Ive had it with your mothers antics! Im filing for divorce, and thats that! announced my wife.
The key turned in the lock at the exact moment I was finishing wiping up the debris from her visit. Crumbs from the custard creams she’d brought especially for her grandson, though Olivers only a year old and definitely shouldnt be eating that much sugar yet. A coffee stainshe always knocked her cup with her elbow whenever she began waving her hands about, passionately explaining how I was, of course, parenting all wrong.
Alright? Jamess voice sounded as knackered as he looked. He slung his coat over the back of a chair, eyes glued to the floor, avoiding me entirely.
I said nothing. I just kept scrubbing the counter, though honestly it was already shining. My insides were boiling, fizzing, desperate for release. Three years. Id put up with this for three years.
Whats up? he finally asked, apparently catching on that something was wrong.
I hurled the dishcloth into the sink. It slapped onto the tiles, spraying water everywhere.
I cant deal with your mother anymore! Im divorcing you. End of.
The words came out sharp as a slap. I hadnt planned to say them, not now. But the feelings had stacked up, and something had snapped.
James froze. Mouth opened, mouthed closed. Then he gave a sort of nervous, lopsided smile.
What are you on about?
Ive said what I needed to. My voice was eerily even, though inside I felt like a shaken bottle of Coke. Pack your things. Or Ill pack mine, whichever you fancy.
He wandered into the kitchen, collapsed into the chair. Ran both hands down his face. I stood by the sink with arms crossed, staring at this man whom Id married in a floaty dress four years before, convinced wed build something real.
Come on, Emily, lets talk about this properly
Properly? I laughed. Was it proper earlier today when your mother let herself in with that spare key you gave her, without telling me, then spent the afternoon grilling me about why there are microwave meals in our fridge?
She just worries
Shes making my life miserable! I raised my voice. Every week, James. Every single, bloody week she finds an excuse to pop by, stick her nose in, and nitpick how I clean or cook, tutor me on how I dress little Ollie!
He went silent. Gazed into the table like it was an ancient runestone.
Today she actually said I swallowed, because repeating it stung, she told me I was a bad mother. Right in front of Oliver. He might be a baby but he picks up on everything!
She didnt mean
She never means it! My fist thudded on the table. But somehow, every time she leaves, its me whos wrong! She didnt mean to ruin my birthdaythe same birthday she gatecrashed, banging on and on about how perfect Anne, her friends daughter-in-law, is. She didnt mean to embarrass me at Christmas, telling your whole family Im lazy for not rushing back to work!
James finally met my eyes, looking utterly worn out. Not angry, not defensivejust knackered.
What do you want me to do?
There it was. The question Id been waiting forand dreading all at once.
I want you to stand up for me! Just once, in three years of marriage. Just once, put your wife before your mother!
Dont get dramatic
Dramatic?! My voice cracked. From the baby monitor, I heard Oliver stirring. I forced myself to lower my tone. Was I dramatic when she kicked off last summer because we couldnt be at hers every weekend? When she demands a detailed audit of every pound we spend? When she decides which nursery Oliver should go to?
Shes just trying to help
Help? I grabbed the carrier bag his mum had brought today. Look! She brought me underwear. For me. Without asking! Becausequoteyou havent got any taste, you need to look decent for my James.
I emptied the bag out on the tablebeige, granny-sized knickers, at least three sizes too big, and a bra so grey and utilitarian it couldve belonged to my grandmother. Jamess cheeks burned.
Well, thats a bit much
A bit much? Its humiliating! I cant take this anymore! Every day I wake up wondering what shes got planned for me. What advice, what backhanded compliment will she deliver this time?
I stormed around the kitchen on adrenaline, fury, hurt, disappointment all mixing together.
And youevery time its Mum didnt mean it, Mums worried, Mums only trying. Whos sticking up for me?
I love you, he said it softly.
Love isnt just words, James. Love is actions. Its standing up for me against someone who makes me miserableeven if that someones your mother.
He leant back, stared out the window at the black December night.
Its hard for her, letting go. Realising I have my own family now.
Oh brilliantfor her its hard! What about me? Im perpetually on edge, never relaxed in my own house, because at any moment your mum could burst in with criticisms and opinions!
Ill get her keys back
Its not about keys! I sat down opposite, facing him head on. Its that you let her interfere. You never tell her enough. You never defend our relationship.
