“Oh, Emily, hello! Visiting your mum, are you?” called the neighbour from her balcony.
“Hello, Margaret. Yes, just seeing Mum.”
“You ought to have a word with her,” the woman sighed. “Poor thing’s been losing the plot since the divorce.”
“How do you mean?” Emily stiffened.
“Well, I’ve been up with insomnia lately—awake at all hours. The other morning, it wasn’t even five, and a cab pulls up. Out steps your mother. And she looked… well, let’s say not herself. Seemed a bit tipsy, too. The whole street’s talking. At her age! And why on earth did she throw your father out? Yes, he slipped up, but who doesn’t? Forty years together—madness to divorce now.”
“Thanks, Margaret,” Emily managed, throat tight. “I’ll talk to her.”
She hurried inside. Her mother *had* kicked her father out six months ago after catching him with another woman. Emily had begged her to think it over—people make mistakes. But Mum wouldn’t budge. Strangest of all? She hadn’t crumbled. No, she’d thrown herself into life—new clothes, dancing, nights out with friends. None of it like her.
It unsettled Emily. She was about to marry Peter, planning for children. And her mum was out till dawn? What kind of grandmother would she be? How could she face her future mother-in-law, one knitting by the fire, the other clubbing past midnight?
When Emily pushed through the door, her mother greeted her with a steaming kettle and a bright smile. No worn-out dressing gown—just a smart cream suit. Manicure, heels, lashes fluttering. She was *alive*.
“So! How’s Peter?” she asked, setting down teacups.
“Fine,” Emily said carefully. “And you?”
“Oh, brilliant! The girls and I painted the town last night. Dancing, then karaoke. Absolute riot!”
“Margaret filled me in,” Emily cut in darkly. “Home at five, apparently merry.”
Mum laughed. “Well, what did you expect? Pints of tea at a pub?”
Emily snapped. “Mum, don’t you think you’re overdoing it?”
“How so?”
“Put it this way—you’re not twenty. Nightclubs? Really? You’re meant to be… I don’t know, setting an example. A grandmother soon!”
“I’m a woman who’s finally free. And I won’t live by someone else’s script.”
“But you and Dad had *decades*! Doesn’t that mean anything?”
Mum went quiet. Then, steady as stone: “Your father *chose* to betray me. Not a mistake—a choice. And I won’t play the housemaid anymore. I want to *live*. For me. Years I gave to this family. Now? The rulebook’s burned.”
“You’re nearly fifty!”
“So? I don’t come with an expiry date.”
Guilt twisted in Emily’s chest. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m just worried.”
“If you’re ashamed, leave me off the guest list. But know this: I won’t hide my grey hairs or drown in frumpy frocks. I’ll dance. Maybe even flirt. I’m *happy*.”
“No, Mum, of course I want you there. It’s just…”
“Just Auntie Margaret’s judging? Let her. I’m finally *living*.”
That evening, Emily told Peter everything. “I don’t know how to feel.”
He just grinned. “Your mum’s ace. She picked life over misery. Since when is joy a crime?”
Come Saturday, Emily rang her mother. “Mum—fancy a spa day? Then cocktails with live music?”
“Won’t I embarrass you?”
“I’ll say you’re my big sister,” Emily laughed.
“Deal. But we’re not leaving early.”
That day changed everything. Emily saw her mother’s strength—raw, unapologetic. Maybe, just maybe, *she* had lessons to learn. Not “should”. Not “must”. Just… *live*.
