Mum’s Achievements
*“You know, I overheard a conversation on the bus today,”* Emily said, stirring her tea. *“A young woman was telling someone, ‘My dad’s a successful man, but Mum never achieved anything—just a boring housewife.’ And I thought… that’s me.”*
She sat at Sarah’s kitchen table, tears streaming down her face. A week ago, her husband had left, and she needed somewhere to pour out her heart.
They weren’t close friends—just neighbours who’d bonded over prams and playgrounds years ago when their children were small. Sarah, unlike Emily, had returned to work when her son was six months old. Now, eighteen years later, they remembered that fateful chat in the park.
*“You’re really going back to work? Who’ll look after the baby?”* Emily had asked, curiosity laced with concern.
*“A nanny will come for half the day,”* Sarah replied. *“The industry moves fast. If I step away now, my boss will replace me. And honestly, I don’t want to lose this job—finding a decent manager later won’t be easy.”*
*“James says I should be home with Oliver. That my career can wait…”*
*“Careers don’t wait for anyone, Em. My husband wanted me at home too. But I know my field—if you take three years off, you’ll struggle to catch up. Five? Forget it.”*
*“But they’re so little,”* Emily sighed. *“It feels wrong leaving him with a stranger. They say a child needs its mother like air till they’re three.”*
*“I don’t think it’s that critical. What matters is a mother who’s happy in her own life. Kids feel secure when they see you thriving. The rest is just details.”*
*“I don’t know… I’ve decided to stay with Ollie at least till nursery. James earns enough—”*
*“That’s wonderful, Em. But men get used to being waited on fast—then you can’t break free. My mum lived like that and always warned me not to disappear into family life.”*
*“It’s not forever. Once Oliver’s older, I’ll work again.”*
But those years stretched on. Four years later, Emily had a daughter, and the load doubled. James never helped—he believed parenting was *her* job, his was providing. When she mentioned part-time work, he’d scoff, *“Are you mad? You’ve got a home and kids. Why would I want a worn-out wife? Don’t I provide well enough?”*
By the time her youngest started school, Emily tried returning to graphic design. But the industry had shifted—3D software she didn’t know, former colleagues now managers, her skills outdated. Interviewers bluntly asked, *“You’ve been out for a decade…”*
No one cared she’d graduated with honours or worked at a top firm before thirty. That was the past. Now, her children took her for granted, and James, clearly unfaithful, lied shamelessly—where would a homemaker go?
Once, she confronted him. He shrugged. *“You chose this.”*
***
Meanwhile, Sarah juggled career and motherhood. It was exhausting, guilt gnawing at her: *“I’m a bad mum.”* Her husband’s refrain? *“My mother managed everything. You put work first.”*
After fifteen years, he left. *“You can’t even cook dinner! At least Rebecca—”*
*“Rebecca from HR?”* Sarah cut in. *“I’ve been meaning to ask.”*
He fell silent. She just smiled. *“Good luck. Just pay the child support on time.”*
*“You wrecked our family with your career,”* he snapped, tossing his keys down.
Sarah looked up slowly. *“No. You wrecked it by refusing to let me be myself.”*
At forty-five, the divorce didn’t break her—it freed her. She was no high-flyer, but her expertise kept them comfortable. Her daughter, though resentful of missed school plays, grew up proud: *“Mum’s busy, but she’s always there when it counts.”*
For a while, Emily believed sacrificing her life had saved her marriage. But once the kids left for uni, James moved in with his assistant. At least he left her the house and some money. That’s when she called Sarah—and then came that girl on the bus. *“My mum achieved nothing.”* She’d wanted to snap back: *“Nothing? What about you? Who raised you? Half your dad’s success—isn’t that hers?”* But what was the point? Children weren’t an achievement. They grew up and left. And now her husband had too.
Sarah let her talk. Grief needed airing before healing could start.
*“You were right all along! I should’ve kept working, not become their servant.”*
*“Oh, don’t exaggerate,”* Sarah chuckled. *“My ex left sooner because I* wasn’t *servile. Last I heard, his new wife’s on her third designer handbag this year. He never bought me one.”*
*“The kids barely call,”* Emily mumbled.
*“That’s good! Means they’re fine and you can focus on yourself. Listen—a friend’s taking an estate agent course. Age is an advantage there. You’ve got an eye for spaces, right? Architecture background? That’s a head start. Fancy it? I’ll lend you the course fee—pay me back when you’re selling mansions.”*
*“I don’t know… It’s scary.”*
*“Scarier to sit broke and lonely. You’ve given enough. Time to live. And guess what? Estate agents meet interesting people. Might even find a new husband.”*
*“God, no more husbands!”*
*“Ha! I quite like being married to myself.”*
Persuaded, Emily took the plunge.
And guess what? Within eighteen months, she sold her first country house.
It got better from there. Her eyes regained their spark. Then she met her second husband. When asked why he’d chosen *“a middle-aged estate agent,”* he said, *“Anyone brave enough to start anew is worth everything.”*
On her wedding day, Emily and Sarah laughed about that park bench long ago. Two young mums. Two prams. Two paths.
*“We both won,”* Emily whispered.
Sarah nodded.
*And sometimes, winning means choosing yourself—no matter the road.*
