Too Late to Turn Back: No Way Home
“Well, Eleanor Whitmore, we’ve patched you up and given you our advice. Now, don’t overdo it—look after yourself,” the doctor smiled, patted her shoulder, and held the door open for her as she stepped out with her bags.
Eleanor felt a lump in her throat. Though the hospital stay had been unpleasant, she’d almost enjoyed it. A rare chance to rest. Lately, she’d been running herself ragged. Working like a carthorse, afraid to even ask for a day off. The dizziness, the exhaustion, the headaches—she’d ignored them all. Then came the breakdown, her heart giving out, a month in hospital. Her mother nearly collapsed from worry beside her.
But Gavin, her husband? Not a care in the world. As if he hadn’t even noticed she was gone. Or maybe he genuinely hadn’t—the moment Eleanor left, his mother had moved in. With her pots, her rags, and her endless lectures.
“Ellie dear, you must understand—our Gavin is still such a child. Who else will take care of him if not me? You have your mother, but I’ll look after my little boy,” his mother cooed over the phone.
Eleanor clenched her teeth. Years of teaching him independence—wasted. Cooking, cleaning, responsibility—all dissolved like sugar in tea. Now she was the wicked witch again, and his mum the fairy godmother, “rescuing” him from his cruel wife. Though who was really the tyrant?
The early years of marriage had been unbearable. His mother had meddled in everything—even calling them in bed: “Are you asleep? Or is something… not as it should be?” Horrifying.
They’d met oddly enough. Eleanor had stormed out after a fight with a “friend” who’d betrayed her. As she walked, fuming at life’s unfairness, a man nearly fell from a tree—or rather, a branch. She looked up, and there was Greg, stuck.
“Are you mad? Trying to kill yourself?” she snapped.
“Rescuing a cat!” he huffed.
There was no cat, of course. Whiskers had run off, but Greg stayed. She fetched a ladder and rope, helped him down. That was how they met. How their story began—pretty on the surface, rotten underneath.
After the wedding, she quickly realised her husband wasn’t just helpless. He was a child. Couldn’t wash a dish, take out the bins—everything came with whining. She carried it all: the mortgage, work, her sick mother. He just complained to his mum, who then scolded her. So, Eleanor took his upbringing into her own hands. And, admittedly, succeeded.
Greg changed. Learned to cook, clean, even showed initiative. His mother retreated—though she sometimes sulked, mourning her “poor boy.” But it was under control. Until the hospital.
Now it was back to square one. She called Greg—silence. Strange. Monday was his day off; he should’ve been home. She tried his mother—no answer. Her stomach twisted. She took a cab home, unease gnawing at her.
At the door, key in hand—it swung open before she could turn it. A stranger stood there.
“Who are you?” Eleanor asked coolly.
“I’m Marina. Gregory’s girlfriend. And you, sweetheart, don’t live here anymore. So be a dear and disappear.”
Eleanor froze. Before she could process it, the door slammed.
“I’ll bring your things out,” came the voice inside.
Bags began appearing, one by one, on the doorstep. Stepping neatly over the mistress, Eleanor sat on her checked suitcase and dialled the police. She hadn’t slaved away just to hand everything to a traitor.
When the officers arrived, she kicked them both out—Greg and his “new little princess.” He stayed silent, but the girlfriend tried protesting.
“This is his flat too! You can’t throw us out!”
“I can,” Eleanor said calmly. “It’s in my name. Go cry to Mummy.”
When the door closed behind them, she exhaled for the first time in years. She aired the flat, tossed out their bedsheets, and filed for divorce. At first, it hurt. Then… it felt like freedom.
A month later, lounging in bed on a Sunday, her phone rang.
“Gavin,” she muttered. Then answered.
“Ellie, love… I miss you. No one here cares. It’s all Mum’s fault. Take me back…”
She listened, silent. Then burst out laughing.
“Are you serious? After everything?”
He kept babbling like a schoolboy. She hung up, leaned back, and smirked.
“Well then,” she said to herself. “I thought life was over. Turns out, it’s only just begun.”
