**A Move That Became a Divorce**
*”What on earth are you on about, Emily?”* bellowed Richard, throwing his hands up. *”What am I supposed to do with my garage? My workshop? Half my life is in there!”*
*”And what about my job?”* Emily shot back just as loudly, standing amidst the clutter of half-packed boxes. *”Twenty years with the same firm! They know me, they value me!”*
*”You’ll find something else! Brighton’s got better weather, kinder people, cheaper living!”*
*”Oh, sure, at fifty?”* Emily let out a bitter laugh. *”You’ve lost the plot, Richard!”*
Their son, James, sat silent on the sofa, watching his parents argue. At thirty-two, moments like these made him feel like a child again, torn between Mum and Dad.
*”James,”* Emily turned to him, *”tell your father normal people our age don’t just uproot their lives!”*
*”Mum, don’t drag me into this,”* James sighed. *”It’s your decision.”*
*”Our decision!”* Richard snapped. *”Families make choices together! But you, Em, you’re stubborn as a mule! Won’t give an inch!”*
Emily sank onto the sofa’s edge, covering her face. At fifty-four, the last month had aged her five years. It all started when Richard came home one evening, eyes alight, announcing his cousin had offered them a fresh start in Brighton.
*”Imagine it, love,”* he’d said, pacing the kitchen. *”David’s bought a massive house—plenty of room while we find our own place. The sea’s right there! Fresh produce, better air!”*
Back then, Emily had nodded, dismissing it as another of Richard’s fleeting whims. He was always chasing grand ideas—beekeeping one week, buying a countryside cottage the next—only to lose interest days later.
But this time was different.
*”Em, I’ve booked the tickets,”* Richard announced one evening. *”We’re going down to see it the day after tomorrow.”*
*”What tickets? See what?”* Emily frowned, stirring a pot of stew.
*”Brighton! David’s found us a place near his. Says the owners are selling cheap.”*
Emily turned off the hob and faced him.
*”Richard, are you serious? What house? What Brighton?”*
*”We talked about this!”* he insisted. *”You said yourself you fancied a change!”*
*”When did I say that?”*
*”Last month! When you were moaning about the new managers at work, pushing out the old guard. This is our chance!”*
Emily sat heavily. Her head spun.
*”Richard, think! We’re in our fifties! Our whole life’s here—the house, our jobs, our friends! You want to toss it all for some half-baked adventure?”*
*”It’s not half-baked,”* he retorted. *”It’s a fresh start. David’s sorted himself out nicely since moving.”*
*”And his wife? What does she say?”*
*”Claire? She’s chuffed. Calls it the best decision they ever made.”*
Emily shook her head. Claire was ten years younger, no job tying her down. Easy for her.
*”Richard, I’m not going. Not even to look.”*
*”Why are you so bloody stubborn?!”* he exploded. *”Just see it first, then decide!”*
*”I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to move. End of.”*
But Richard wouldn’t relent. Every day brought new arguments—the milder climate, cheaper groceries, how retirement would be easier there.
*”Love, imagine it,”* he’d say over tea. *”We’d live like kings! David’s got a big plot—might even sell us part. We could grow our own veg, keep chickens, maybe even a goat…”*
*”A goat, Richard?”* Emily groaned. *”Since when do you milk cows? Or me feed chickens?”*
*”We’d learn! People manage!”*
*”Let them. I’ve no interest in poultry-keeping at fifty-four.”*
Still, Richard wouldn’t drop it. He went alone, returned with photos and videos of seafront houses, bustling markets.
*”Look how lovely!”* he’d enthuse. *”The air! The people!”*
Emily stared at the images, thinking of her colleagues, her weekend coffee dates with friends, the rhythm of her life.
*”I’m happy here,”* she’d say. *”Why change it?”*
*”Because it’ll be even better there!”*
*”And if it’s not? If we hate it?”*
*”We won’t!”*
Their talks turned to rows. Richard grew pushier; Emily dug her heels in.
*”You’re not listening!”* she’d shout.
*”I am! You’re just thinking wrong!”*
*”Wrong? What’s ‘right,’ then?”*
*”Planning for the future! Not clinging to the past!”*
*”This isn’t the past—it’s our life!”*
Finally, Richard acted without her. He listed the house, started packing paperwork.
*”Have you lost your mind?”* Emily gasped, spotting the online ad.
*”Doing what’s needed,”* he said coolly. *”If you won’t be sensible, I will.”*
*”Without me? The house is half mine!”*
*”You’ll come round.”*
*”Never!”*
But Emily held firm—no signatures, no viewings.
*”I live here too!”* she hissed. *”No one’s selling it while I’m alive!”*
Richard’s temper snapped.
*”You’re ruining everything!”*
*”You’re ruining us!”*
James got pulled in constantly—his dad grumbling about Mum’s obstinacy, his mum weeping over being uprooted.
*”Dad, give her time,”* James would urge.
*”It’s been six months!”*
*”Mum, just go see it. No commitment.”*
*”I don’t want to!”*
The house turned toxic. Silent meals, then explosive fights.
*”I’m done,”* Richard said one night. *”I’m going alone.”*
*”Go then,”* Emily said icily.
They locked eyes, each waiting for the other to yield. Neither did.
*”Fine,”* Richard said. *”We’ve nothing left to say.”*
Next morning, he left with a suitcase. Emily watched silently, certain he’d be back in a fortnight.
A month passed. No return. Just sporadic calls about his new life.
*”How’s things?”* she’d ask stiffly.
*”Alright. David found us a cheap place. Might buy it.”*
*”Do.”*
*”And you?”*
*”Same as ever.”*
The calls dwindled. Emily realised he wasn’t coming home.
James visited weekly.
*”Mum, talk to him properly,”* he’d plead.
*”He chose his path.”*
*”He’s waiting for you.”*
*”I’m waiting for him.”*
*”So you’ll just… wait forever?”*
Emily shrugged. It hurt, admitting their marriage was crumbling over something as trivial as relocation.
Three months later, Richard called.
*”Em, I bought the house. Nice garden. Sure you won’t visit?”*
*”No.”*
*”So that’s it?”*
*”Guess so.”*
*”Then we should… make it official.”*
Emily’s chest tightened. She’d known this was coming, yet it still winded her.
*”Alright.”*
*”I’ll file here. Post you the papers.”*
A silence.
*”Em,”* Richard said quietly.
*”What?”*
*”Never wanted this.”*
*”Neither did I.”*
*”But you never got why it mattered.”*
*”And you never got why I couldn’t.”*
A sigh.
*”Maybe we both messed up.”*
*”Maybe.”*
*”Too late now.”*
After, Emily sat in the kitchen, numb. Thirty years, undone by a disagreement.
James took it hardest.
*”Mum, is there no fixing this?”*
*”No. He’s moved on.”*
*”And you?”*
*”I’m staying put.”*
*”No regrets?”*
Emily paused.
*”Plenty. But we wanted different things. He craved adventure; I needed stability.”*
*”There was middle ground.”*
*”Only if both want it.”*
The divorce papers arrived a month later. SheShe signed them without reading, set them aside, and stared at the empty space on the sofa where he used to sit—now just another box left unpacked.
