**Never Too Late to Start**
*“Mum, have you completely lost your mind?”*
Emily’s words hit Lydia like a punch to the gut—sharp, sudden, leaving her breathless. She swallowed the sting and kept peeling potatoes in silence.
*“People are already gossiping, Mum! If it were Dad, fine—he’s a man. But you? A woman! The heart of the home! Aren’t you ashamed?”*
A tear slipped down Lydia’s cheek, then another, until they fell freely. Still, Emily raged on.
Across the room, her husband, Colin, slumped in his chair, shoulders hunched, bottom lip jutting out like a scolded child. *“Dad’s ill, Lydia! He needs care. Is this how you repay him? After everything he’s given you? A home, a child…and now you just—walk away?”* His voice cracked. *“That’s not how it’s done, love.”*
*“Then how is it done?”* Lydia asked quietly.
*“What? Are you serious? Look at Dad—she’s mocking us now!”*
*“Emily…I’m not your enemy. Funny how you’ve only just remembered to care about your father.”*
*“Mum! Stop playing the victim! I’ve had enough—I’m calling Gran. Let her deal with you!”*
*“Imagine,”* Emily turned to her father, *“I’m walking home from uni, and there they are—arm in arm, him reciting poetry. His own work, I bet. Love poems, were they, Mum?”*
*“You’re cruel, Emily. Young and foolish.”*
Lydia straightened her dress, brushed away invisible crumbs, and stood. *“Right then. I’m off.”*
*“Where, Lyd?”* Colin’s voice wavered.
*“Leaving you, Colin.”*
*“What? Where does that leave me?”*
Emily was already on the phone, hissing accusations.
*“Em…Em!”* Colin wailed, as if at a funeral. *“Emily!”*
*“What? Is it your back? Where does it hurt?”*
*“She’s…she’s leaving me!”*
Lydia smirked, carefully packing her suitcase. She’d tried to leave before—when Colin’s “sciatica” flared up, when he’d moaned about a slipped disc. *“The MRI showed nothing,”* she’d said. *“Ah, those doctors! They hide the truth to squeeze more money out of you!”*
She’d stayed then. But not now.
*“How much life do you have left, Lyd?”* Her friend Lizzie had said. *“You’ve slaved for them like a galley rower. What’s Colin ever given you? Nothing!”*
She was right. Colin had spent his youth chasing women—even bringing one home, that hairdresser…*“Molly,”* Lizzie spat. *“While you worked two jobs, he lazed about. ‘Colin needs a spa break—his poor back!’ But you? Dragging your bad leg between your mum’s and his mum’s gardens?”*
Lydia had made excuses. *“Liz, he’s just…”*
*“What? Cut from different cloth? Oh, please. Look at other men—breaking their backs for their families. You? You’ve wasted yourself on that leech.”*
Then came the confession. *“He groped me, Lyd. Years ago, at his birthday party. I woke up—his hand over my mouth, the other down my top. His mother watched. Blamed me. Threatened to say I’d come onto him. I left before I ruined your marriage.”*
Lydia had sat in silence. The scales fell. She saw other wives—consulting husbands, flaunting gifts, vacation photos. Her own “gifts”? A vacuum. A dumpling steamer—*because Colin loves dumplings*. Perfume from his mother’s dusty cabinet. Three tulips on Mother’s Day. A single rose for her birthday.
*“Liz…why didn’t you tell me?”*
*“Tell you? You were too busy martyring yourself! ‘Colin’s gout! Emily’s ballet! The in-laws’ garden!’ When did you last eat fresh preserves, eh?”*
*“We still have last year’s—”* She’d stopped mid-sentence.
Later, over tea, Lizzie had asked, *“Why did you marry him?”*
*“I pitied him,”* Lydia admitted. *“All the boys were off riding motorbikes or playing guitars. Colin? Glasses too big, clumsy. My mum said, ‘If he’s hanging around, marry him.’ I was a fool.”*
Now, Lydia surveyed the room. She’d rent a flat, file for divorce. Fight for what she’d earned—every stitch, every penny. Emily would side with Colin. So be it.
No, she wasn’t leaving for Peter. Just friendship. She wanted peace. To live for herself.
***
The backlash was brutal. *“Colin’s heartbroken! You’re a disgrace!”* Her mother wept; her mother-in-law faked chest pains. Neighbours took Lydia’s side—they’d seen how she lived.
Then Emily came. Apologised.
Lydia learned to live again.
Colin visited once—four carnations wrapped in newspaper. *“Come home.”* She refused. A month after the divorce, he was parading with Molly, his “bad back” miraculously healed. *“Molly won’t put up with his nonsense,”* they said.
Lydia didn’t care. She was learning.
Emily booked her a spa day.
Peter invited her hiking—like old times.
It’s never too late to start anew. Hard at first, then…smooth as butter.
