15October2025
Ive been turning over the same old scenes in my head again, and I think its time to put them down on paper. It all began when my daughter Ameliawho has always insisted on peonies rather than the gaudy roses she supposedly likedstarted dating Daniel Clarke, the tall, broadshouldered civil engineer from Manchester with the rough, calloused hands that speak of years on construction sites.
I still remember the first time she brought him home. He stood at the doorway, cheeks flushed, eyes flickering with that guiltybutdetermined look that tells you hell do anything for a smile. Im sorry, love, he whispered, next time Ill get peonies. Amelia placed the bouquet on the kitchen table without even sniffing it, though the roses were beautifulfull, burgundy, droplets of dew on each petal.
Their first year and a half passed in a blur of seaside trips, birthday jewellery, and endless stories about Amelias friends and colleagues. I watched Daniel look at her as if she were the most astonishing thing hed ever seen, and Geoffrey, my husband, gave a discreet nod behind her backa solid fellow, serious enough, he thought.
But by the end of the second year I began to notice a shift. Amelia started talking about Daniel in a tone that was halfmocking, halfbored. Daniel brought a cake, can you believe it? Im on a diet, shed say, or Hes calling again, clinging like a leech. Shed flick through his gifts as if they were a tax receipt rather than tokens of affection.
The arguments started then, though it was always Amelia who sparked them. Boredom seemed to be the fuel. Do you even love me? shed ask, usually in the evening, her voice edged with accusation. Im here alone while youre somewhere else all day. Maybe someone else has caught your eye? Daniel would try to explain, to promise, to swear, while she would hold out her anger for a day or two before reluctantly forgiving him. He would bring flowers, the book shed mentioned, tickets to the West Endeach little peace offering only delayed the next clash.
The triggers were trivial: a missed comment, a glance that didnt last long enough, a forgotten like on a photo, staying late at the office, replying too quickly to a text (as if he were glued to his phone) or too slowly (as if he were ignoring her. The cycle of Enough! Were over! repeated far too often. Each time Daniel was the first to beg forgiveness. Amelia would pauseone day, three, a weekbefore thawing again.
One afternoon I asked, gently, Amelia, do you really love him, or is it just convenient? She snorted, Mum, stop the interrogation. Of course I love him. Hes just a bit nagging sometimes, thats all. Five years passed in that maddening dance of passion, fight, breakup, and reunion. Daniels hair turned silver before he even hit thirty, his weight slumped, his smiles grew rarer, yet he clung to the hope that things would smooth out, that life would become easier, calmer.
In the sixth year he finally asked her to marry him. The ring was a delicate gold band set with a tiny, clear diamond. He had booked a table at a respectable restaurant in Bath, arranged for a string quartet, even written a speech on a piece of card that he read out, blushing as he did. Amelia accepted with a noncommittal yes, more out of habit than enthusiasm, quickly photographed the ring for her socials and phoned her friends.
Geoffrey shook Daniels hand, saying, Welcome to the family, officially. Margaret (thats me) gave him a motherly hug, Im delighted, truly. The wedding preparations kicked off at once. Amelia took charge of everythingdesigner dress, a photographer with celebrity portfolios, fresh orchids for the tables. Daniel acquiesced to every whim, presenting maps, approving budgets, wanting the day to be flawless for his future wife.
A month before the ceremony the whole thing collapsed. Whats this? Amelia jabbed at the printed menu. Rainbow Café? Are you serious? Its a great spot, love. We tried it before, you liked it. I said White Garden with a terrace overlooking the river! Not some cheap eatin! Daniel tried to explain that the venue was already booked for the same date. You should have sorted it out earlier, offered more money! This is absurd! she snapped, flinging the menu to the floor and storming out. The script that always saw Daniel apologise, Amelia soften, and the two reconcile was broken. He simply left, looking exhausted.
The next morning he packed his thingsshaver, charger, his favourite jumperand stood at the doorway. Are you really doing this? Walking away like that? Amelia could hardly believe it. He zipped his jacket, stared at her for an agonising moment, then said, Be happy, Amelia. Truly, before walking out.
I watched the weeks drag on: a week, then two, with no calls, no messages, no surprise visits. Amelia hovered over the empty chat box, cursor blinking, pride keeping her from typing. She expected him to return first, as he always had.
A month later she wondered aloud, Maybe hes ill? On a business trip? I was simmering a pot of stew. Amelia, you let him go. He left. She protested, I didnt let him go! I just and the conversation stalled.
Two months later a colleague, Sarah from accounts, dropped a comment over lunch: I saw Daniel yesterday with a new girl, brighthaired, quite pretty. Amelias fork clattered. With whom? I dont know, just someone new, laughing, handinhand. That night Amelia prowled his social media. He hadnt posted new photos, but a new friend appeared: Katherine Solly, a twentysomething with a soft smile, surrounded by countryside pictures and cat photos. Amelia stayed up until three in the morning scrolling through Katherines feed.
I saw Amelias confidence melt away, her sarcasm turn frosty. She lost weightnot the graceful kind, but a sickly, uneven loss. Dark circles settled under her eyes, irritability hovered on the brink of hysteria. Its all his fault! she erupted at me, Six years of my life and he just walks off for some… insignificant creature! I tried to remind her, You pushed him away first. She shot back, Its different! I asked, How? She couldnt answer.
The year slipped by, a painful blur. Amelia kept tabs on Daniel via his phone: a barbecue with Katherine, a concert, a photo captioned Weve moved!a shared flat, a life together. Then a picture of a ring on a delicate finger, captioned I said yes! with three hearts. I stumbled upon it while scrolling, Katherine beaming, Daniel smiling with eyes that still held that old spark.
Meanwhile Amelia tried new relationships. Ian lasted four months before a birthdayparty argument over tardiness. Serge lasted two before she caused a scene at his workplace. All men are the same! she declared at the kitchen table, Unreliable, selfish! Geoffrey chewed his steak in silence, while I poured tea, contemplating how odd lifes twists can be. Amelia kept scrolling through strangers happy snapshots, eyes glued to the screen.
At a family dinner she turned to an old vinyl and sighed, At least Daniel was patient. These other blokescant say anything without getting offended! Geoffrey muttered, Maybe its not them? Third bloke this year leaving Amelia flared, So its my fault, huh? They fell silent; sometimes silence says more than words.
Later, I thought about how to explain to her that love isnt a video game with a save button, that patience isnt endless, that manipulation corrodes trust like rust eats steel. Amelia blamed the world, waiting for a prince on a white horse who would tolerate her whims forever.
Now, thirtyodd years after I first cradled her as a baby and vowed to shield her from every hardship, I watch her hunched over her phone, scrolling through other peoples lives. I know shes seen photographs of Daniel, Katherine, and their blissful moments. I know Ive been watching his life too, from afar.
Perhaps one day Amelia will change, learn what it truly means to be a wife and a mother, or perhaps shell remain forever chasing a perfect picture that never exists. For now, I keep washing the dishes, sipping tea, and hoping the next entry in her story will be written with a little more honesty and a little less bitterness.
