Life After Divorce
Lauren, why are you being so stubborn? Deborahs tone was that special blend of patience and superiority, as if she were explaining the laws of gravity to a particularly dim toddler. That note of indulgent exasperation always made Laurens insides twist. Roberts a perfect catch: charming, clever, well-off with a flat and a decent salary. What more could you want?
Lauren put down the spoon shed been stirring her soup with and looked up at her mother. Her hands trembled slightly, so she hid them beneath the table before Deborah could spot it.
Mum, he cheated on me, Lauren said quietly, locking eyes with her mother. Not just once, either. It was a full-time hobby for him. We werent even married a year, and I was running around like some amateur detective, collecting enough proof that the judge barely blinked before saying our marriage was beyond rescue. Even a total stranger thought it was a lost cause!
So what? Deborah shrugged, straightening her floral apron, as though Lauren had mentioned he occasionally left the loo seat up. Men are all the same. Remember, dear, a good husband stays faithful to a good wife! You shouldve worked harder: joined a Pilates class, brushed up your hair, maybe done something with those eyebrows. Instead, you dashed straight to divorce court!
Lauren sighed. She could feel weariness settling in, like the onset of a particularly stubborn cold. This had become the Greatest Hits of Parental Disappointment, played on repeat for the tenth time in a fortnight. After the split, shed moved back to her mothers, since her own little flatcourtesy of Grannys willwas still home to tenants. She counted the days till she could finally start nesting in her own place, somewhere she might actually breathe.
*************************
When the front doorbell soundedshrill and persistentLauren knew instantly who it would be. Robert. Again. Her insides did a nosedive, and her palms turned clammy in record time. Her mother, as if trying for the Most Unhelpful Parent trophy, never missed a chance to invite him round, apparently immune to her daughters mute horror.
Darling, its Robert! Deborah announced with the glee of someone discovering champagne in the fridge. Come on in, love! she shouted towards the front hall, her voice so warm and inviting it made Lauren want to hide under the table.
Lauren gripped her spoon so hard her knuckles went white, the cold metal digging in. Her throat tightened. There was a heaviness in her chest like shed swallowed a brick.
I dont want to see him, Mum, she mumbled, trying to keep the wobble out of her voice.
No one asked your opinion, Deborah shot back, her face briefly pinching with irritation. This is my house. As long as you live under my roof, you follow my rules.
Lauren could feel tears stinging behind her eyelids, but she clenched her jaw and forced them away. She stood up a little too quickly, nearly knocking over her tea, and breezed past her mother and Robert as he awkwardly shuffled out of his shoes in the hallway. His aftershavewoody, expensive, and suddenly nauseatingswamped her as she made a beeline for the balcony door.
Lauren, wait! her ex-husband called, a faux-concern twisting his voice into something both familiar and repellent.
She didnt answer. She flung open the door, stepped outside, and shut it firmlyalmost slammed, really, if were being accurate. Cold air went straight down her jumper, biting her neck and ears, but Lauren barely noticed. She gripped the balcony railing until her fingers ached, staring out at the grey tower blocks, the occasional glow of a light behind thin curtains, a lone pedestrian bustling by with an umbrella. Somewhere below a rubbish truck rumbled, and from the block opposite, tinny music playedunbearably jaunty for her tastes just then.
Please, just leave already, Lauren thought, shivering in her thin cardiganwhich, naturally, was about as useful as a chocolate teapot. She could hear her mother nattering away to Robert in the kitchen, the jangle of cutlery, water running, Deborah laughinglighthearted as ever, as though her daughters heartbreak was background noise.
Minutes crawled past, thick and slow. Laurens hands were blocks of ice, her ears burning from the chill, and her shoulders had started the shiver dance. Still, going back inside wasnt an option. She filled her lungs with city air, closed her eyes, and tried focusing on traffic noise, far-off voices, anything but the thought of Robert and her mother plotting some domestic coup over tea.
