— Oh, Emily, hello! Come to see your mum? — called the neighbour from her balcony.
— Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitmore. Yes, just popped by.
— You ought to talk some sense into her, love, — the woman sighed. — Ever since the divorce, that poor woman’s gone completely off the rails.
— What do you mean? — Emily stiffened.
— Well, I’ve got insomnia, wake up at all hours. The other day, I glanced out the window—must’ve been four in the morning—and there’s a cab pulling up, your mother stumbling out. And she looked… well, let’s just say not herself. Worse for wear, if you catch my drift. The whole street’s talking. At her age! And what was the point chucking your father out? So he slipped up, but who doesn’t? Thirty years together—throwing that away now’s just daft.
— Thank you, Mrs. Whitmore, — Emily managed, swallowing hard. — I’ll speak to her.
She hurried inside, pulse thudding. Six months ago, her mother had kicked her father out after catching him with another woman. Emily had begged her to reconsider—people make mistakes. But her mother had been unmoved. Strangest of all, she hadn’t crumbled as expected. Instead, she’d thrown herself into life—new outfits, dance classes, nightclubs, late dinners with friends—none of which had ever been her before.
Emily couldn’t make sense of it. She herself was about to marry, planning a family. And here was her mother, out till dawn? What sort of grandmother would she be? How would she introduce her to her future in-laws—one knitting by the fireside, the other dancing on tables?
When Emily stepped inside, her mother greeted her with a steaming kettle and a bright grin. No faded housecoat—just a sleek cream trouser suit. Manicured nails, fresh highlights, lashes fluttering. She looked alive.
— So, how’s Daniel? — she asked, setting down teacups.
— Fine, — Emily bit back the rest. — You?
— Brilliant! Out with the girls last night—dancing, karaoke, didn’t get back till sunrise. What a laugh!
— Mrs. Whitmore told me, — Emily cut in darkly. — That you rolled in at five, drunk.
Her mother laughed.
— Well, what did you expect? Pints of lemonade?
Emily snapped.
— Mum, don’t you think you’re taking this too far?
— Taking what too far?
— You’re not twenty. Nightclubs? Dancing? You’re meant to be—I don’t know—setting an example. You’ll be a grandmother soon!
— I’m a woman who’s finally free. And I won’t live by anyone else’s rules.
— But you spent thirty years with Dad! How can you just erase that?
A pause. Then, quiet but steel:
— Your father betrayed me. Not a mistake—a choice. And I won’t be a servant anymore. I want to live. For myself. Thirty years I gave that family. Now? No one tells me what to do.
— But you’re nearly fifty!
— So? My age doesn’t come with a dress code.
Emily faltered.
— Sorry. I didn’t mean—I just worry.
— If you’re ashamed, don’t invite me to the wedding. But I won’t hide my wrinkles or wear frumpy skirts. I’ll dance. Maybe even flirt. I’m happy.
— No, Mum, I want you there. It’s just—
— Just old Mrs. Whitmore tutting? Let her. I’m finally alive.
That evening, Emily confessed it all to Daniel.
— I don’t know how to feel.
He just chuckled.
— Think your mum’s bloody brilliant. Chose joy over misery. Since when’s happiness a crime?
Come Saturday, Emily rang her mother.
— Fancy a spa day? Then cocktails with live music?
— Won’t I embarrass you?
— I’ll say you’re my big sister, — Emily laughed.
— Deal. But we’re not leaving early.
That night changed everything. For the first time, Emily saw the fire in her mother—the strength to live not as she should, but as she pleased. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was something to learn from that.
