My husband is making me choose: him or my family.
My name is Evelyn, and I live in a small town in the Yorkshire Dales, where rolling green hills meet cosy family traditions. Since childhood, I’ve dreamed of a big family—a home full of laughter, a husband to stand by me. But life had other plans, and now my heart is torn between love for my husband and duty to the ones who raised me.
My first marriage began with hope but collapsed after eight years. We never managed to have children, and that grief drove us apart. The divorce left me hollow, convinced I’d never find happiness again. Yet fate sent me Stephen—a man who restored my faith in love.
Stephen had known tragedy, losing his wife and raising their two children alone. I loved him for his strength, his devotion to his son and daughter, the way he carried on despite the pain. When we married, I moved into his spacious house in the Cotswolds, while my flat in London stayed with Mum and Nan. There they live—my dearest ones, the people I could never betray.
My nan, Margaret, is 85, and Mum, Elizabeth, is 64. They’re still sharp—cleaning, cooking, shopping on their own. Mum even freelances, proofreading online to keep busy. I visit as often as I can, bringing groceries, helping where needed. But deep down, I can’t shake the longing for them to live with us—one family under one roof.
Stephen won’t hear of it. His refusal cuts like a knife. He grew up in a house crammed with three generations, and to him, it was suffocating. Grandparents meddled, dictated his every step. He vowed never to let that happen again. “I want our life to be ours, Evie,” he says. “No outside voices, no rules.” But how do I make him see? My mum and nan aren’t outsiders—they’re part of me.
This is Stephen’s home, his rules. I can’t demand, can’t insist. Yet every time I leave Mum and Nan, something inside me splinters. They cope now, but I know the day will come when they need me. Nan’s steps are slower; Mum tires more easily, though she’d never admit it. How could I abandon them when they need me most?
I’ve tried talking to Stephen, but it always ends in rowing. He won’t entertain the idea, and I can’t bear the thought of deserting them. It haunts me at night, staring at the ceiling. If Stephen doesn’t change his mind, I’ll face an unbearable choice—him or the family that shaped me. Divorce is the last thing I want. I love Stephen. I love his children as my own. But betraying Mum and Nan? I couldn’t live with myself.
Every day, I pray for Stephen to soften, to understand. But time slips by, and his heart stays shut. I’m at a crossroads, frozen by fear. Losing him would shatter me. Yet leaving Mum and Nan? That betrayal would never heal. Both paths lead to pain—how do I choose when neither feels right?