Suddenly, the door behind her creaked, just loud enough to cut through her reverie. She jumped and spun round. Robert emerged onto the balcony.
Lauren, he said, hovering two steps behind, hands buried in his jeans. He tilted his head slightly, as if hoping for a heart-to-heart.
Weve nothing to talk about, she replied, turning her attention back to the raindrops tracing the window of the next balcony, determined to block him out as effectively as possible.
Just listen, he edged closer. Lauren could practically feel his presence ricocheting off her nerves. Honestly, Ive changed. I know I messed up. Lets give it another shot. I mean it this time.
You havent even properly apologised, she snapped, the irritation bubbling up at last. You just want everything back because its safe. Because its convenient for YOU. You havent changed, Robert, you just want your old slippers back.
But I
Enough! She cut him off, surprised at her own volume. I dont need shiny promises or a man who thinks fidelity is optional. I deserve respect. I want someone who puts me firstnot their phone contacts.
She tugged at the door. Of course, it wouldnt budge. How convenient. Mum had clearly decided she was both doorkeeper and moral referee.
Mum! Lauren shouted, unfamiliar desperation rough in her voice. Open the door!
A minute later, the lock clicked, and Deborah appeared, beaming as though it was open day at the National Trust. Apron still on, she balanced a steaming cup of tea.
Honestly, what are you two doing out here? She set the cup on the dinky table (which shed managed to drag out when Lauren wasnt looking) and gave the cloth a fussy straighten. Come on, dinners ready, mint tea for you both. Dont let it go cold!
Lauren swept straight past, avoiding eye contact, boiling with ragenot just at Robert, but mostly at her mother, who considered her daughters boundaries merely advisory.
Mum, she paused in the hall, turning to stare Deborah down, please stop inviting him. I dont want to see him. Its my life; let me decide whats best for me.
Oh dont be daft, love, Deborah patted her shoulder, her touch feeling oddly alien. Hes sorry, cant you see? Men slip up now and then, but a wise woman gives second chances. Youre far too proud, Lauren. A little give-and-take never hurt anyone…
Lauren closed her eyes and counted to ten, knowing it was as useful as shouting at wind turbines. Arguing was futile, but tears prickled anyway. She retreated to her room, shutting the door on the world and the parade of unasked-for opinions. The air in the bedroom was stuffyshed forgotten to crack a windowand seemed to press against her as she collapsed on the bed, fists clenched to stop the trembling.
From the kitchen, her mothers voice rose in conversation with Robert, sharper and brighter than it had been moments earlier. There was a smugness to it, a clear sense of mission accomplished, as if shed staged a successful intervention. Roberts voice was softer, with that dont make a fuss note hed always used to gaslight Lauren into forgiving endless office flirtations. The sound made her nauseous: patronising, cajoling, as if handling a wilful child rather than a grown woman.
How did he even dare turn up? Lauren thought, the anger almost eclipsing the sadness. After all those liesfirst it was one colleague, then it was three. Three in half a year, that I know of. Heaven only knows how many there really were.
Half an hour later, silence fell. The front door thumped shut; the impact rippled through Lauren like a bell. She emerged from her room only when the coast seemed clear. The kitchen was all the welcoming smells: mint, vanilla, and the sweet warmth of a homemade sponge cake. For a split second, she wanted to slip into her old childhood habitjust eat cake, forget everything elsebut she stopped herself.
Dont sulk, darling, her mum called, smiling with that slightly off-kilter warmth that never quite reached her eyes. Roberts a good man, he regrets it, trust me. I told him: You need to prove to Lauren that youre a changed man.
Mum, Lauren braced against the doorframe, the paint grain rough beneath her fingertips, I dont want proof. I dont want him around at all. I just want some peace while Im stuck here. Is that too much to ask?
Deborah sighed, wiped her hands on her apron, and sat down, looking suddenly weighed down by invisible troubles.
