So, you wont believe the phone call I got. I was just putting my mug down, planning to enjoy a quiet cuppa, when my phone rang. The number wasnt saved, but the way it ranglong, insistentgave me a feeling I knew exactly who it was. I squinted at the screen and there it was: Richard. My ex-husband. The same Richard who, five years ago, left me for someone else and had a son.
I didnt answer straight away. I just stood by the window, watched the neighbourhood kids playing in the garden below, and thought, Why now? Seriously, why after all this time?
The ringing finally stopped. But then it started up again, just as persistent.
With a sigh, I picked up.
Hi, Emma. Richards voice was quiet, almost sheepish. I, um, I really need to talk to you. Its urgent.
What about? I sat on the windowsill, phone pressed to my ear, bracing myself for whatever he was going to ask. Richard always had a way of asking for things that made it near-impossible to say no.
Can we meet up? he said. I Id rather not do this over the phone if you dont mind.
I do mind, I replied calmly. So say what you want, or say nothing at all.
Silence. Then he sighed, raspy, as if hed smoked a pack too many.
Its Lucy, he said, voice strained. Shes got cancer. Stage four. Doctors are giving her I dont know, a couple of months, maybe three at best.
Lucyhis new partner, the one he left me for, and the mother of his son. My stomach went cold, but not out of pityjust from the looming sense that he was about to ask for something impossible.
Im really sorry, I said, keeping my tone flat. But why are you telling me this?
Emma… I need your help. I honestly dont know who else to turn to.
I said nothing. A crow landed outside in the old sycamore, almost as if to warn me: dont fall for it.
Please, Emma. Could we meet? Ill explain everything, I promise. Its to do with Harrymy boy.
Your son, I thought. Not mine, never was.
Fine, I said flatly. Tomorrow. That place on Baker Street, three oclock.
I hung up and sat there for ages, staring out the window into nothingness. The tea had gone cold, the cucumbers Id been slicing now limp on the chopping board. Theres this old photograph stuck to my fridge: me and Richard at the seaside, smiling, holding hands. Always meant to take it downmaybe I was just afraid to admit that the woman in that picture doesnt exist anymore.
The following day, I got to the café a bit early. Ordered a tea, sat by the window, just waiting. He turned up about ten minutes laterlooking older, more worn, thinning hair at his temples. He slid into the seat opposite, nodded at the waitress, and gave me this look, that Im sorry look, even before he opened his mouth.
Thanks for coming, he said quietly.
Out with it, I replied, hugging my tea for warmth. I havent got long.
He rubbed his face with his hands.
Lucys dying, he said. Its really happening. Chemo isnt working, its too late for surgery. Shes got no familyher mum died a few years ago, she never knew her dad. If Lucy goes, Harrys left on his own. Hes five, Emma.
I said nothing. My insides twisted, but I shoved those feelings right down.
I want to ask you he faltered, eyes on the tablecloth. Could you help us out? Financially. Treatment, a carer Ill pay you back, I swear, but right now Ive got nothing.
How much? I asked.
About seventy grand? Maybe more, depending.
I set my cup down, splashing a bit onto the tablecloth.
Seventy grand, Richard? Where do you think Id get that sort of money?
You could sell your flat. The one on Churchill Road. You told me you never use it, that its just empty.
The flat on Churchill Roadone-bedroom, old but cosy, a gift from my parents when I married. I ended up giving it to Richard for his birthday when I still thought wed be together forever. Hed been letting it out, pocketing the rent. And now he wanted me to sell it?
Are you serious? I stared at him. You want me to sell the flat I already gave you as a present?
Emma, I know it sounds appalling, but
No, I said firmly. No, Richard. Its my flat. Giving it to you was a gift, not a lifelong responsibility.
He turned white.
But Lucys dying! Harry will be left an orphan!
Harry has a dad, I said, getting to my feet and picking up my bag. Thats your job. Not mine.
Emma, please, wait”
I didnt stop. Walked straight out the café and down the street, clutching my phone. My hands shook. Was I doing the right thing? Or was I just a heartless cow?
When I got home, I called Juliemy uni mate, and the only friend who never judged me for walking away from Richard.
He asked you to sell your flat? she repeated, sounding properly shocked. Emma, hes lost it.
Yeah, but his partners dying, and the poor kids so young
So what? That isnt your fault. You dont owe him a thing. Not a single thing.
But I feel so awful, I confessed. Like Im refusing to save someone whos dying.
Youre allowed to say no, Julie said, solid as always. Even if it hurts. Remember thatyou dont have to save him from the choices he made.
I lay on the sofa, eyes closed, Julies words and Richards face whirling together in my head.
She stole my husband, Id thought back then, when I saw Lucy years ago, pushing a pram while Richard beamed at her. Blond hair, radiant smile, happy. Now shes dying, and Im supposed to help?
No. I dont have to.
Two days later, Richard called again. This time, no polite chit-chat; straight in, desperate.
Emma, I get that youre mad at me, but think about Harry. He doesnt deserve this.
Im not angry, I told him. I just dont want to be involved.
