An Evening That Changed Everything
That night began like any other supper at home, yet it ended in a way that still unsettles me to recall. My husband, Edward, had invited his mother, Beatrice, over, and as ever, I did my best to make things pleasantlaid the table, prepared her favourite roast chicken, even brought out the good linen. I imagined wed discuss little more than the weather or perhaps a Sunday outing. Instead, I found myself trapped in the strangest, most dreadful exchange. Beatrice fixed me with a steady gaze and declared, Eleanor, if you refuse our request, Edward will seek a divorce. I went rigid, my fork hovering mid-air, unable to believe what Id just heard.
Edward and I had been wed five years. Ours was no fairy taleno marriage iswed had our quarrels and missteps, but Id always believed we stood united. He was gentle, thoughtful, and even in our darkest hours, wed found a way forward. Beatrice had ever been a presence in our lives. She visited often, rang to inquire after us, and though her counsel sometimes felt more like commands, Id always shown her respect. But that evening, she overstepped, and worse, Edward did not intervenehe sided with her.
It began innocently enough. Over supper, Beatrice spoke of an old friend whod just left her position at the mill, and Edward shared a jest about his day at the firm. Then the air turned heavy. She set down her knife and said, Eleanor, Edward and I must speak plainly with you. I steeled myself, expecting some trifling matterperhaps a leaky tap or a request to tend her rose garden. Instead, she announced she wished us to take up residence in her home.
It seemed Beatrice had decided her spacious cottage in the Cotswolds was too large for one, and she expected us to join her there. Theres room enough, she insisted. Youd sell your townhouse, invest the money in repairs or something sensible. Its only practicalId care for you, and youd care for me. I was speechless. Edward and I had only just finished painting our snug little townhouse in London. It was our haven, our refuge, where wed woven our life together. To live under her roof would mean surrendering that freedom, not to mention enduring her constant scrutinya trial I was unprepared to face.
I attempted to demur, thanking her for the kindness but explaining we had no wish to leave our home. I said we adored our townhouse and would gladly assist her in any other way. Beatrice would not hear it. She interrupted, accusing me of holding family in no regard, that the young think only of themselves, and that Edward deserved a wife who heeded his mother. Then came the threat of divorce. Edward, whod been silent, finally spoke: Eleanor, you know what Mother means to me. We ought to stand by her. The ground seemed to vanish beneath me.
I could find no words. I searched Edwards face, willing him to jest, but he turned away. Beatrice pressed on, calling it for our own good, that shared living was the way of proper families, and I ought to count myself fortunate. I held my tongue, fearing if I spoke, Id weep or say something unforgivable. Supper ended in stiff silence, and soon after, Beatrice departed, Edward escorting her to the waiting hansom.
When he returned, I asked, Edward, do you truly mean for us to live with her? And what of this talk of divorce? He sighed, saying he wished no quarrel, but his mother had need of us, and I ought to show more grace. I was staggered. Would he truly endanger our marriage for this? I reminded him how wed chosen our townhouse together, how wed dreamed of a place wholly our own. He only shrugged and said, Consider it, Eleanor. Its not so dire as you make it seem.
I lay awake all night, turning the conversation over in my mind. I love Edward, and the thought of him placing his mother above our future together wounds me deeply. Yet I cannot surrender my independence merely to appease her. Beatrice is not unkind, but her demands and ultimatums are too great. Ill not live where every breath I take is observed. Nor will I let our marriage hinge on my yielding to her will.
This morning, I resolved to speak with Edward once more, gently this time. I must know how firm his resolve is and whether hell meet me halfway. Perhaps we might call on Beatrice more often or aid her in ways that dont require sharing a roof? But if he will not bend, I know not what to do. Ill not forsake our family, yet neither will I forsake myself. Last night revealed fissures in our marriage Id not seen before. Now I must find a way to guard our happiness without extinguishing the love I bear him.