Silence. Only the fridge hummed, clock ticking on the wall.
I honestly dont know how to do it, he admitted. Shes always been like this. Charging ahead.
Well then, its decision time. Her, or me.
My words were harsh. Final. But there was no other way forward.
Emily, thats unfair
Unfair? I stood. Unfair was three years of keeping my mouth shut. Unfair was not saying a word when she told my parents I only married you for your money. Unfair was forcing a smile in the maternity ward while she said Oliver looks nothing like me, thank God!
James got up too, moving as though to hug me, but I sidestepped.
Dont. I mean it. Either tonight you have a word with her and put some boundaries in place, or Im out.
Em
No. Enough. Im done apologising for not being good enough for mummys little prince. I want my own life back!
The phone buzzed on the table. Jamess jaw twitched as he looked at the screen. Glowing letters: Mum.
He picked it up.
Hello yeah, mum no, everythings fine
And that, weirdly, was what finally did it for me. The last thread snapped.
I grabbed the phone right out of his hand, jabbed at speakerphone.
have you told her yet? his mothers voice was tense. About the flat?
I looked at James. Hed gone sheet white.
What flat? I asked, deadly calm.
A pause. Her voice, faux-syrupy now: Emily, darling, thats not really your business
Im his wife. It is my business. What flat?
James tried to take the phone but I kept it out of reach.
We were just discussing his mum began, my sister Teresas place is up for sale. Two bedrooms, lovely area. She needs to sell up quickly, her sons off to uni and they could use the funds
Ah. Her nephew Ben. The one who spent every family party loudly declaring how rubbish I was and boasting about his perfect accountant wife who balances the books and the kids and still looks immaculate.
So? I stared at James.
Mum suggested that we buy it. Family discount.
With what money?
He stayed mute.
With what money, James?
Your savings, he mumbled. Plus mine together
My savings. The very same nine thousand pounds Id built up over five years. Before marriage. Two jobs, scrimping on everything. Dreaming of opening my own nail salon. Id even written a business plan.
So you two planned this. Without me.
Em, its a great opportunity! Its a bargain
And me? My plans? My dreams?
You can do your salon later
Later? Im thirty, James. Ive been home two years with Oliver. Exactly when is later meant to happen?
His mum rattled on through the phone: Emily, come now, what nail salon? Youve a youngster! Focus on him! The flats an investment! Family only gets this dealthink about the future!
Family, I repeated. Family that decides for me. Family where my choices mean nothing.
I put the phone down and stared at James.
When were you planning on telling me? After you spent my money?
I wanted to talk it through first
With who? Youve already talked to your mum. Bet Bens in the loop too. What about me? When would I get a say?
Suddenly, the front door burst openspare key again. His mother stormed in wearing a mink coat, cheeks red from the cold.
Whats going on in here?! James, whys she yelling?!
Right behind her waddled Teresaplump, beaming smugly, holding a folder.
Hi, Emily. We were just passing bythought wed drop in and show you the documents
Documents. Theyd brought sale documents. Didnt even bother asking.
Out, I said quietly.
Excuse me? said his mother, round-eyed.
I said, get out of my house. Both of you.
How dare you speak his mother stormed toward me. James, do you hear how she talks to me?
Mum, maybe this isnt the best time he muttered.
Not the best time?! she rounded on him. James! I raised you single-handedly after your father died! I gave you everything! And now youre letting this she jabbed a finger at me, thisungrateful strumpet
Just shut up! I roared. Teresa jumped.
Just leaveimmediately!
Emily, dont be silly! Teresa tried to sound conciliatory. Its a fabulous flat! Think of Benthey really need the money, youd get the space, everyones happy
I dont want your flat! I want a husband who respects me! I want a family where Im not an outsider!
Oh, who do you think you are? his mother screamed. You think young and pretty means youre something special? James only married you because you got pregnant! You wouldnt have fitted in otherwise!
Silence.
James stood there, haunted, jaw slack.
That true? I asked.
He said nothing.
James, is it true? Did you marry me just because of the baby?
I loved you
Loved. Past tense. I nodded. Understood.
I grabbed my bag from the shelf. Shoved my phone in my coat pocket.
Em, dont James lurched toward me.
Dont touch me. Leave your keys on the side. Collect your things tomorrowwhen Im not here.
You cant just leave!
I can. And I am. Im leaving you, your mother, this circus.