Then look, Ive got one more thing to ask. He hesitated. If Lucy dies could you take care of Harry? Just for a while, until I sort myself out?
I didnt even twig what he meant at first.
Excuse me?
Well, you know how to look after kids. You raised Lily. Harry needs a mum, and I cant do it alone
Richard, I cut in, my voice cold as stone, you want me to play mum to your son? The one you had while cheating on me?
Emma, I know how it sounds”
No, I said. Absolutely not. You need to realise you cant rope me into your new life. Count me out.
I hung up and just slumped to the floor, back to the wall, heart racing. How dare he?
That evening, Lily came roundmy daughter, now twenty-eight, so clever, so put-together. She works in a big London ad agency, flatshares in Clapham, properly adult. We dont see each other loads, but when we do, its always warm.
Mum, Dad rang me, she said as soon as she was through the door. Told me about Lucy and Harry.
I nodded, setting the kettle boiling.
And what did he say?
That you refused to help. That youre cold.
I turned to look at her. Lily was in the hallway, arms folded, looking at me, confused and a bit hurt.
Cold? I echoed. Thats a new one.
Mum, how can you be like this? Hes just a child. He hasnt done anything wrong.
Youre right, love, I replied, pouring water into our mugs. Hes innocent. But hes not my responsibility.
But you could help. Even a little.
Im not selling my flat, Lily. And Im not becoming a guardian to someone elses child. Thats your dads story, not mine.
Youre being selfish, Lily murmured, disappointment clear in her voice.
That stung. But I wasnt going to start justifying myself.
Maybe, I said softly. But its my right.
Lily left not long after, half her tea untouched. The place felt eerily silent once shed gone.
The next few days were awful. Richard called too muchtexts, voicemailssome pleading, some threatening. He said he’d go to court, that he’d tell everyone what a cold-hearted woman I was, that Lily would hate me.
I ignored him. Just read, deleted, moved on.
Then, one evening, Lucy turned up at my door herself. She looked tiny, frail, a scarf tied round her head. She just stood there, tears in her eyes, asking quietly, Can I come in?
I let her in. She sat in my kitchen, hands wrapped round a glass of water, silent for ages.
I know you dont owe us anything, she finally whispered. But Im not asking you to love Harry. Just just to give him a chance. Hell need someone once Im gone.
What about his dad? I asked.
Richard cant cope. You know what hes like.
Sadly, I did. Charming, yes, but never strong. Never responsible.
Im sorry. I really am, but I just cant, I said.
Lucy nodded, got up. At the door, she said, Youre such a strong woman. I used to envy you. Richard talked about you all the time but now I see your strength comes from never letting anyone close.
Then she was gone, leaving me alone in a freezing corridor.
That night I barely slept. Stared at the ceiling, thinking of Harry, of Richard, of Lucy. Wondered if maybe I was cold now. There was a time I was softer, always ready to forgive, to put others first.
But Richard left, betrayed me. And thats when I realised: theres no point in playing the martyr after the knifes already in your back.
Was I right though?
I got up, walked to the window. Outside was pitch-dark, just the faint shimmer of streetlights. Somewhere a dog barked.
Julies words came back to me: You can say no. Even if it hurts. Even if you get judged for it.
It isn’t my burden to carry, I thought. Im not the saviour in someone elses drama.
The next morning, I rang Richard.
Meet me. This afternoon. Same café.
He arrived, hope all over his face. Sat across from me, hands folded in that nervous way.
Emma, I”
No, listen. Im not selling my flat. I gave it as a gift, not a lifelong IOU. And Im not going to be a mother to your child. Thats not my pain to carry, and its not my life.
But”
You made choices, Richard. You got another woman pregnant while you were married to me. You walked away from our family. Now, you have to face those consequences. It isnt on me to pick up the pieces.
He was ashen.
So youd have Harry suffer?
I want you to stop using him to make me feel guilty, I said. Look for help somewhere elseyouve got family, friends, Lucy must have someone. But not me.
Youre cruel, he whispered. Youre heartless.
I stood, gathering my things.
Maybe I am. But its my life now. And Im not letting you drag me back in.
I left the café, and this time, I didnt look back. My steps felt lighter, I was standing tall at last.
Two weeks went by. Not a word from Richard. Nothing from Lily either. Julie came by now and thenwed drink tea and chat about anything but Harry or Lucy.
I went back to my life. Work, dinners, the telly, my books. Some evenings I sat by the window, watching the kids on the green out front.
Now and then, I thought of Harry. Did he look like Richard or more like Lucy? But those thoughts drifted away like clouds. I didnt cling to them anymore.
Then, one morning, a text from Lily: Mum, Im sorry. I get it. Youre right.
I smiled, replied: Thank you. I love you.
I sat by the window, tea in hand, looking round my little flatcosy, warm, filled with light. It was mine. My space. My life.
I wasnt a hero. I didnt rescue a child. I refused to martyr myself.
But I kept hold of myselfand that, in its quiet way, felt like winning.
My victory.
No big fuss, no fanfare. But real, all the same.
I took a sip of tea, opened my book, and watched the sun spill over the street. Life went onand, at long last, I stopped feeling guilty for choosing myself.
