**The Shadow of the Past**
*— If it weren’t for you, we’d be living like proper people!* Victor’s voice trembled with bitter anger as he glared at his wife.
*— Please, stop,* Anna replied softly, her eyes downcast. *How many times must we have this conversation?*
*— As many as it takes!* he snapped. *Until you admit you ruined everything!*
Their wedding had been nearly thirty years ago.
When Victor first stepped into this flat in a small town in Yorkshire and awkwardly greeted Anna’s parents, he was twenty-two—a lean young man from the countryside, without much ambition but with bright eyes and dreams of a better life. He hadn’t inspired much confidence in them.
*— Just look at him,* her father muttered. *No education, no decent job, not a penny to his name. How will you live?*
*— Annie, think this through,* her mother chimed in. *What about when children come? Maybe don’t rush?*
*— It’s too late,* Anna whispered.
*— What do you mean, ‘too late’?* Her parents stiffened.
*— I’m expecting a baby.*
*— Right,* her father said after a pause. *We’ll have the wedding. You’ll live here.*
*— We wanted to rent a place,* Anna protested weakly.
*— What for?* Her mother threw up her hands. *There’s enough room. You need rest now, proper meals. No, your father’s right—you’ll stay with us.*
The couple were given a spacious room, allowed to furnish it as they pleased. It was agreed they’d be one family for the time being.
*— There’s only one mistress in this house,* her father said sternly. *Your mother runs things. You two*—he glanced at his daughter—*will contribute to food and rent. How much? Mum will decide. Don’t worry, she won’t take more than fair. Agreed?*
Anna and Victor nodded in unison.
*— And one more thing,* her father’s voice hardened. *Your mother’s word is law. Whatever she says, you do. Understood?*
*— Understood, Dad,* Anna hurried to end the discussion, seeing how uneasy Victor was. *We agree to everything. Thank you for having us.*
*— Don’t exaggerate,* her father softened. *This is your home. The question is how we’ll get along. I hope we’ll find common ground.*
And they did, in a way. Anna’s father, though never fond of his son-in-law, kept his distance—never meddling, never lecturing. Not once did he slight Victor outright. Her mother was a kind woman, treating him like her own.
Or so they thought. Victor saw things differently.
*— They drive me mad, especially your mum,* he whispered to Anna. *‘Son’ this, ‘son’ that—I’m not her son! And your dad? Smiles, but his eyes are full of contempt. We never should’ve stayed. We need our own place.*
*— Vic, what place?* Anna fought to keep her voice steady. *I’m due soon. Mum will 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 flared up. *Then they should act like it, not play at being parents!*
*— No one’s playing,* Anna retorted, hurt. *You’re imagining things. We should be grateful to live here! Do you even know what rent costs? Or what your wages cover? How would we survive? On my maternity pay?*
She broke into tears.
*— So my wages aren’t good enough?* Victor exploded. *And stop crying! This is all your fault!*
Anna never understood what her fault was. Nor could she grasp what truly angered him.
For Victor, everything was wrong—the house, his factory job, his in-laws (who he barely tolerated), and Anna’s endless pregnancy. Back in his village, things were simpler: the man was master, his word final. But here? Some woman dictating his life!
Where this resentment might’ve led, no one knew. Then tragedy struck.
Anna’s father died suddenly, holding his newborn granddaughter—a beautiful little girl—for just two days.
After the funeral, her mother, weeping, made them promise not to leave her alone.
*— I can’t imagine living here without him,* she sobbed. Refusing was impossible.
Now, Anna and Victor had two rooms. Her mother moved into the smaller one, relinquishing control of the house, saying she needed little—let the young ones decide how to live.
Victor sighed in relief. He felt like the man of the house at last. And his true nature, long suppressed, began to show.
Soon, Anna and her mother felt like debtors, forever owing Victor for his ‘support.’ He never counted Anna’s maternity pay or her mother’s pension. *I provide for you*—end of discussion.
Years passed. Anna returned to work, their daughter Lily started school, and Victor remained at the factory.
One evening, the doorbell rang. It was Victor’s cousin, Paul, who’d come with a proposition: he was opening a garage in town. Laid out the plans, swore it would take off, that in a couple of years they’d have a chain. He offered Victor a partnership.
*— Me? A partner?* Victor was stunned. *I know nothing about this!*
*— We invest together, split the profits. Simple!* Paul clapped him on the shoulder. *Take the leap, mate!*
Victor was hooked. He pictured a new house, a flash car, himself on a beach under palm trees—everything he’d dreamed of.
Only one hurdle: where to get the money?
*— No problem!* Paul waved it off. *I’m selling my flat. That’ll cover the start-up.*
Victor looked at Anna. She was clearly against it.
Paul left, giving them time to think, and Victor began pressing his wife.
*— This is our chance! There won’t be another!*
*— How do you see this working?* Anna argued. *Where would we live with a child? And Mum? She’d never agree. It’s too risky.*
Victor pleaded, debated, but Anna held firm. She wouldn’t sell the house.
Two weeks later, Paul called. Hearing their refusal, he snapped:
*— Your loss. You’ll regret it when it’s too late.* Then he hung up.
Life went on. Lily finished school, Anna worked, her mother kept house, and Victor—with hollow eyes—became a fifth-grade mechanic.
The smell of fried potatoes and garlic mingled with the drone of the telly, where the newsreader droned on about new sanctions. Victor pushed his food around, leaving neat fork tracks on his plate.
*— Paul called,* he said suddenly, not looking up. *Bought a house in the countryside. With a pool.*
Anna slowly set down her spoon. She knew what came next: news about his cousin, a pause, accusations, a week of icy silence.
*— Good for him,* she said, keeping her tone even.
*— Good for him?!* Victor slammed his fork down; it clattered against the plate. *He’s got everything! And us? And you know why? Because you clung to your mum’s apron strings and held me back!*
The door banged—Lily fled the kitchen. She’d long since learned to escape these arguments.
Anna went to the window. Snow fell outside, just like that evening years ago when Victor first held her at the bus stop. Back then, he’d smelled of dreams.
*— We could’ve sold the house,* he said dully, as if speaking from underground. *Invested. Lived properly.*
Anna turned. The familiar ache in his eyes—he was already living that other life, the one where everything had worked out.
*— And if we’d lost everything?* she asked, steadying her voice.
*— At least I’d have tried!*
She closed her eyes. Imagined them in a rented room, Lily ashamed of her home, her mother coughing in the corner…
*— Maybe you’re right,* she said unexpectedly. *We should’ve taken the risk.*
Victor froze. He’d waited years to hear those words. Now, they were ashes.
*— See!* He laughed bitterly. *You admit it!*
*— I do, just don’t shout. You’ll wake Mum.*
*— I’m awake,* her mother said, sitting beside them. *Heard it all. Annie, he’s right—you should’ve risked it. I’d have supported you…*
The kitchen fell silent, thick as the snow outside.
*— So you’ve decided now?* Victor burst out. *After all your ‘Mum won’t allow it’? Because of you, we have nothing!*
*— We have a family,**— A family?!* he sneered, but the fire in his voice had dulled, leaving only exhaustion—the same tired argument, the same unsaid words between them, like an old wound that never fully heals.
