A HUSBAND IS WORTH MORE THAN BITTER GRUDGES
“Peter, that’s it! This was the last straw. We’re getting a divorce! Don’t bother getting down on your knees like you always doit won’t work this time!” I declared, making it crystal clear I was done with our marriage.
Peter, of course, didn’t believe me. He was sure everything would play out as usual: he’d fall to his knees, beg forgiveness, buy another ring, and I’d let it go, just like before. But this time I was determined: I would break these ties for good. My fingers were covered with rings, but real happiness was nowhere to be found. Meanwhile, Peter had grown increasingly fond of strong drink.
Yet, it all began quite romantically.
My first husband, Edward, vanished without a trace. It happened in the ninetiesa frightening time to live. Edward wasn’t exactly easy to get along with; he was one to pick a fight, full of big talk but not much follow-through. If things didn’t suit him, a row would start. Im convinced Edward was killed in some scrap. No word ever came, and I was left alone with our two daughters: five-year-old Grace and two-year-old Daisy. Five years passed after his mysterious disappearance.
I thought I’d go mad. I adored Edward, despite his quick temper. We were inseparabletwo halves of one whole. I decided my life had ended; I would raise my girls and give up on happiness for myself. But fate had other plans.
Life in those turbulent times was hard. I worked at a factory, paid not in proper wages but with boxes of toasters, which I then had to sell at market to buy food. Weekends, Id huddle in the biting cold, peddling toasters in the market.
One winter morning, blue from the chill and trying to stay cheerful, a man approached me. He seemed genuinely concerned.
“Freezing, are you?” the stranger asked gently.
“You noticed?” I tried to joke, though my teeth were chattering. Yet, something about him made me feel warm inside.
“Sorry, that was a silly thing to say. Maybe youd like to warm up somewhere? I can help you carry what you havent sold yet.
Well, all right. Otherwise, I might freeze to death right here, I managed to reply.
We never actually made it to the café. Instead, I walked him toward my flat, asked him to mind my bag of toasters outside the building, and nipped off to collect the girls from nursery. My legs were numb, but my heart was strangely light. Returning with the children, I spotted him waiting, smoking and shuffling his feetPeter, as he’d introduced himself.
I thought, Lets invite him for a cuppa. Whats the harm?
Peter lugged my bag up all six flights of stairs (as luck would have it, the lift was out), and by the time Id reached the third floor with the girls, he was nearly back down.
Wait, my hero! Youre not leaving until Ive given you a hot cup of tea! I said, grabbing his coat sleeve with my freezing hand.
I wouldn’t want to intrude, he glanced at the children.
Nonsense! Grab the girls hands and Ill run ahead to put the kettle on, I offered without a second thought.
I didnt want to let this man slip away. He already felt like family. Over tea, Peter offered me a job as his assistant, at a rate higher than a years worth of factory toaster wages.
Of course, I nodded silently, wildly grateful.
Peter himself was going through a divorce from his second wife and had a son from that marriage.
And so things started rolling…
Soon, Peter and I married, and he adopted my girls. Life became a whirlwindthere was enough for everyone. We bought a four-bedroom flat, filled it with nice furniture and the latest gadgets. Next, we built a holiday cottage. Every year, we enjoyed seaside holidays. It was a wonderful life.
Seven years of pure happiness passed. But perhaps, having acquired everything he could wish for, Peter grew restless and began drinking more and more. At first, I brushed it aside, knowing how hard he worked, how exhausted he was. But when Peter started drinking even at work, I grew anxious. My pleas changed nothing.
Ive always been one for bold moves, so in my attempt to save my husband from the bottle, I decided to have another child. By that time, I was thirty-nine. My friends laughed when I shared my plan.
Go on, Alice! Maybe we’ll all become new mums at forty, thanks to you, they teased.
And I would reply, If you get rid of a child, you might regret it your whole life. But if you have a child, even if unplanned, youll never regret it.
Peter and I had twinsnow we had four daughters. But Peter’s drinking didnt stop. I endured and longed for a peaceful life in the countryside, with chickens and dogs for the kids, and plenty of work to keep Peter busy.
So we sold our flat and the cottage, and bought a house in a small village. We opened a lovely café. Peter took to hunting, bought a shotgun and all the kit. The nearby woods were full of game.
Things went smoothly for a while, until Peter had another bad night. I dont know what he drank, but he became violentsmashing dishes, breaking furniture, and even firing his shotgun into the ceiling!
I grabbed the children and raced to the neighbours for shelter. It was terrifying.
By morning all was quiet. We crept back home. The sight was dreadfuleverything broken, furniture in pieces, nothing to sit on or eat from, nowhere to sleep. Peter was fast asleep, dead to the world on the floor.
I gathered what had survived and led the children to my mums house nearby. Mum wrung her hands:
Oh, Alice, what am I supposed to do with your gaggle of girls? Go back to your husband. Every family has its troubles. Things will sort themselves out.
Mum believed in keeping up appearancesher motto was, Swallow your tears, at least your husband is good-looking.
A couple of days later Peter turned up. Thats when I told him it was over for good. He claimed to remember nothing of his rampage. He didnt believe a word, but by that point, I didnt care. The bridges had been burnt.
I had no idea how we would manage, but instinct told me its better to go hungry and stay alive, than risk being killed by a drunken husband.
We had to sell the café for a pittance so I could pack up and leave with the children. We moved to a neighbouring village, squeezing into a tiny cottage. The elder girls soon found jobs, and before long, both were married.
The twins were still in Year Five. All the girls adored their dad, and kept in touch. Through them, I heard about Peter. He kept begging me through the girls to come back. They pleaded with me, Mum, dont be stubborn! Dad regrets everything, hes begged your forgiveness a hundred times! Think of yourselfyoure not twenty-five anymore… But I was immovable. I just wanted some peace, without drama.
Two years went by.
Loneliness began to gnaw at me. Every ring Peter had given me Id pawned, and never got back. I missed our old life, remembered how our house was filled with love. Peter had always loved all our daughters equally, was kind to me, always knew how to apologise. We really had been a model family. Others happiness isnt yours to copy. What more could I wish for?
The older girls rarely visited now. I understoodyouth must have its way. Soon the twins would also leave, and Id be left all on my own. Girls, like goslingsonce their feathers come in, theyll fly off.
I nudged the twins to ask more about their dadmaybe Peter had met someone new? They grilled him and reported back: Peter lived and worked in another city, hadnt had a drop to drink, and was single. Hed even left his address with them, just in case.
Well, weve now been back together for five years.
As I said, Ive always been one for bold moves.
Sometimes, the answer isn’t in running away from pain, but in remembering what truly matterscherishing forgiveness and the family you build, for real love is always worth fighting for.
