“You’re a stranger to him, and I’m his mother,” whispered the mother-in-law.
“You shouldn’t have called that private doctor,” said Margaret Walker, adjusting the black shawl on her head. “Our local GP was good enoughhe’s been treating this family for years.”
Emma quietly set another plate of hot cross buns on the table. The guests had slowly begun to leave, leaving only the closest relatives. The kitchen felt too cramped for so many people, but the living room held the coffin, and no one dared eat there.
“Why wont you say anything?” Margaret pressed. “Were you too tight-fisted to pay for proper treatment? Twenty thousand pounds for the surgery, and what was the point?”
“Margaret, not now,” murmured Auntie Clara from next door, but she wasnt listening.
“When, then?” The womans eyes were red, not from tears but from anger. “He was my son! I carried him, raised him, put him on his feet! And you… you only married him.”
Emma clenched the tea towel in her hands. She wanted to scream, to run, to hidebut she couldnt. Today was Simons funeral, and she had to hold herself together.
“Mum, thats enough,” said Daniel, Simons younger brother, his voice weary. “Today isnt the day.”
“And when is?” Margaret snapped. “After we bury him? I should stay quiet while she takes charge? This is my house! Simon was born here, and here he should rest!”
Emma flinched. Theyd argued all week about where to hold the wake. Margaret insisted on her modest flat, while Emma suggested a café. But, as always, her mother-in-law had her way.
“Ill go air out the living room,” Emma whispered, slipping away.
The living room was stifling, the scent of flowers and incense mixing with food. Simon lay in the coffin, unfamiliar in his black suitsomething hed hated, always preferring jeans and jumpers.
“Why did you leave me?” she whispered, stepping closer. “How am I supposed to go on alone?”
Footsteps sounded behind her.
“Emma, love, dont torture yourself,” said Auntie Clara, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It wasnt his fault. Bloody illness.”
“She says I didnt fight hard enough. That I skimped on the costs.”
“Pay her no mind. Shes grieving, lashing out. He was her only sonher pride and joy.”
“And what about me?” Emma turned, her eyes red-rimmed. “We had twelve years together. Twelve! I nursed him, quit my job to take him to hospitals!”
“I know, dear. You were a good wife.”
“And she calls me a stranger. How? We married in church, we wanted children…”
She fell silent. That hurt too much. Theyd tried, but it never happened. Then Simon got ill, and it hadnt mattered anymore.
From the kitchen came muffled voicesMargaret recounting how Simon had fallen off his bike as a boy and broken his arm.
“I took him to A&E myself,” she was saying. “In the middle of the night, in a cab. The doctor said if wed waited, it wouldnt have set right.”
Emma remembered Simon telling that story, laughing. How his mum had panicked more than him. How the doctor had calmed her, not the boy.
“He was always brave,” Margaret went on. “Stood up for the little ones at school. Knew how to fight. Then he joined the armywouldve made a fine officer.”
Emma thought of his letters from training. How he missed home cooking, how he wrote about a girl named Emma hed met before enlisting and swore hed wait for.
“Emma, come here,” called cousin Lucy from the kitchen. “Margarets showing photos.”
An old album lay open on the table. Margaret turned the pages, commenting on each snapshot.
“Look, his first day at school,” she said. “So serious. Top of his class.”
Emma sat beside her, studying the boy in the picturesgrinning, hugging a teddy, building sandcastles.
“Here he is grown up,” Margaret turned the page. “College, trained as a mechanic. Had a real knack for engines.”
“Yes, he always fixed my car,” Emma said softly. “Never minded when I broke something.”
Margaret shot her a look.
“So? He was kind to everyone, not just you.”
An awkward silence fell. Lucy coughed and asked for more photos.
“After the army,” Margaret pointed to a picture of Simon in leathers by his motorbike. “Handsome devil, girls adored him.”
Emma remembered their first meetinghed given her friend a lift, and shed tagged along. He told jokes all the way home, and shed thought him the most charming man alive.
“Plenty of girls fancied him,” Margaret sighed. “But he never settled. Said he wasnt ready.”
“Mum, why bring this up?” Daniel said sharply.
“Its the truth! He was a bachelor for years. Then suddenly, married. Surprised me, that did.”
Emmas cheeks burned. Simon had hesitated to introduce them, warning his mother was set in her ways.
“Lovely wedding, though,” Auntie Clara interjected. “That cake was beautiful.”
“I ordered the cake,” Margaret corrected. “And bought her dress. She couldnt afford it.”
“I had a job,” Emma said quietly. “Just didnt earn much.”
“Exactly. Simon did well at the factory. Promotions, pay rises.”
Emma recalled their dream of buying a flat. Saving every penny. Then the diagnosis, and the savings vanished into treatments.
“He wanted children,” she said suddenly. “Always said, Once Im better, well start a family.”
Margaret went quiet. Then she shut the album and put it away.
“Time to set the table,” she said. “The vicars coming soon.”
When the others dispersed, only Emma and Daniel remained. He smoked on the balcony while she washed dishes.
“Dont take it to heart,” he said, coming inside. “She loved him too much, maybe.”
“I know,” Emma said, not turning. “But hearing Im a stranger… it cuts deep.”
“Youre not. You were his wife.”
“Were,” she echoed. “Now what am I? A widow? Sounds so hollow.”
“Youre still family. Always will be.”
But Emma knew better. After the funeral, shed return to the cramped flat theyd rented. Margaret wouldnt call at Christmas. Thered be no more invites.
That evening, when the vicar had gone and the guests left, Margaret approached her. Emma sat by the coffin, clutching a photo of Simon.
“Burials tomorrow,” Margaret said quietly. “Highgate Cemetery, near his dad.”
Emma nodded. Theyd arranged it that morning.
“And… his things. Do you want them, or shall I keep them?”
“I dont know yet. Can I decide later?”
“Fine. Theyre not going anywhere.”
The women stood close, yet miles apart. Each grieving, each certain her pain was greater.
“Youre a stranger to him, and Im his mother,” Margaret whisperedso faintly Emma wasnt sure shed heard right.
Or perhaps it was the exhaustion, the grief, this endless day refusing to end.
Emma looked at the photo. Simon smiled back, young and carefree. That was him when theyd just married, when life stretched ahead, bright and unbroken.
“Forgive me,” she whispered, unsure if she meant him or his mother.
Outside, dusk settled. Somewhere beyond, a life without Simon beganwithout his laugh, his warmth, their plans and dreams. A life where shed have to learn to be just Emma again, and not Simons wife.
