Too Little, Too Late: No Turning Back
“Well, Antonia Gregory, we’ve patched you up and given you our advice. Now, the important thing is not to overdo it—look after yourself,” the doctor smiled, gave her shoulder a reassuring pat, and gallantly held the door open as she shuffled out with her bags.
Antonia felt a lump in her throat. Though the hospital stay hadn’t been pleasant, she’d almost enjoyed it. At least she’d had a proper rest. And no wonder—she’d been running herself ragged for years, working like a carthorse, too afraid to even ask for a day off. The dizziness, the headaches, the exhaustion—she’d ignored them all. In the end, she collapsed, diagnosed with a nervous breakdown and heart trouble. A month in hospital, and her mother nearly had a breakdown herself from worry.
George, her husband, hadn’t batted an eyelid. It was as if he hadn’t even noticed she was gone. Or perhaps he genuinely hadn’t—the moment Antonia left, his mother moved into their house, bringing her pots, cleaning rags, and endless lectures.
“Antonia, darling, you must understand—our Georgie is still such a child. Who’ll look after him if not me? You have your mother, after all, so I’ll just stay here and care for my little boy,” she cooed over the phone.
Antonia clenched her teeth. Years of patience, teaching him independence, getting him to lift a finger around the house—all gone, dissolved like sugar in tea. Once again, she was the wicked witch, while his dear mummy played the fairy godmother, “rescuing” her poor son from his cruel wife. As if she hadn’t been the one carrying the weight of everything—the mortgage, her job, her ailing mother—while George moaned to his mother, who in turn lectured her. In the end, Antonia had taken his upbringing into her own hands. And, to her credit, she’d made progress.
George had begun to change. He learned to cook, to clean, even took initiative sometimes. His mother retreated—though she still occasionally sniffled in the corner, mourning how “mistreated” her boy was. But all had been under control. Until the hospital stay.
Now it was back to square one. Antonia called her husband—silence. Odd. It was Monday, his day off. Usually, he’d be up by now, making breakfast. She rang his mother—no answer either. Her chest tightened. She hailed a cab and headed home, her stomach twisting with unease.
She climbed the stairs, slid her key into the lock—and the door swung open before she could turn it. A stranger stood in the doorway.
“Who are you?” Antonia asked coldly.
“I’m Marina. Gregory’s girlfriend. And you, sweetheart, don’t live here anymore. So be a dear and disappear.”
Antonia froze. Before she could even process the words, the door slammed in her face.
“I’ll bring your things out now,” came the muffled voice from inside.
A minute later, bags began tumbling onto the doorstep one by one. Nudging the other woman aside with her foot, Antonia sat down on her tartan suitcase and called the police. She hadn’t slaved away all these years just to hand everything over to a traitor.
When the officers arrived, she threw them both out—George and his little “fairy-tale princess.” George stayed silent, but his new girlfriend tried to argue.
“This is his flat too! You can’t just kick us out!”
“I can,” Antonia said calmly. “It’s all in my name. Run along to Mummy now and cry to her.”
As the door closed behind them, she exhaled for the first time in years. She aired out the flat, stripped the bed, and filed for divorce. At first, it hurt. But then—it felt like freedom.
A month later, on a quiet Sunday morning, Antonia lay in bed, relishing her well-earned rest. The phone rang.
“George,” she muttered to herself—and answered.
“Antonia, my love… I miss you. No one here cares about me. It’s all Mum’s fault. Please forgive me. Take me back…”
Antonia listened in silence. Then she burst out laughing.
“Are you serious? Take you back? After everything?”
He kept babbling like a schoolboy. She rolled her eyes, hung up, and flopped back against the pillows with a smirk.
“Well,” she said to herself. “I was afraid my life was over. Turns out—it’s just begun.”
