Abigail, wait,” her father called.
She stopped, back turned.
“Maybe you shouldn’t rush? Think again. This man… he’s much older. He has a different life, other responsibilities.”
“He loves me,” Abigail repeated.
“Loves,” Michael sighed. “And afterwards? When the love fades? When the baby comes and there are sleepless nights? When you need help, and he’s busy with his older children?”
“I don’t know,” Abigail answered honestly. “But I’m willing to take the chance.”
“Take the chance?” Eleanor interrupted. “You’re risking more than your life! You’re risking that child’s future! If this Victor
Anna sipped the bitter tea, watching the relentless rain streak the window pane like tears, wondering if meeting Victor’s wife would bring clarity or only confirm her deepest fears about the unknown tomorrow she carried within her.