The emptiness of the space Anthony had left behind seemed vast. Emily slept soundly in my arms, yet I remained rooted by the dresser window, watching the street for traces of him long after his car vanished. An hour had slipped by unnoticed.
He’d returned from work a few hours earlier, unusually quiet. Finding him packing in the bedroom sent a chill through me. “Where are you going?” I asked, confusion clouding my voice.
He didn’t look up. “Leaving. I’m leaving you, Eleanor. I’ve found someone else.”
“Anthony, this is a joke, right? Something happened at the office?”
“Just listen!” His voice rose sharply. “I’m done. You’re obsessed with Emily. You never notice me anymore. Can’t even be bothered with yourself.”
“Keep your voice down, you’ll wake her,” I pleaded, my own voice trembling.
“And there it is again! Only Emily matters.” He slammed a drawer shut. “Your husband’s walking out, and you–”
“A real husband wouldn’t abandon his wife and baby,” I whispered, turning sharply to shield my daughter from him. I knew his temper. Continuing would spark a row I couldn’t face. My eyes stung, but I refused to let him see tears. Scooping Emily from her cot, I retreated to the kitchen – a space with nothing he’d claim.
I watched a lifetime disappear from the window as his car pulled away without a backward glance. Part of me foolishly hoped for headlights returning, for him to laugh it off as a terrible mistake. The street stayed empty. Sleep was impossible. Who could I call? Mum had barely acknowledged my existence since I married, laser-focused only on my younger brother. Friends were lovely, fellow mums, but what could they truly do? Exhaustion claimed me only at dawn. I tried Anthony’s number. He declined the call instantly, texting back a terse ‘Stop contacting me’.
Emily’s whimper pulled me back. No time for wallowing. *He’s gone*. I have my daughter. I need to focus on us.
The stark reality in my purse and bank later was terrifying. Even begging our landlady, Mrs. Higgins, for five days’ leeway on the rent for the benefit cheque wouldn’t cover it. Groceries loomed. Remote work? Impossible. Anthony took his laptop. We had two weeks left in this flat to find an answer. Every call to contacts confirmed the bleakness: no job would take me with a baby. Even a cleaning shift needed childcare for hours… an impossible luxury. Moving wouldn’t ease costs; this bedsit was cheap enough. Only Mum’s remained, but her council flat already overflowed: Mum, David, his wife, their twins crammed into two rooms. Adding Emily and me? Unthinkable.
I told Mrs. Higgins we’d be leaving after the paid fortnight. Panic set in. Council flats were grim, the neighbours… alarming. Messages begging Anthony for Emily’s sake went unanswered, presumably blocked.
Five days before we had to leave, I started packing our meagre belongings, needing the distraction. The doorbell rang.
Standing there, stunned: Margaret – my mother-in-law. *What fresh disaster is this?* I thought numbly, letting her in.
Our relationship had always been brittle politeness masking mutual dislike. From our first meeting, Margaret made her distaste clear. I simply wasn’t “good enough” for Anthony. We’d agreed living together would be a war, hence this rented place. Her visits meant veiled barbs about dust and declarations that my cooking was only fit for pigs. Pregnancy granted a temporary truce, shattered instantly when Emily arrived with Margaret demanding a paternity test. Only at six months, spotting family features, had she softened slightly. Anthony would soothe me, blaming her single-mother struggles, begging patience. I craved any help but wouldn’t ask her. And now she was here? Gloating over Anthony’s departure? I was too numb to care.
“Well, hurry up,” she announced sharply. “Pack your things. You and Emily aren’t staying here.”
“Margaret? I don’t understand…”
“What’s to understand? Pack. You’re coming to come to me.”
“To *you*?”
“Where else would you go? Your mother’s place is bursting at the seams. David’s mob fill every corner. Right?” She looked at me knowingly. “Honestly, I only heard today what that lummox has done. Living room, spare room – plenty of space at mine.”
No choice existed. Resigned, I thought, *sink or swim*. Arriving at Margaret’s terraced house, fear gnawed at me. She showed us the spare room. After unpacking essentials and settling Emily, I ventured to the kitchen.
“Eleanor,” Margaret began, her gaze direct but not unkind. “I know we’re hardly close. But try to understand… and forgive me, if you can.”
“You only wanted the best for Anthony, Margaret.”
“Rubbish!” She interjected sharply. “I was selfish. Pure selfishness. He rang me today, told me everything.” Her voice thickened. “Forgive me for raising that son. Where did I go so wrong?” Guilt seemed to hang heavy on her. “His father ran out when he was three months old enough. He *knows* how hard it is for a mother alone! And yet, the selfish pup repeats his father’s shameful act. Stay here as long as you need.”
I hadn’t imagined her stance would shift to my side. Words failed me. Tears, unbidden, splashed onto the kitchen table.
“Don’t go blubbing,” she said sternly, though her eyes weren’t hard. “This is just… gratitude,” I managed.
“None of that either. Consider it making amends. We’ll manage. Roof over our heads. When you find work, I’ll mind Emily.”
From that day, an unlikely bond formed, thick as thieves. Margaret’s sharpness surfaced occasionally, but she’d catch herself, offering tender advice instead of demanding it. Today marked Emily’s first birthday. Mum and Gran had decked the living room with balloons. An apple pie with puff pastry cooled on the counter. Emily clapped at the balloons.
“Eleanor, look!” Margaret’s voice held genuine joy. “Her first steps!” We laughed as the birthday girl plopped down, deciding walking was quite enough effort for one day.
The doorbell rang as we sat at the table. Margaret answered. Her gasp told me who it was before she stepped aside.
“Hello, Mum.” Anthony strolled in casually, followed by a stiff woman with too much perfume. “Just visiting.”
“Visiting?” Margaret’s voice was icy. “After five months of silence? Hardly a social call.”
“We thought,” Anthony gestured vaguely towards the woman, “things are tight with renting. Angelica and I are moving in.”
“*Angelica*?” Margaret’s eyebrows arched high. “And who might this be?”
“Now Mum…”
“You see, I’ve no space. I’ve lodgers now.” She blocked his further progress.
“Lodgers? Found yourself a fancy man, have you?” he sneered.
” Margaret’s gaze turned to steel. “Mind your tongue, son. Who I have in my home is no business of yours.”
Anthony pushed past her, stopping dead at the sight of Emily and me amidst the balloons.
“Son, you don’t live here anymore. Clearly, we are occupied.”
“And what’s *she* doing here?” He jerked a thumb
Margaret firmly retorted, “She’s raising *your* daughter right where you abandoned her,” and unwaveringly ushered him and his companion out, securing the peaceful future where I’d build a new family with steady love while she flourished as the devoted grandmother we cherished.
