The war had dragged on for six years, ever since their wedding day. Olivia and Arthur had a son, four-year-old Oliver, but even now, his grandparents refused to acknowledge him. They never held him, never called to ask how their grandson was doing. Olivia couldn’t fathom what she’d done to deserve such coldness. She’d never given them cause—never been rude, never argued, always polite. But the truth ran deeper. Arthur had married her instead of the girl his mother had dreamed of as a daughter-in-law.
That girl’s name was Genevieve. Lydia Whitmore never tired of reminding everyone what a clever, beautiful catch she was, the daughter of well-off parents. “Now there’s a proper wife for my son!” she’d say, right in front of Olivia. The rest of Arthur’s family echoed it—”You don’t hold a candle to Genevieve, Liv.” Olivia, raised in a modest family in a small town near Manchester, felt the sting of humiliation. Her humble roots were fodder for endless jibes.
Arthur seemed blind to it all. “Ignore them,” he’d mutter. “They’re just nitpicking.” But to Olivia, his words felt like betrayal. How could he not see when his wife was being insulted? Lately, he’d been slipping away to his parents’ more often, returning late into the night. “Family business,” he’d say, avoiding her gaze. A wall was growing between them, and her patience was wearing thin.
His family never visited, though Olivia had invited them countless times, hoping to bridge the gap. They never wished her a happy birthday—not a call, not even a text. Family gatherings were for Arthur only, with the unspoken rule: *No outsiders allowed.* Olivia, forever the stranger in their eyes, felt like an outcast. Her heart shattered whenever little Oliver asked, “Why doesn’t Granny want to play with me?” She had no answer, only tears she hid as she held him close.
It became unbearable. Thoughts of divorce crept in more often. Arthur never defended her, never stood up to his parents. He followed his mother’s lead as if her word were law. Olivia felt alone in her own marriage, the loneliness gnawing at her. “If he won’t choose us, I can’t stay,” she thought, watching Oliver sleep.
New Year’s Eve was the final straw. She resolved: if Arthur left them alone again, she’d pack their things and leave for good. “I won’t let them trample my dignity anymore,” she told herself, though a part of her still hoped he’d choose her and Oliver.
The night before, Arthur was evasive. “Haven’t decided what we’re doing yet,” he mumbled, eyes fixed elsewhere. Olivia said nothing, but her resolve hardened. She pictured packing their bags, driving to her sister’s in Leeds, where warmth waited—no judgment, no cruel glances.
That evening, Arthur came home late. “Mum’s not well. I’ll need to go over tomorrow,” he said, not meeting her eyes. Olivia’s heart plummeted. “And us?” she whispered. “Do Oliver and I not count?” Arthur stayed silent, and that silence was her answer.
That night, while he slept, Olivia sat at the kitchen table, staring at the flickering fairy lights outside. Her thoughts twisted, but one thing was clear: she couldn’t live like this anymore. In the morning, as Arthur got ready to leave, she packed in silence. “Where are you going?” he asked, spotting the suitcase. “Leaving,” she said calmly, holding his gaze. “I’m tired of being a stranger in your family. If you won’t protect us, I will.”
Arthur froze, face pale. “Liv, wait—let’s talk,” he stammered, but she was already guiding Oliver toward the door. “You made your choice,” she said. The door slammed shut behind them.
Olivia and Oliver drove to her sister’s. The first months were hard—the betrayal, the rejection, it all lingered. But her sister’s family wrapped them in kindness, and slowly, Olivia breathed again. She found a new job, rented a flat, enrolled Oliver in nursery. Life inched forward.
Six months later, Arthur showed up. “I was wrong,” he said, eyes downcast. “Mum pushed, and I didn’t fight back. I want us to be a family again.” Olivia studied him, but the warmth was gone. “You betrayed us,” she said softly. “I can’t trust you.” Arthur left, and as she held Oliver close, she knew she’d done the right thing. Her new life was hard—but it was hers. For the first time in years, she felt free.