Youre being terribly dramatic, she replied, her tone dropping into seriousness. Life isnt black and white, love. Yes, he slipped up. But nobodys perfect. Maybe you were a bit too hard on him? Didnt make enough effort?
Hot tears pricked Laurens eyes. The pain felt sharp, like her heart was being wrung out.
So its my fault? she whispered, her voice trembling. Its my fault he cheated?
Thats not what I mean exactly, Deborah hedged, fixing her gaze on the dusk-streaked window. But it takes two to tango, doesnt it. Maybe if youd been a bit more patient, put a bit more effort into things
He could have just not cheated, Lauren replied, her voice icily calm. Is that really so much to ask? Not lie, not sneak around? Isnt that the bare minimum?
**************************
After that, Robert began haunting Deborahs flat with the consistency of a recurring cold sore. Bumping into Lauren accidentally by the bins outside, waiting by the door with the innocence of a Labrador, or simply showing up at tea with a suspiciously well-timed I was just passing and a box of Cadburys Milk Tray.
One day, he arrived wielding a massive bouquet of red roses and a shiny box of cherry liqueur chocolatesthe kind Lauren had adored as a kid. The roses still had droplets on them, and the gold-foil box would have lit up a dark room.
These are for you, he announced with that sorrowful smile shed once found adorable. Now, all she saw was the dark circles under his eyes and a performative sincerity that didnt reach them.
Thanks, but no thanks, Lauren replied, not even touching the flowers. And Ive asked you not to come.
I know, Robert hung his head, and for a moment looked almost human, rather than an escapee from a dating app. But I cant just move on. You mean the world to me.
Meant, Lauren corrected, every syllable a little harder than the last. That was the past.
He paused, face warring with itself for a moment.
Right. Sorry. Didnt mean to bother you.
He started to walk away, but Deborah swept in.
Robert, lovely, come in! she crowed, the performance as subtle as a pantomime dame. Dont stand there like a lemon. Invite your ex indoors, Lauren! Really, theres no need for all this fuss. Take the flowers, dear, theyre beautiful. Id be chuffed to get those!
Mum, hes leaving, Lauren said through gritted teeth. And I dont want flowers from strangers.
Oh, dont be so dramatic! Deborah ignored her, looped her arm through Roberts, and, despite his visible discomfort, pulled him towards the kitchen. Come on through, theres sponge cake. Lets all have a chat.
Robert shuffled in. Lauren knew better than to protestfutility, thy name is family. She turned and stalked to her room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen, plotting whatever new fix theyd dreamed up.
Through the door, she could hear Deborahs voice: Shell come round, dont worry. Laurens all heartshes just being prickly now. Keep at it, show you care. Persistence pays, youll see.
Lauren pressed her hands to her ears, but still the words seeped in like damp. She longed to march in, unload every bit of pain and rage, but instead she sat, grabbed her sketchbook, and drew. Spirals, squiggles, mountains and wavesher private, wobbly way to clarity.
*************************
Months trundled on. Lauren finally got her flat back once the tenants moved outa poky but cheerful little place closer to her office. She picked up a couple of new friends, the type who think three G&Ts after work is an appropriate way to process lifes woes, and even started going to Saturday morning yoga. Something about those classes made her feel not just bendier, but stronger. Standing in tree pose, she imagined roots sinking down and anchoring her to a new beginning, the remnants of old dramas vanishing with every exhale.
It was at yoga that she started chatting to the teacherOlivera few years older, kind, with a gentle sense of humour and a patient, attentive way about him. No big gestures, no empty promises, just an open ear and steady presence. For the first time in years, Lauren felt safe. With Oliver, she could relax, be imperfect, laugh at herself, even cry on occasionwithout feeling judged.
When she brought up Oliver to her mother, Deborahs reaction was instant, as though shed been waiting outside the changing rooms to pounce.
Who is he? What does he do? Wheres he from? The questions flew fast, sharp as darts.
