**Better to Be a Beloved Wife Than a Perfect Daughter**
“Lily, choose: either me or your parents!” This time, my husband was firm and unyielding.
“Rodney, you know Id follow you anywhere. But dont shut out my parents. You called them ‘old’ yourselfhave some mercy.”
“I want nothing to do with them! Visit them if you must, since youre such a devoted daughter,” Rodney shot me a reproachful look.
My first marriage was to a man who had served in Afghanistan. Simon seemed brave, fearlessand he was. A decorated major, a hardened soldier.
Our son, Matthew, was born. My parents doted on their son-in-law and grandson.
“Now, Lily love, your mother and I can rest easy. Simons a good man. Weve handed you to safe handsdont disappoint us,” Dad never missed a chance to remind me how lucky I was.
But Simon barely noticed Matthew. The boy would reach for his father, only to be brushed asideoff fishing, meeting army mates, or just in no mood. In time, Matthew stopped trying.
Then things worsened. Simon sank into black depressions. Best to stay clear when he was like that. I pulled away. The final straw came when Matthew was fiveSimon, drunk as a lord, strapped on his uniform and threatened our boy with his service pistol. That was it. His mind was scarred by war, and I wouldnt gamble our lives any longer. We divorced amicably.
When my parents found out, they rained scorn on me.
“Youre a terrible wife! Where will you find another like him? He was a catch! Youll regret this!”
But time proved me right. Simon became just a closed chapter. Years later, he married a deaf-mute woman.
My second husband came quickly. Work took me to villages, drafting contracts. In one, I met Rodneytall, charming, smiling. Disagreements meant return visits to his office, then dinner invitations.
“Lily, let me take you out. Tomorrow, Ill drive you home myself.” He kissed my hand like a gentleman.
Matthew was with my parentswhy not enjoy the company of a man who made my pulse race?
And so it beganlove blazing, passion unchecked.
Rodney was six years younger, divorced, with a seven-year-old daughter. I knew my parents would disapprovetoo young, too glib, “wet behind the ears.” But I didnt care. I loved him fiercely.
“Mum, DadIm getting married. Rodneys invited you to dinner.”
Their jaws dropped.
“Youre joking, Lily! We thought youd patch things up with Simonyou have a child!”
“Forget Simon, like he forgot Matthew. End of discussion. Meet my fiancé tomorrowand dont mention my ex.”
Rodney arrived bearing gifts and a plan:
“After the wedding, lets live togethera big, happy family. Youre not getting younger, and well be there for you. Shopping, doctors What do you say?”
Dad scratched his head.
“Suppose youre right. But where? Were in a tiny flat. Lily has her placeSimon left it to her.” He shot me a glance. “What about you, son?”
“Dreaming of a three-storey house. Ill build itroom for all.” Rodneys eyes gleamed.
We married lavishly. Rodney whisked me away on a Mediterranean cruise, promising more trips with Matthew and his daughter. His ex-wife was happy to let the girl travel with us.
Rodney treated Matthew as his own. But his daughter, Julia, eyed me coldly, whispering in his ear whenever we met.
Three years later, we moved into that housesprawling land, orchards, gardens. My parents had a ground-floor suite to spare their knees. Matthews room was at the top”Young legs can manage.”
Gifts flowed: a motorbike for Matthews twentieth, a car for my birthday, spa trips for Mum, a fishing boat for Dad.
Yet they sneered at Rodneys generosity. Their idol remained Simon.
Rodney shrugged it off.
“Let them whisper. Ive done my part. But you cant please everyonetheyd complain if I split myself in four.”
Bit by bit, we grew apart.
Then Matthew brought home a girl.
“This is Vera. Shes moving into my room.”
“Who is she? Your fiancée? Wife?” I stiffened.
He dragged her upstairs without a word.
Fine. Hes grown. Her parents can worry about her virtue, not me.
But Vera was no shy dove.
“Lily, we want the second floor. Were having a baby. Talk to the oldies?” She lounged, smoking, sipping my coffee.
She used first names only”No one needs titles. Were all equal.”
“Vera, while Im mistress here, youll show respect. Unhappy? The doors open.”
She shrieked for Matthew. “Shes throwing me outpregnant!”
He stormed in, shoved me hard. My head hit the table. I woke in hospital, concussed, weeping. My boymy pridehad raised a hand to me!
Later, we learned there was no baby.
Rodney wanted to call the police. I lied”I slipped.” But the hurt festered.
I forgave when Matthew knelt, repentant. “Mum, Im sorry. I wasnt myself.”
Peace, I thought. How wrong.
That night, Rodney murmured, “Vera crept into our bed while you were gone.”
“What?”
“Woke to her staring at me. Said Matthew was dead drunk. I kicked her out.”
Too much. But confronting her would only bring denials. I waited.
Then my parents turned venomous.
“Rodneys a philanderer! Ditch him!”
Their poison seeped in. We fought. Rodney left.
A month later, a friend called. “Saw Rodney with some woman.”
Fool! Leave a man like that alone, and vultures swoop. I brought him home.
Turned out it was Juliatwenty-five, career-driven, still single.
Rodney had made his choice.
“Lilyits me or your parents. Or well end up apart.”
My heart ached for Mum and Dadfrail, stumblingyet they spat venom at Rodneys name.
We moveda three-bed fixer-upper, ten acres, but no prying eyes. Better a crust with peace than a feast with strife.
Now my parents rage down the phone.
“Youre no daughter! Left us to rot! Vera threatens to dump us in a home!”
But Rodney and I? Were happy. Quiet. Married in the village church.
And if that makes me a bad daughterso be it.
