“Shut up,” the man snapped, tossing his suitcase onto the floor. “I’m leaving you and this stagnant life you call home.”
“Stagnant?” Emily turned slowly from the stove, where shed been frying potatoes for dinner.
“This ‘stagnant life’ fed your mother for twenty years while she went from doctor to doctor. Forgotten already?”
“Whats Mum got to do with this? Dont you dare bring her into it!”
“Everything, James. While you were chasing ‘big opportunities’ in London, I was here caring for your bedridden mother. Changing her diapers, if you must know.”
James stood in the doorway of their two-bedroom flat, dressed in a sharp new suit, his suitcase at his feet. Emily hadnt seen him look this polished in yearstrim, tanned, smelling of expensive cologne. A far cry from the factory days when hed come home reeking of engine oil.
She remembered how theyd met. A dance at the factory social club, him a young mechanic, her from accounting. Hed spun her around to “Careless Whisper,” whispering silly things in her ear. Then came their modest weddingthirty guests, prawn cocktail, and cheap prosecco. His mother had wept with joy, hugging Emily tight: “Thank you, love, for taming my Jimmy.”
Tamed him? Twenty-two years theyd shared. Raised a daughter, Sophie. Now in med school, scraping by on loans and Emilys extra tutoring shifts. James hadnt given a penny in three yearsevery bit went into his “business ventures.” What business? Emily still didnt know. A garage one month, a delivery service the next. All failures.
“You just dont get it,” James muttered, lighting a cigarette right there in the hallway. “Daves offered me a job in London. Runs a chain of car washeswants me to manage one. Theyll even put me up in a flat.”
“Going alone?” Emily wiped her hands on her apron. They trembled, but her voice stayed steady.
“Not alone.” James looked away. “With Chloe. She… understands me. Believes in me.”
Chloe. Emily had known about her for months. Saw the texts when James was in the shower”babe,” “sweetheart,” “miss you.” Twenty-eight years old. Worked at the dealership where James had eyed a car on financea loan Emily was still paying off from her teachers salary.
“What about Sophie?” Emily asked. “Your daughter. She graduates next year.”
“Shell understand. I cant live like this anymore. Im forty-five, Em. Still young enough to start over.”
Emily moved to the window. Outside, their neighbour Margaret was hanging laundry. She spotted Emily and waved. Margaret knew everythingabout Chloe, about James barely coming home these past six months. Shed bring round pies, saying, “Hang in there, love.”
“Remember,” Emily said softly, “when Sophie was five? Pneumonia, the doctors were baffled. You worked double shifts for her medicine. I sat by her bed day and night. You said, ‘Were a family, Em. Well get through anything.'”
“That was ages ago.”
“Fifteen years. Or when your mum had her stroke? Who dragged her to appointments? Who stayed up nights turning her to prevent bedsores? Me, James. You were always ‘busy.’ What business? Chasing pipe dreams.”
James stubbed his cigarette on the windowsill. Emily wincednew sill, saved up for it herself.
“You never forget a thing,” he spat. “Only the rubbish. What about the good times? That holiday to Brighton?”
“Ten years ago. A week in a B&B.”
“Nothings ever enough for you!”
Emily faced him. Tears pricked her eyes, but she wouldnt let them fall. Not for him.
“Know what, James? Go. Run off with Chloe. But let me tell you this: I cared for your mum till the end. Two years of spoon-feeding, bathing, pills. Where were you? ‘Working’? On what? You havent held a job properly in five years.”
“I was trying! For this family!”
“For us?” Emily scoffed. “Sophie works night shifts as a nurse to afford textbooks because Dads playing entrepreneur. I teach two jobs and tutor evenings. Who were you trying for?”
James gripped his suitcase handle, silent.
“Funny thing,” Emily continued. “Your mums last words to me: ‘Forgive him, love. Hes weak. Always was. Thank you for enduring.’ I didnt understand then. I do now.”
“Dont!” James exploded. “Dont call me weak! Im suffocating here! In this flat, this town, with you! Youll bury me with your bloody perfection!”
“My perfection?” Emily laugheddry, sharp. “Ive spent years biting my tongue. When you stumbled in drunk. When money vanished from savingsanother ‘project.’ When you reeked of another womans perfume. I thought youd grow out of it. For family.”
She opened the cupboard, pulled out a folder. James stiffened.
“Whats that?”
“Divorce papers. Prepared a month ago. Waited to see if youd leave first. Or me. But you beat me to itwell done. Sign them.”
James gaped. “You… knew?”
“Im not stupid. Gave you a chance. Gave myself onemaybe I was wrong. I wasnt.”
“The flat” he started.
“Mine. Left by my mum. Youre on the lease, but youve no claim. Try court, but heres the rubyouve no tax records for three years. Fancy paying child support? Sophies still a studentSection 8 of the Family Law Act, if youd care to check.”
James grabbed the pen, scrawled his name, flung the folder aside.
“Happy now? Twenty-two years down the drain?”
Emily studied himthe grey at his temples, the lines by his eyes. Once, hed been her whole world. Now, a stranger.
“Not wasted. Weve got Sophie. Clever, kind, hardworking. Takes after me,” she smiled sadly. “And thank youfor the good years. You just lost your way. Or maybe I never saw you clearly.”
James hoisted his suitcase. Paused in the doorway.
“Youll regret this. Youll be lonely.”
“I wont. Ive Sophie. My work. Friends. Know what? Ill finally take ballroom lessons. Always wanted to learn the waltz. You said Id two left feet. Well see.”
The door slammed. Emily stood in the silence, then returned to the kitchen. The potatoes were burnt. She dumped the pan, opened the windowair it out.
Her phone rang. Sophie.
“Mum, you alright? Margaret calledsaid Dad left with a suitcase.”
“Im fine, love. Dinner later?”
“Mum… Are you crying?”
“No,” Emily wasnt. “Chopping onions. Making salad.”
“Im coming over. Right after my shift.”
“Dont, Soph. Youve exams tomorrow.”
“Mum, stop. Im on my way. And… I love you. Youre the strongest person I know.”
Emily hung up. From the fridge, she took a bottle of winea Teachers Day gift, saved for a special occasion. Poured half a glass, raised it to the sunset gilding the rooftops.
“To new beginnings,” she murmured.
Below, a taxi door thudded shut. James loaded his case, and a young blonde waved from the carChloe. Emily had seen her at the dealership once. Nothing remarkable. Just young.
Margaret called up from the garden: “Emily! Brought you a pie! Cheese and onion, your favourite!”
Emily smiled. Properly, for the first time in months. The divorce papers lay on the table, beside the keys James had left. She picked them up, weighed them in her palm.
Tomorrow, shed change the locks. Sign up for dance class. Maybe even get that bob cut shed fancied.
Tonight, shed share wine with Margaret, eat warm pie, and not dwell on the future. Because the future was hers. No looking back at the one who walked away.
Her phone rang again. Unknown number.
“Mrs. Thompson? This is Kings College Medical School. Your daughters been awarded the Chancellors Scholarship. Congratulations! Sophies a credit to us all!”
Emily finally let the tears fall. But they were happy ones.
Sometimes the hardest endings plant the seeds for the brightest beginnings.