Hes a yoga instructor, Lauren replied as evenly as she could. Teaches at a studio near my work. Rents a place round the corner.
Thats it? Deborahs face scrunched as if shed bit into something sour. No fancy job, no flat? Youre really planning to spend your life in rented accommodation? Or will you have him move in? Are you paying all the bills now?
Mum, I dont care about that, Lauren sighed, staring her down. Hes decent, hes reliable, he respects me. Thats enough.
Respects you? Deborah mimicked, her tone laced with sarcasm. Robert respected you, once. You just dont know how good you had it. Youre always making things complicated!
Lauren shut her eyes and counted silently, knowing there was no point wrestling with her mothers idea of happiness: a husband with a mortgage, a BMW, and gold-plated dental insurance; a wife who bakes, endures, and forgives. End of.
Her relationship with Oliver blossomed slowly, like crocuses after a long winter. They talked for hours, strolled along the Thames, made slightly weird but tasty stir-fries, swapped dreams about holidays and futures. Oliver just showed up. And that, as it turned out, was all she needed to believe in another kind of life.
Six months later, sitting in a city park flanked by daffodils, Oliver took her hand, looked her in the eye, and quietly asked, Will you marry me, Lauren?
She searched his calm, kind face, felt something soft unfold in her chest and whispered, Yes. Yes, Id love to.
Cue another episode of Family Discontent. Deborahs verdict was swift:
You cant marry him, she announced, arms folded, body language at DEFCON 1. This is madness. Youll regret it! Youre ruining your life.
Ive made up my mind, Mum, Lauren replied, buttoning her coat and feeling an unfamiliar thrill of confidence. And Im happy. Isnt that enough?
No, Deborah snapped, voice chilly as a British summer. Youre being reckless and foolish. Youll see.
**********************
The wedding was modestjust as Lauren and Oliver wanted. No massive venue, no mercenary cousins, just a handful of close friends and a couple of Olivers relatives. Lauren wore a simple white dress; Oliver, a dark suit and stripy tie. The You may kiss the bride bit felt surreal, but right. For once, Lauren was doing something entirely for herself.
Deborah boycotted the ceremony, instead sending a funereal bouquet of white lilies with a black ribbon and a note: Hope you come to your senses. Lauren looked at the lilies for a long time before setting them aside, refusing to let melancholy spoil her day.
In a final act of maternal sabotage, Deborah invited Robert to the wedding. Lauren clocked him as she and Oliver exited the registry officeRobert lurking by a car, hands shoved in pockets, his face a jumble of regret and bewilderment.
What are you doing here? Lauren asked, mild irritation replacing what once would have been heartache.
Your mum asked me to come, he murmured, voice drained of fight. Said you were making a mistake and youd need rescuing, but couldnt admit it.
Deborah may say many things, Oliver observed, squeezing Laurens hand, but she isnt always right.
Robert half sneered. Give me a ring when you get tired of slumming it. Ill take you backno questions.
He wandered off, leaving behind an awkward silence.
After the wedding, Lauren and Oliver began plotting their escape. Theyd been offered jobs up NorthManchester to be precisea whole new city, big, bustling, full of possibilities. Lauren said yes without a second thought. A new start, somewhere where her past wouldnt creep in unannounced.
Before they moved, Lauren went to say goodbye to Deborah. Her mother stood at the window, back to the door, her entire posture an ode to the long-suffering.
Were leaving, Lauren said, bags at her feet. Moving up North.
So? Deborah didnt turn from the window, her voice muffled and distant. Running away from your problems?
No. Lauren shook her head, tone steady and new. Im chasing happiness. I want you in my lifebut only if you can respect my choices.
Deborah spun round, eyes full of hurt and frustration. Arms crossed, she seemed to wall herself in.
Respect? Her voice rose, echoing slightly off the kitchen cupboards. Whats there to respect, Lauren? Youre abandoning everything for some yoga instructor! What can he possibly give you? Stability? Security? This is a mistake!
