“Go back to your mother,” her husband ordered, pushing the suitcases toward the door.
“Mom, stop calling him,” sighed Eleanor, setting her teacup down heavily. “Peter’s at workhes in a meeting.”
“In a meeting, sure,” scoffed Margaret, pursing her lips. “I know all about his meetings. Last night, he was in a ‘meeting’ too, wasnt he? Staggered home at midnight reeking of whisky.”
Eleanor rubbed her temples. Ever since she and Peter had moved in with her motherjust until their flat was renovatedevery day had started like this. Two months in, and the end was nowhere in sight.
“Please, Mum,” she kept her voice steady. “You promised not to interfere.”
“Im not interfering,” Margaret set her phone aside. “But I worry. Youre working yourself to the bone while hes out gallivanting. What sort of man does that?”
“A good man,” Eleanor stood, the chair scraping. “And hes not gallivanting. It was a client dinnerI told you.”
Margaret snorted but didnt argue. Eleanor knew that lookher mother didnt believe a word.
“Im going to work,” she said, grabbing her bag. “Ill be back by eight.”
“Youll at least eat lunch? I made stew.”
“No time. Meeting at one, then another client.”
“Always skipping meals,” Margaret shook her head. “No wonder you cant conceive. What child thrives on an empty stomach?”
Eleanor exhaled. The subject of children was a wound her mother reopened relentlessly. Five years married, no grandchildren. Unforgivable.
“See you tonight,” she kissed her mothers cheek. “Peter promised to come home early. Well have dinner together.”
“If he comes home,” Margaret muttered.
Out in the hall, Eleanor leaned against the wall. The damp, faintly musty scent of the buildingonce comfortingnow only grated.
In the car, she called Peter.
“Did Mum ring you again?”
“Three times,” his voice was weary. “I ignored it.”
“Im sorry. She worries.”
“Worries?” He scoffed. “She monitors my every move. Last night, it was an interrogationwhere was I, who was I with, why so late? Im not a teenager, Ellie!”
“I know,” she started the engine. “Just a bit longer. The contractor said the bathroom will be done this week. Then just the kitchen. Well be home soon.”
Peter was silent. When he spoke again, his voice was hollow.
“What if I dont want to go back?”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. See you at work.”
The line went dead. Eleanor stared at her phone, dread coiling in her stomach. What did he mean? Not back to their flator not back to her?
Work dragged. She fumbled through numbers in the meeting, forgot key details with a client. Peter was gone all dayoffsite, returning late.
She got home at nine, after fixing her mistakes. The flat was quiet, save for the muffled telly from the kitchen.
“Im home!” she called, kicking off her shoes.
No answer. Oddher mother usually greeted her. She stepped into the kitchen and froze.
Peter and Margaret sat at the table, the air between them crackling. Margaret glared at the telly; Peter spun a cold cup of tea in his hands.
“Whats going on?” Eleanor asked.
Peter lifted his gaze. Cold. Distant.
“Ask your mother. Shes been tearing into me for half an hour.”
“Margaret, what happened?”
Margaret sniffed. “Just told your husband a few truths. That hes no proper man. Cant even provideliving off his mother-in-law like a boy.”
“Mum!”
“Dont ‘Mum’ me. Youve got a shoebox flat in some soulless block. In my day, men built homes. This one? Some middle manager…”
“Im a project lead,” Peter gritted out. “And I earn enough. Were only here because of the renovation.”
“Five years marriedno children, no proper home,” Margaret barreled on. “You work like a packhorse, and he”
“Enough!” Eleanor snapped. “We agreedno pressure, no baby talk!”
Margaret folded her arms. “I want whats best. Youre thirty-two, Ellie. Times slipping.”
Eleanor sat beside Peter, took his hand. He didnt pull awaybut didnt squeeze back.
“Peter, Im sorry. Shes just concerned.”
“Concerned?” He laughed bitterly. “She thinks Im worthless. Always has.”
Eleanor didnt argue. Her mother had opposed their marriage from the start. “No prospects,” shed said. “Too young for you.”
“Go to bed,” Margaret stood abruptly. “Ive got my blood pressure checked tomorrow, and youre making it worse.”
She slammed her door. Alone, Peter turned to Eleanor.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“For what? That your mother despises me? Or that you never stand up to her?”
“I do!”
“No, Ellie. You nod, you appease, you tell me to ‘hang on.’ Five years of hanging on. Im done.”
He stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed. Early start.”
She watched him leave, fists clenched. Through the wall, Margarets restless footsteps echoed. Rage bubbledshe wanted to scream, to shake her mother. But she never could.
Morning came. Peter left before she woke. Margaret sat at the table, teacup untouched.
“Your prince fled early, did he?”
“Stop,” Eleanor said tiredly. “Hes my husband. I love him. You need to respect that.”
“Respect is earned,” Margaret snapped. “Your father was a real man. Fixed everything himself. This one? Calls a plumber for a leak. Asks the neighbor to hang a shelf. Useless.”
Eleanor chewed her toast mechanically. Arguing was pointless. Her mother saw the world in black and whiteright and wrong. Unmovable.
At work, Peter was gone againanother site visit. Their texts were clipped, avoiding last nights fight. She stayed late, dreading home.
When she returned, the flat was lit up. Voices from the kitchensharp, angry. She hurried in.
Peter and Margaret stood face-to-face. Margarets face was flushed; Peters jaw clenched.
“Whats happening?”
“Your husband,” Margaret jabbed a finger, “is moving out. Found a flat. Leaving tomorrow.”
Eleanor paled. “Peteris this true?”
“Yes,” he said. “Near work. Moving tomorrow.”
“And me?”
“Your choice,” his gaze didnt waver. “Come with me or stay. But if you stay, its over. I wont live like this, Ellie.”
Margaret crowed. “See? Hes abandoning you! I warned youuseless!”
“Mum, shut up!” Eleanor whirled on her. “Im going with him. Tomorrow.”
Margaret gasped. “Youre mad! Youve got everything heresafety, food, care. Whats out there? Some rented hovel with a man wholl toss you aside!”
“Better a hovel with him than a gilded cage.”
Margarets face whitened. “My homes a cage? Im your jailer? I gave up everything for you!”
“And youve held it over me ever since,” Eleanor said softly. “You wont let me live, Mum. Build my own life.”
“What life?” Margaret sneered. “Five yearsno kids, no home. Just work.”
“We waited to be stable,” Eleanor said. “Now… Im scared. Scared youll control our children too.”
“I only want whats best!”
“I know. But your ‘best’ is smothering us.”
Margarets lips trembled. Eleanor hugged her. Peter watched, stone-faced.
“Choose, Ellie,” he said quietly. “Come now, or its over.”
Margaret wailed. “Youre abandoning me!”
Eleanor held her tighter. Peters voice cut through.
“Shes manipulating you. Always has. And you let her. While youre under her roof, you always will.”
Margaret lifted her tear-streaked face. “See, Ellie? Hes tearing us apart!”
Eleanor looked between themher husband, her mother. Two pulls, one heart.
“I need time,” she whispered.
“There is none,” Peter said. “Ive paid the rent. We go now, or I go alone. Forever.”
“Dont you dare give ultimatums in my house!” Margaret shrieked. “Shes my daughter! Mine!”
“Shes my wife,” Peter said coldly. “And Ill fight for my family.”
Eleanor stepped back, inhaled. One clear thought pierced the fog: this would never end. If she stayed, her mother would rule her life. If she left, Peter would never forgive her mother.
“Im staying,” she said softly.
Peter flinched. “What?”
“Im staying, Peter. Mums alone. She needs me. We can waitjust until the renovations done.”
Margaret smirked. “See? A daughter chooses her mother.”
“Go back to her,” Peter said, shoving the suitcases into the hall. “Live with her, if she matters more. But dont wait for me. Im done.”
He left. Eleanor lunged after him, but Margaret grabbed her wrist.
“Let him go. Hell crawl back. If notgood riddance. Weve managed without him before.”
Eleanor stared at the closed door, her world crumbling. The choice was made. Right or wrongtime would tell.
Two weeks later, divorce papers arrived. Eleanor signed them blindly. Margaret said nothing, lips pressed tight.
The renovation finished a month later. The flat stood emptytoo painful to visit. She decided to rent it out.
She found a new jobfar from Peters workplace. Started going out more: cinema, theater. Sometimes even with Margaret, whod softened, strangely subdued. Fear of losing her, perhaps.
Some nights, Eleanor cried, wonderingwhat if shed chosen differently? Gone with him? Would they have been happy?
But life didnt deal in “what ifs.” The choice was made. The path set.
And step by step, she walked itlearning to live without him. Learning not to blame her mother, Peter, or herself.
What came next? Only time would tell.
