Your children from your first marriage wont be living here, the new wife declared.
Andrew, weve already been over this. I dont get why you keep bringing it up again. Those shabby cupboards are ruining the whole look!
Megan stood in the middle of the kitchen, arms folded. Her immaculate manicure flashed as she flicked a hand toward the old but sturdy kitchen suite. Andrew let out a heavy sigh and set his teacup of lukewarm tea aside. The morning was already off to a rocky start.
Mark, Ive told you. Ive got a big contract on the go, but the money wont arrive for two months. We cant just splash threethousand pounds on a new kitchen now. This one still holds up.
Still holds up? Megan quipped. Andrew, thats a phrase my nan used. She wasnt sturdy, she was oldfashioned. I want our house to feel cosy and look decent. I want to invite friends without blushing over cracked tiles. Is that really too much to ask?
He ran a hand through his hair. At fortyfive, after his first wife died, hed been raising two kids alone for five years. He was surviving, not truly living. Work, house, lessons, parentteacher meetingsan endless loop with no visible exit. Then Megan burst onto the scene, bright and full of energy, like a firework in his grey world, reminding him he could be more than just a single dad. He fell for her quickly, almost childishly. They kept the wedding modest, signed the papers, and celebrated with a few close mates at the local pub. A month later, Megan was his lawful wife and the lady of the threebed flat.
I get it, Andrew said, trying to smooth things over. I want you to be happy too. Lets just wait a bit. Ill finish the project and well order everything you wantwhite, glossy, just as you dreamt.
Megans shoulders relaxed. She moved closer, looping an arm around his neck, scented with expensive perfume and a hint of coffee.
Sorry, I didnt mean to pressure you. I just want us to build a proper nest, something fresh.
At that moment, his teenage daughter, fourteenyearold Poppy, padded barefoot into the kitchen, her long blonde braid swaying. She looked a lot like her late mother.
Morning, Dad. Have you seen my sketchbook?
Good morning, sunshine. I think I left it on the coffee table in the lounge yesterday.
Poppy nodded, casting a quick, slightly startled glance at Megan.
Morning, she murmured.
Morning, Megan replied coolly, stepping back from Andrew. And perhaps you should wash up and tidy yourself before breakfast.
Poppys cheeks flushed a deep red as she stammered an apology and slipped out into the hallway. Andrew frowned.
Megan, why that tone? Shes just a kid.
Exactly, Andrew. A kid who needs a bit of order. Otherwise shell grow into a slob. Im only trying to help.
Soon after, seventeenyearold Kyle swaggered in, tall and brooding, giving Megan a hostile stare as he opened the fridge.
Anything to eat? he grunted.
Fancy some scrambled eggs? Andrew asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Sure.
Megan moved to the window, clearly feeling the weight of his childrens presence. She never said it outright, but every gesture, every glance hinted at her discomfort. Andrew hoped time would smooth the edges and that his new family could find a happy rhythm.
After breakfast, he retreated to his workshopa modest room hed turned into a carpenters haven. Andrew was a furniture restorer, a true craftsman. The smell of timber, varnish, and wood stain always steadied him. He was presently working on an antique rocking chair, coaxing a delicate carved pattern back to life. The meticulous job demanded his full attention and gave him a welcome escape from heavy thoughts.
He loved Meganher laugh, her energy, the way she looked at him. Yet each day he saw more clearly that her world and his children’s world were different galaxies. Megan adored cocktail parties, art exhibitions, pricey restaurants. She was used to comfort and applause. His world smelled of sawdust, school dramas, Poppys watercolours on the walls, and quiet evenings with a book. And, of course, memories of Anne, his first wife.
He never compared them. Anne had been quiet, homely, creating warmth not with expensive things but with love. Their home glowed with heat, not glossy shine. A photo of her sat on a shelf in his workshop, smiling with a bunch of wild daisies. Sometimes Andrew swore he could feel her reproachful stare: What are you doing, Andrew? Where are you taking these kids?
That evening, returning to the flat, he found boxes stacked in the hallway.
Whats all this? he asked, eyeing the neatly packed items.
I thought Id start clearing the clutter, Megan chirped, emerging from the living room. You have no idea how much junk has piled up. Look at this horrendous vase, those old magazines, a bunch of kids crafts.
Andrew peered into one box and saw at the top a misshapen clay hedgehog that Poppy had made in Year Five. He remembered how proud hed been then.
Megan, thats not junk, he said as calmly as possible. Those are our memories.
