*The Shadow of Yesterday*
“If it weren’t for you, we’d be living properly by now!” Victor glared at his wife, bitterness twisting his voice into a trembling snarl.
“Please, stop this,” Anna murmured without lifting her eyes. “How many times must we go over it?”
“As many as it takes!” he barked. “Until you admit you ruined everything!”
Their wedding had been almost thirty years ago.
When Victor first stepped into this flat in a quiet Midlands town, awkwardly shaking hands with Anna’s parents, he was twenty-two—a gaunt lad from the countryside with no grand ambitions but a fire in his eyes and dreams of something bigger. They didn’t trust him.
“Look at him,” her father muttered. “No education, no proper job, not a penny to his name. How will you even live?”
“Annie, think this through,” her mother chimed in. “Children will come—how will you raise them? Maybe don’t rush?”
“Too late,” Anna exhaled, barely audible.
“What do you mean, ‘too late’?” her parents stiffened.
“I’m expecting.”
“Right,” her father said after a weighted pause. “We’ll have the wedding. You’ll live here.”
“We wanted to rent a place,” Anna protested faintly.
“Why?” Her mother threw up her hands. “There’s room enough. You need rest now, good food. No, your father’s right—you’ll stay with us.”
The newlyweds were given the spacious back bedroom, free to arrange it as they pleased. They agreed—for now, they’d be one household.
“Only one woman runs this house,” her father said sternly. “Your mother’s word is law. You two—” he eyed his daughter, “—will chip in for food and rent. How much? Your mother will decide. Don’t worry, she won’t cheat you. Agreed?”
Anna and Victor nodded in unison.
“One more thing.” Her father’s voice turned sharp. “What your mother says, goes. Understood?”
“Understood, Dad.” Anna hurried to end it, seeing Victor’s discomfort. “We’re grateful for your kindness.”
“Don’t exaggerate.” Her father softened slightly. “This is your home now. Question is, can we stand each other? Hope we’ll manage.”
And manage they did—at least, that’s how Anna’s parents saw it. Her father, though unimpressed by his son-in-law, stayed civil. Never meddled, never lectured. Never once slighted Victor outright. Her mother doted on him like her own.
That’s what they thought. Victor saw it differently.
“Your parents drive me mad, especially your mum,” he hissed to Anna. “‘Love’ this, ‘love’ that. I’m not her son. And your dad? All smiles, but his eyes are full of scorn. We never should’ve stayed. Should’ve found our own place.”
“Vic, what place?” Anna fought to keep calm. “I’m due soon. Mum’ll help with the baby. And Dad… he respects you. Maybe doesn’t love you, but that’s normal—you’re strangers. He’s not a boy.”
“Exactly—strangers!” Victor snapped. “Then why act like parents?”
“No one’s acting,” Anna shot back. “You’re imagining things. We should be grateful we live here! Have you checked rent prices? Your wages? What would we live on? My maternity pay?”
She burst into tears.
“So my pay’s not good enough?” Victor exploded. “And stop crying! This is your fault!”
What fault, Anna never grasped. Just as she never understood why her husband was always fuming.
And Victor hated everything: the house, his factory job, his in-laws (barely tolerated), his wife’s endless pregnancy. Back in his village, life was simple—the man ruled. Here? Some stranger dictated his life!
Where this resentment might’ve led, no one knew. Then grief struck.
Anna’s father died suddenly—just days after cradling his newborn granddaughter.
After the funeral, her mother, weeping, made them promise not to abandon her.
“I can’t bear this house without him,” she sobbed. Refusal was unthinkable.
Now Anna and Victor had two rooms. Her mother took the small one, relinquishing control—”I need little,” she said. “You decide things now.”
Victor breathed easy at last. Felt like the man of the house. And promptly showed the temper he’d long suppressed.
Soon, Anna and her mother felt like debtors—Victor never let them forget he “kept” them, ignoring Anna’s wages and his mother-in-law’s pension. “I provide” was his mantra.
Years passed. Anna returned to work. Their daughter, Lizzie, started nursery. Victor stayed at the factory.
Then, one evening, the doorbell rang. Victor’s cousin, Paul, stood there, brimming with news—he was opening a garage in town. Laid out his plans, swore it’d boom, promised a chain within years. Offered Victor partnership.
“Me? A partner?” Victor gaped. “I know nothing about cars!”
“We split costs, split profits. Simple!” Paul clapped his shoulder. “Take the leap, mate!”
Victor’s mind raced—a new house, a posh car, beaches under palm trees. Everything he’d dreamed of!
Only one hitch: the money.
“No worries!” Paul waved it off. “I’m selling my flat. That’ll cover startup.”
Victor looked at Anna. Her face said no.
Paul left, giving them time, and Victor began his campaign.
“This is our chance! We won’t get another!”
“How d’you see this working?” Anna countered. “Where would we go? With a child? And Mum? She’d never agree. It’s too risky.”
He argued, pleaded—Anna held firm. No selling the house.
Two weeks later, Paul called. Hearing the refusal, he spat:
“Your loss. You’ll regret this.” Click.
Life rolled on. Lizzie finished school, Anna worked, Victor’s mother kept house, and Victor, hollow-eyed, became a senior mechanic.
The smell of fried potatoes and garlic mixed with the TV’s drone—some newsreader droning about sanctions. Victor pushed food around his plate, fork scraping.
“Paul rang,” he said suddenly, eyes down. “Bought a country house. With a pool.”
Anna slowly set her spoon down. She knew the script—Paul’s news, the pause, the blame, the week of icy silence.
“Good for him,” she said evenly.
“Good?!” Victor’s fork clattered against china. “He’s got everything! And us? And d’you know why? Because you clung to your mum’s apron strings and held me back!”
A door slammed—Lizzie fled the kitchen. She’d long since started vanishing when these rows began.
Anna went to the window. Snow fell, just like that night at the bus stop when Victor first held her. He’d smelled of dreams then.
“We could’ve sold the house,” his voice came, grave-deep. “Invested. Lived properly.”
Anna turned. His eyes held that familiar ache—he was already living the life where he’d won.
“And if we’d failed?” she asked, steadying her voice.
“I’d have tried!”
She shut her eyes. Saw it—a rented room, Lizzie ashamed to bring friends home, her mother coughing in a corner…
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, startling herself. “We should’ve risked it.”
Victor froze. He’d waited years for those words. Now they tasted like ash.
“See!” He laughed, sharp as broken glass. “You admit it!”
“I do, but lower your voice. You’ll wake Mum.”
“I’m awake,” his mother-in-law said, sitting beside them. “Heard it all. Vic’s right—you should’ve risked it. I’d have backed you…”
The kitchen silence thickened like the snow outside.
“So it was your decision?” Victor shouted. “All along, you claimed she was against it! Because of you, we have nothing!”
“We have a family,” Anna said softly.
“Family?” He scoffed. “A daughter who hides from us? A wife who nags?”
Something in Anna shattered.
“And you?” Her voice hardened. “What have you done but blame me? You could’ve changed jobs, achieved something!”
Victor recoiled like he’d been struck.
“You… don’t get it.”
“I get that you’re scared,” Anna stepped closer. “Scared to admit it’s you. Even with money, you’d still be complaining!”
He stood, head bowed, silent.
Anna waited. One second. Two.
“I’m tired,” he croaked. “Tired of waking up knowing life’s passed me by.”
She touched his hand.
“Then let’s live what’s left.”
Victor shuddered. Next door, music swelled—Lizzie had returned.
“IHe looked at her, the anger draining away, and for the first time in years, they sat together in silence, the weight of the past no heavier than the snow melting outside.