A wave of weighty fatigue swept through Lauren. How many times had they had this conversation? She inhaled, tried not to let her fingers shake.
Oliver is wonderful, she said, every word calm. He makes me feel safenot in some Hollywood way, but in a way where I never have to check up on him or brace for betrayal. I can just be myself.
Security?! Deborah laughed, the sound brittle. In a rented flat in some strange city, muddling on in who-knows-what kind of job? Robert could have given you all thatand more! Holidays to Spain, a redecorated flat, even a new car! No, I wont stand for it!
***********************
Unbeknownst to Lauren, that evening Deborah decided to have a word with Oliver. Packing for the move, Lauren heard Olivers phone ring. He frowned at the unknown number but picked up nonetheless.
Oliver, dear, Deborahs voice was unexpectedly gentle. I do worry about Lauren. Shes impulsive, doesnt always know whats good for her. This move is a mistake; shell regret it when its too late.
Oliver listened, silent but seething.
She hasnt got over Robert, not really. Pride, you know. Youre just a distraction. Dont ruin your life for a whim.
He cut her off, politely but firmly. Thank you for your concern. But Laurens happier, more grounded, more herself with me than shes ever been. She knows her own mind.
Well, if you think shell be happy in that new city, away from home and everyone she knowsthink again. Shell soon realise what she left behind. And Robert will be there, waiting.
Oliver took a deep breath. He pictured Laurens smile, her furrowed brow, her laughter. He felt only resolve.
I think we should end this call, he said calmly. Laurens made her choice, and so have I. I wont let her down.
He hung up, a cocktail of irritation and sympathy in his chest. Poor Laurenimagine growing up under that heavy-handed regime.
*************************
The next day, Lauren returnedone last attempt to part on good terms, not just bitter ones. She brought biscuits Deborah used to like and a bunch of basic daisies.
Deborah, never one to miss an encore, launched into a fresh round of guilt-tripping.
Why wont you even consider staying? she fussed about the kitchen, fiddling with the tablecloth until it resembled a relief map. Stay for a monththink it through. Maybe youre just frazzled, need a break.
Mum, weve got everything sorted, Lauren replied, bone-tired. New flat near a park, good job, Olivers lined up work at a studio. Its all fine.
Oh? Deborahs eyes glitteredwhether from tears or fury, Lauren wasnt sure. Did he plan it all? Talked you into it? He knows that as long as youre near me and Robert, youd see sense. Therehell have you all to himself.
Lauren froze, stung by the absurdity.
Do you really think that? Do you honestly believe Olivers that controlling? That hed manipulate me?
Deborah folded her arms again, world-weary. All men are like that, love! At least Robert was honest. This one pretends to be kind and understanding.
Enough, Laurens voice cracked. Just enough. I need you to trust my choices or at least stop making me feel guilty for wanting happiness!
She turned to leave, but Deborah caught her arm, grip fierce.
Wait, this time her voice was pleading. Im your mother. I want whats best.
Whats best is my choice to make, Lauren gently pulled free. And I choose Oliver, and this new life. I choose the chance to be happy without feeling smothered or remade. I want to breathe.
Deborah dropped her hand, face twisted with pain and anger. So youre leaving mefor him?
Laurens tears threatened, but she held on. Im not leaving you, Mum. Im leaving the way you treat me. I just want you to love me as I am. And if you cant, maybe we need some space. For both our sakes.
Deborah turned away, shoulders trembling. As you wish. Come back when you realise I was right.
Lauren lingered for a moment, watching her mothers familiar figure at the window. She wanted to hug her, promise everything would be alright but she couldnt. Not yet. She slipped quietly from the flat, her phone with its new number safe in her pocketmeant for a future shed chosen herself. Maybe one day theyd have a real chat. But for now, she needed distanceclean, honest, her own.
