**Diary Entry**
“Shut up,” my husband barked, slamming the suitcase onto the floor. “I’m leaving you and this bloody swamp you call a life.”
“A swamp?” I turned slowly from the stove, where Id been frying potatoes for dinner.
“This swamp fed your mother for twenty years while she went from doctor to doctor. Forgotten that?”
“Whats Mum got to do with it? Dont you dare bring her into this!”
“Everything, *Victor*. While you were off chasing your ‘big deals’ in London, *I* was here looking after your paralysed mother. Changing her nappies, if you must know.”
Victor stood in the doorway of our two-bed council flat, dressed in a sharp new suit, suitcase at his feet. I hadnt seen him look this polished in yearstrim, tanned, smelling of expensive cologne. Nothing like the man who used to come home from the factory reeking of grease.
I remembered how we met. A dance at the local social clubhim, a young mechanic; me, the accountants assistant. He spun me around to *Careless Whisper*, whispering silly things in my ear. Then came the modest weddingthirty guests, prawn cocktail, and a bottle of cheap bubbly. His mother had wept with joy, hugging me tight. “Thank you, love, for taming my Vicky.”
Tamed him, had I? Twenty-two years wed been married. Raised our daughter, Lucy. Now shes at med school, scraping by on her grant and whatever I can spare from tutoring. Victor hadnt given us a penny in three yearspoured it all into his ‘business ventures.’ What business? God knows. One week it was a car wash, the next it was haulage. All of it went belly-up.
“You just dont get it,” Victor snapped, lighting a fag right there in the hallway. “Daves offered me a job in London. Runs a chain of car washeswants me to manage one. Even sorted a flat.”
“Going alone?” I wiped my hands on my apron. They were shaking, but my voice stayed steady.
“Not alone.” He looked away. “With Emily. She… *gets* me. Believes in me.”
Emily. Id known about her for months. Seen the texts on his phone while he was in the shower. *Kitten. Sweetheart. Miss you.* Twenty-eight years, and now Im replaced by a *kitten*. Some salesgirl at the dealership where Victor had been eyeing up a caron finance, mind you, which *Ive* been paying off from my teachers salary.
“And what about Lucy?” I asked. “*Your* daughter. She graduates next year.”
“Shell understand. I cant live like this anymore, Margaret. Im forty-five. Still young enough to start over.”
I walked to the window. Our neighbour, Gladys, was hanging laundry outside. She spotted me, gave a little wave. Gladys knew *everything*about Emily, about Victor only coming home to sleep these past six months. Shed bring round pies, muttering, “Chin up, love.”
“Remember,” I said quietly, “when Lucy was five? Pneumonia. Doctors didnt hold out much hope. You worked double shifts for the medicine. I sat by her bed day and night. You said, Were family, Margaret. Well get through anything.”
“That was a lifetime ago.”
“Fifteen years. Or when your mum had her stroke? Who took her to appointments? Who stayed up nights turning her so she wouldnt get bedsores? *Me*, Victor. You were always busy. What business? Chasing pipe dreams, more like.”
He stubbed out his fag on the windowsill. I wincednewly replaced last month, saved up for out of my own pocket.
“You never let anything go,” he spat. “All the bad times, etched in stone. What about the good? That holiday in Brighton?”
“Ten years ago. *One* week.”
“Nothings ever enough for you!”
I turned to face him. Tears pricked, but I wouldnt let them fall. Not for him.
“Know what, Victor? Go. Run off with Emily. But heres the thingI looked after your mum till the end. Two years of spoon-feeding, washing her, giving meds. And where were you? Working? On *what*? Youve barely held a job in five years.”
“I *tried*! For this family!”
“For the family? Lucys pulling night shifts as a care assistant to afford textbooks because *Dads* playing entrepreneur. Im working two teaching jobs *and* tutoring. Who were you trying for?”
He said nothing, gripping the suitcase handle.
“Funniest bit?” I continued. “Your mum told me before she died, Forgive him, darling. Hes weak. Always was. Thank you for putting up with him. I didnt understand then. I do now.”
“Dont you *dare*” he exploded. “Im not weak! Im *suffocating* here! In this flat, this town, with *you*! Your bloody *perfection* will be the death of me!”
“My perfection?” I laughedcold, sharp. “Ive spent years biting my tongue. When you came home pissed. When money vanished from savings for your latest venture. When you reeked of someone elses perfume. I thought youd grow out of it. For family.”
I opened the cupboard, pulled out a folder. Victor stiffened.
“Whats that?”
“Divorce papers. Prepared them a month ago. Waited to see if youd make the first moveor me. But you beat me to it. Well done. Sign them.”
He gaped at the documents.
“You… *knew*?”
“Im not stupid. Gave you a chance. Gave *myself* onemaybe I was wrong. I wasnt.”
“The flat” he started.
“Is *mine*. Left to me by my mum. Youre on the lease, but thats it. Take me to courtgood luck proving youve contributed lately. And Lucys maintenance? Shes still a full-time student.”
He snatched the pen, scrawled his signature, then hurled the folder onto the sideboard.
“Happy now? Twenty-two years down the drain?”
I studied himthe grey at his temples, the lines by his eyes. Once, he was my whole world. Now? A stranger.
“Not down the drain. Weve got Lucyclever, kind, hardworking. Takes after me.” A sad smile. “And thank you. There *were* good years. But you lost your way. Or maybe you were always like this, and I refused to see it.”
He lifted the suitcase, lingered in the doorway.
“Youll regret this. Youll be lonely.”
“I wont be alone. Ive got Lucy. My job. Friends. And you know what? Im finally joining that salsa class. You always said I had two left feet. Well see.”
The door slammed. Silence. Then I walked to the kitchenthe potatoes were burnt. Tossed the pan in the sink, opened the window to clear the smoke.
My phone rang. Lucy.
“Mum? You okay? Gladys calledsaid Dad left with a suitcase.”
“Im fine, love. Dinner later?”
“Mum… Are you crying?”
“No,” I wasnt. “Chopping onions. Making salad.”
“Im coming over. Right after my shift.”
“Dont, Luce. Youve got exams.”
“Dont be daft. Already on my way. And Mum… I love you. Youre the strongest person I know.”
I hung up, pulled a bottle of wine from the fridgea gift from school, saved for a special occasion. Poured half a glass, raised it to the sunset gilding the rooftops.
“To a new life,” I murmured.
A car door thudded outside. Victor was loading his suitcase into a taxi while a young blonde*Emily*waved from the passenger seat. Id seen her at the dealership. Nothing remarkable. Just… younger.
Gladys yelled up from below: “Margaret! Bringing you a pie! Cheese and onion, your favourite!”
I smiledproperly, for the first time in months. The divorce papers lay on the table, Victors keys beside them. I picked them up, weighed them in my palm.
Tomorrow, Id change the locks. Sign up for salsa. Maybe even get that pixie cut Id fancied.
Tonight? Wine with Gladys, pie, and no thoughts of the future. Because the futures *mine*. No looking back at the man who walked away.
The phone rang again. Unknown number.
“Margaret Stevens? Med school here. Lucys been awarded the Deans Scholarship. Congratulationsshes a credit to you!”
This time, I *did* cry. But they were