His mother tried to grab my arm.
Youre abandoning your son?!
Ill collect Oliver tomorrowpolice in tow if I have to. Tonight, let him sleep. He doesnt need this pantomime.
Out the front door, down the communal stairs into the freezing cold. My feet carried me rapidly down the stepsfour flights, three, twoJames calling after me from behind.
Em, wait! Where are you going?!
I didnt turn. Down. Quicker.
Well work it out! Ill talk to Mum! I promise!
Ground floor. Out. The icy air slapped my face. I walked fast, not caring where. No coat, no scarf, frozen, didnt matter. Just keep moving. Away from the house, from the people, from my life.
The phone buzzed. Mum. Ignored. Buzz. James. Ignored. Then his mother. Switched off notifications.
I stopped when I reached the entrance to the Tube. Sat on a bench. My hands trembledcold or nerves, or both.
What had I done?
Id left. Just walked out, no things, no child, no plan. Like in some film. Only in films, heroines bounce back, meet Prince Charming, live blissfully ever after. Real life?
Real life is sitting, freezing, on a bench in December, no cashbag still at home, just a phone in my pocket. Nowhere to go. To Mums? Shes in a one-bed with my student sister Rosienot enough room for a folding cot.
Friend Lucy? Husband, two kids, squeezing by as it is; last thing they need is my drama.
Phone buzzed again. Text from James: Sorry. Lets meet tomorrow. Talk calmly.
Talk calmly. As if you can calmly discuss how your lifes a farce. Husband married you under duress. Mother-in-law despises you. Your dreams are trampled, gathering dust.
Another message, new number: Emily, its Teresa. Dont overreact. The flats honestly great. Think about Oliverhell need more space. Call me to discuss.
Discuss. Everyone wants to discussbut not with me. They just want to declare what theyve decided.
I got up, touched my cardat least I had that. Down into the Tube. The warmth, the tunnel noise, the press of Londoners. Sat in a carriage, not sure of the destination.
Got off at Angel. Just sounded nice. Wandered. The city was aglow, shop windows beaming, Friday-nighters hustling past. Me, alone and lost in the crowd.
Found an all-night café. Ordered teathankful my card hadnt failed me. Sat at the window, watching people.
Thought about Ollie. Hed wake in the morning, call for Mummy. And I Wouldnt be there. James would say what? That I left? That Mummy ran off?
My chest ached. Nonot abandoned. I just needed time. Space to think. Figure out life.
A waitressabout twenty-five, with a tired facecame over.
Anything else, love?
No, thanks.
She hesitated, studied me.
Sorry, you alright?
I smiled wryly.
Not really, nope.
Want to talk?
Strange, a complete stranger locking eyes and offering a listening ear. Maybe she could sense the meltdown. Or maybe she was just bored on night shift.
I just left my husband. About an hour ago.
She slipped into the seat opposite.
Im on break. Tell me?
And so, I did. Everything. About the mother-in-law, the flat, the revelation, the choices that werent mine to make. It tumbled out of me like floodwater.
She listened, nodding. Eventually she said:
Know what? Happened to me too, few years back. Living with my boyfriend, mum-in-law always right there, interfering in everything. Thought itd sort itself out. It never does.
What did you do?
Left. Like you. Penniless, no clothes, sofa at a mates house, then rented a box-room. Hard going, but do you know, first time in ages I could breathe.
But Ive got a child, I said.
She nodded.
Then its trickier. But doable. The worst thing is going back to more of the same. If you go back now, theyll never change. Youll always be in the wrong.
I drained my cold tea.
Im scared I wont cope alone.
She grinned.
Whyd you think youll be alone? Youve got your family, mates. Youre tougher than you think. If you managed to walk out tonight, youll manage the rest.
We swapped numbers. Her name was Jenny. The waitress had given me more warmth in half an hour than James had mustered in four years.
Dawn was breaking as I left the café. The city was waking up. Twenty-three missed callsJames, his mother, mine, Lucy apparently the news had spread.
I texted James: Tomorrow at 2pm, neutral ground. Your mothers not invited. Well discuss Ollie and the divorce. Dont call me again.
Sent. Exhaled.
What lay ahead? Rented flats, courts, custody. Was I scared? Absolutely. But not as terrified as spending another year stuck in that flat, with people who didnt see me as a person.
I walked through the chill of early London. For the first time in years, I felt: I am free.
