Oh wow, let me tell you this heartbreaking story…
Emily was fast asleep when the phone suddenly shattered the silence. She grabbed it, her heart already pounding.
“Emily!” Her mum’s voice trembled with panic. “Come home—now!”
“Mum, what’s wrong?” Emily jolted awake, dread creeping in. “Did you and Dad argue again? Sort it out yourselves—you’ve been like this all my life!”
“There’s no one left to sort it out with!” Her mum’s voice cracked. “Your father’s gone!”
“Mum… Dad’s dead?” Emily froze, blood running cold.
“Just come! You’ll see for yourself!” her mum snapped. “Not over the phone!”
“See what?!” Emily was almost shouting now.
“Just get here!” The line went dead.
Shaking, Emily started packing. She sped towards her parents’ house in the outskirts of Manchester, her mind racing with horrible guesses.
“You’re joking—it’s seven on a Saturday,” Emily groaned, rubbing her eyes when the phone rang again.
“Joking?!” her mum shrieked. “I’m falling apart, and you’re complaining about the time?!”
“Mum, I’ve got plans, the kids, James—tell me what’s going on or I’m not coming.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” her mum gasped. “You don’t care about me at all!”
“We’ve been through this a thousand times,” Emily cut in. “I’m done being your referee.”
“Your father’s left me!” Her mum hung up.
James turned over in bed. “What now?”
“Something serious,” Emily murmured, still hearing the echo of her mum’s words. “I have to go.”
“They’re impossible,” James grumbled. “Does she even remember you have your own family?”
“James, don’t. You don’t pick your parents.” She sighed. “Look after the kids, yeah?”
“Like always,” he muttered. “Next time she calls like this, I’m filing for divorce.”
Emily blinked. “Seriously?”
“No. But we should scare her.”
She shook her head. “Won’t work.”
For as long as Emily could remember, her parents’ house was a warzone. Her mum, Margaret, never stopped shouting, while her dad, Richard, just clenched his jaw, silently seething. The rows started when Emily was in school—rare at first, then constant. Margaret’s voice carried all through their terraced house. Even the neighbours muttered, “Poor bloke. How does he stand it?”
No one asked how Emily felt. On paper, their lives looked perfect—her dad ran a research department at the uni, earned well; her mum stayed home. But “stayed home” barely covered it. Margaret ruled the house—bossing Richard, Emily, even the cleaner he’d hired to keep the peace. It didn’t help.
Emily swore she’d leave—and she did, moving to Manchester for uni, visiting reluctantly. Once, after a screaming match, Richard snapped, “What the hell do you want, Margaret? The moon?” Her mum had actually paused—then laughed, shutting up. Briefly.
At Emily’s wedding, Margaret stole the show, interrupting Richard’s speech: “Let me—he’ll ruin it!” The guests exchanged looks as Emily burned with shame.
Afterwards, Richard secretly bought her a flat in Manchester, warning her never to tell Margaret. “Bloody hell,” James had said. “Hope we never keep secrets like that.” Emily smiled. “We won’t. I don’t have Dad’s patience.”
Now, speeding towards her parents’, Emily braced for the usual—her mum’s rants, her dad’s exhausted silence. But reality was worse.
Margaret wailed the second she opened the door: “I gave him everything—my youth, my life! And he threw me away!”
“Mum, where’s Dad?” Emily gripped her shoulders.
“He left last night! Took his things and just walked out!”
Emily’s stomach dropped. “You rang him?”
“Of course! He won’t answer—you try!”
Richard picked up immediately, calm. “I deserve peace, Emily. Staying at a mate’s cottage. I’m here if you need me.”
“Dad, where are you?” She felt Margaret’s glare.
“Not important. We’ll talk later.”
“What did the traitor say?!” Margaret screeched.
“He’s not a traitor, Mum. He’s tired of the arguing.”
“He told you that?”
“No—I did.”
He never came back. Margaret tracked down the cottage, banged on the door—no answer. She rang endlessly, even accused him of cheating. When that proved false, she wailed, “I wasn’t even worth an affair?!”
Emily finally snapped. “Mum, he doesn’t want forgiveness. He’s still paying the bills—he just wants space.”
“Him?!” Margaret’s voice broke. “I’m the one who suffered!”
And for the first time, Emily saw her cry—truly broken.
Two years later, Richard died. His mate passed on his last words: “Bury me alone.” Margaret let out a bitter laugh when she heard.
A year later, she got ill. Emily nursed her till the end. Days before she passed, Margaret whispered, “I had enough… just didn’t see it.”
Now, Emily visits the cemetery often. Where her parents rest, it’s finally quiet. Too late for peace.
