“Quiet Divorce”
“Laura, have you lost your mind?!” shrieked Emily through the phone. “How could you get a divorce in secret? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Keep it down,” Laura murmured, pulling the phone away from her ear and glancing at the kitchen door. “The kids are home.”
“What kids? They’re in their thirties! Laura, do you realise what you’ve done? Twenty-eight years of marriage, and just like that—divorce!”
“Emily, please stop shouting. This is hard enough as it is.”
“But why keep it quiet? We’ve been friends since uni! I could’ve helped you, supported you…”
Laura pressed the phone to her chest and closed her eyes. God, she was so tired of these conversations. First, it was Sarah from work, then Aunt Margaret, and now Emily. It was like they’d all been waiting for an excuse to gossip.
“Laura? You still there?” crackled the phone.
“I’m here,” she said, bringing it back to her ear. “I just don’t want to talk about it.”
“How can you not want to talk? This is massive! You’re the first in our group to get divorced. Just tell me something. Was he cheating?”
“No, he didn’t cheat.”
“Drinking, then?”
“That either.”
“Then what? Laura, you have to give me something!”
Laura sighed. How could she explain to Emily that she was just… tired? Tired of grey weekdays, the same conversations, the feeling of living someone else’s life?
“I was tired, Emily. That’s all.”
“Tired of what? Tom’s a decent bloke—doesn’t drink, doesn’t hit you, earns well.”
“Exactly. A decent bloke. Just not mine.”
“What are you on about? How is he ‘not yours’? You lived together for twenty-eight years!”
Noise came from the hallway. Laura hurriedly said goodbye and hung up. Her daughter, Sophie, walked in carrying a bag of groceries.
“Mum, hi,” she said, setting the bag on the table and studying her mother. “You look pale.”
“Just a headache.”
“Was that Aunt Emily again? I heard you sounding all defensive.”
Laura nodded. Sophie started unpacking the shopping, avoiding her mother’s gaze.
“Mum… do you regret it?” she asked suddenly.
“Regret what?”
“The divorce. Leaving Dad.”
Laura looked at her daughter. Sophie had the same dark hair and grey eyes as she did at that age—only Sophie had a steely resolve Laura had never possessed.
“I don’t know yet, love.”
“And Dad? Does he regret it?”
“We haven’t talked about that.”
Sophie turned to face her.
“Mum, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Did you… ever actually love Dad?”
Laura froze, teacup in hand. Where had that come from?
“Why would you think that?”
“I’ve watched you my whole life. You never hugged, never kissed, not even hand-holding. Like flatmates, not husband and wife.”
“Sophie, don’t say that. Your dad’s a good man.”
“He is, yeah. But you didn’t love him. And I don’t think he loved you either.”
Laura set down the cup. Her daughter was right. She’d never loved Tom. Married him because it was expected—friends settling down, parents nudging her.
“Mum… who did you love?” Sophie asked softly.
“Why does that matter?”
“Just curious. Everyone deserves a great love sometime.”
Laura turned to the window. Of course there’d been love. Jonathan from the next block over—med student, clever, dreamy. They’d met in secret because her parents thought him “unsuitable.”
“Medicine’s not a job, it’s a calling,” he’d say. “I’ll save lives.”
“And I’ll be right beside you,” Laura would reply.
But her parents pushed her toward Tom—stability, a house, a sensible match. Jonathan was sent up north for his training. He wrote letters, called, even visited. But by then, Laura was married, expecting her first child.
“Mum… are you crying?” Sophie asked, alarmed.
“No, just tired eyes.”
Sophie hugged her.
“Y’know, Mum, I get it. Better alone than miserable together.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely. Look at you since the divorce—lost weight, cut your hair, bought new clothes. Like you’ve woken up.”
Laura caught her reflection in the window. It was true. Before, she wore the same grey jumpers, hair in a bun. Now? Colours, layers, a proper haircut.
“How did James take the news?” Sophie asked.
“Not well. Said I’d ruined the family.”
“Oh please. James was always Dad’s shadow. He’ll come round.”
Laura nodded. Her son had always bonded with Tom—fishing, fixing the car, footie matches. Sophie? Always her mother’s girl.
“Mum… ever thought of marrying again?” Sophie asked, filling the kettle.
“Sophie, I’m fifty-three. Who’d have me?”
“Don’t be daft. Aunt Helen remarried at fifty-five and she’s thriving.”
“Helen’s the exception.”
“Why? You’re gorgeous. And free now.”
Free. A word Laura hadn’t dared say aloud. Free from Tom’s 7am breakfasts, his socks on the bedroom floor, his chatter about work, football, neighbours’ new cars.
Yet with freedom came loneliness. Evenings alone, no one to vent to, no shared laughter.
“Sophie… do you think I did the wrong thing?”
“No. You did what you should’ve years ago.”
Sophie poured tea and sat beside her.
“Y’know, Mum, I used to wish you’d divorce Dad.”
“What?!” Laura nearly dropped her cup.
“Don’t freak out. It’s just—you were both so unhappy. Dad always grumpy, you always sad. House felt like a morgue.”
“We tried to hide it—”
“Kids notice, Mum. We always do.”
Laura went quiet. All those years playing happy families, and her children saw right through it.
“Now look at you,” Sophie continued. “Glowing. Italian classes, book club—living finally.”
“But people talk. They think I’ve gone mad.”
“Who cares what they think? You’re not living for them.”
The doorbell rang.
“Mum, it’s Aunt Sarah,” Sophie called from the hall.
Laura winced. Sarah from work—professional busybody.
“Laura, darling!” Sarah swept in like a hurricane. “Tell me everything! I’ve been beside myself!”
“Hello, Sarah. Tea?”
“Please, please. Laura, how—just how? I could never.”
“Why not?”
“Alone at fifty-three? It’s terrifying!”
Laura poured the tea. “What’s scary? Kids grown, job’s secure, health’s decent.”
“But the loneliness! Who’ll want you now?”
“Who wanted me in the marriage? Tom treated me like furniture.”
“At least he didn’t cheat.”
“Sarah… do you love your husband?” Laura asked bluntly.
“Of course! What kind of question—”
“Actually love him? Or just used to him?”
Sarah stirred her tea. “Well… love’s a strong word. But we’re family. Shared history, habits.”
“Exactly. Habit. And for me, that wasn’t enough.”
“At our age, romance is done with. Stability matters more.”
“Why’s romance ‘done’?” Sophie cut in, returning. “Mum’s still young.”
“Sophie, adults are talking,” Sarah snipped.
“Why shouldn’t I? I’m her daughter. I see how happy she is now.”
Sarah pursed her lips. “Children shouldn’t celebrate divorce.”
“We’re not celebrating the divorce,” Sophie said calmly. “We’re celebrating Mum finally living for herself.”
“Selfish, that’s what it is,” Sarah muttered.
“And living for others is what? Doing what’s expected forever?” Laura challenged.
“Well… yes. Family, kids, husband. That’s life.”
“And what about me? Don’t I count?”
Sarah hesitated. “Of course. But what can you do? That’s just how it is.”
James walked in—tall, broad-shouldered, Tom’s double. He kissed Laura’s cheek.
“Mum, can we talk?”
“Of course. Sarah, excuse us.”
As Sarah left, James sat down.
“Dad says he’s willing to reconcile.”
Laura exhaled. Tom’s third attempt via the kids.
“James, it’s too late. The divorce is final.”
“But you could withdraw the papers. Mum, Dad’s really struggling.”
“And I didn’t struggle for twenty-eight years?”
“Mum, come on. You had a fine marriage. No rows, no dramaLaura gently placed her hand on James’s shoulder and smiled, finally at peace with her choice and the new life ahead of her.