Darling, memories belong in the heart, not gathering dust in corners. We agreed to start a new life, didnt we? And a new life needs fresh space, free of the past.
She smiled, but her eyes held a chilly glint. He fell silent, carried the boxes back, and placed the hedgehog on a shelf. Between them, an invisible wall seemed to grow.
A week passed. Tension in the flat rose. Megans remarks to the kids grew more frequentKyle blasting his music too loud, Poppy spilling paint again, dishes left unwashed. The children, in turn, withdrew, barely speaking when she was around. Kyle began disappearing with friends, returning late. Poppy hid in her room, sketching melancholy landscapes. Andrew was torn, trying to be both a loving husband and a caring father.
One evening he found Poppy in tears.
Whats wrong, love?
She handed him her sketchbook. One page held a portrait of her mother, vivid and alive.
Beautiful, Andrew said. Youve got real talent. Why are you crying?
Megan said I shouldnt live in the past, Poppy whispered. She said I could draw her portrait only if it made you happy, as if I should forget Mum.
Andrews chest tightened with a silent fury. He decided it was time for a serious talk with Megan.
When the kids were asleep, he slipped into their bedroom. Megan was in front of a mirror, applying some cream.
We need to talk, he began, no preamble.
Again? Andrew, Im exhausted. My day at the salon was brutal.
Why did you hurt Poppy? Why did you tell her about the portrait?
Megan turned, her face calm, almost indifferent.
I just gave my opinion. I think its unhealthy for a teenager to cling to the past. She needs to move onfor her own good.
Her mothers dead! Andrews voice rose. She has the right to remember, to draw, to talk about her! Its part of who she is!
And that part blocks us from building a new life! Megans tone sharpened. I didnt marry you to become a curator of your exwifes museum. Everywhere I lookher photos, her recipes, her knickknacks! And now endless drawings! I cant take it anymore!
She sprang up, eyes flashing. Andrew barely recognised the woman hed fallen for. The bubbly, lighthearted Megan seemed replaced by a bitter, selfish stranger.
I want to be the lady of this house, she continued, breathless with anger. A proper lady! I want to change everything, my way! But your kids get in the way.
Andrew felt a chill. He sensed where she was heading.
What are you trying to say?
Megan inhaled deeply, then stepped close, staring straight into his eyes.
Andrew, I love you. I want to be with you. But I want a normal familymy own familynot a shared flat with two gloomy teenagers who hate me.
She paused, letting the weight sink in, then delivered the line that sounded like a verdict.
Your children from your first marriage wont live here.
The silence that followed was deafening. Andrew stared, speechless, as if the floor might give way.
What? he asked, though hed heard it clear as day.
You get it now, Megan said, calmer. They have a grandmaAnnes mother. They could stay with her. Or we could rent them a flat once Kyle turns eighteen. There are care homes, after all. Well help, well visit. But they need to live separately. I want this house to be ours, just ours.
She spoke as if discussing a new set of sofas, as if the children were merely old furniture to be cleared out for fresh space.
You are you serious? Andrew croaked. Send my own kids to grandma? To a care home?
Whats wrong with that? she shrugged. Lots of people do it. Its civilized. Andrew, you have to choose. Either we build our new life together, or you keep living in the past with your kids. Its you or them.
She turned and flopped onto the bed, deliberately facing the wall. The ultimatum was set; now she waited for his decision.
Andrew left the bedroom, his legs feeling like jelly, and shuffled to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, but his hands shook so badly he spilled half of it. He sat at the very table theyd argued over that morning. Good heavens, what a trivial thing compared to whats just happened.
He felt like a traitorfirst to Anne, the woman hed promised to look after, and then to Kyle and Poppy, whod already endured the loss of their mother. Now, as their father, he was forced to choose between them and his new wife.
He gently opened Poppys bedroom door. She slept, clutching a plush bear. On the nightstand lay the sketchbook and the portrait of her mother. He peeked into Kyles room; he was also asleep, arms stretched out, a poster of his favourite band on the wall. This was their world, their home, their fortress that Andrew had helped build with his own hands.
He lay awake all night, a ghost drifting through the flat, staring at familiar objects: the chair hed restored with Kyle, the shelf theyd fitted together for Poppys books, Annes battered recipe book on the kitchen counter, its pages curled from years of use. All of it was his real lifenot the glossy picture Megan wanted.
He recalled how Megan had entered his life when he was broken and alone. She brought laughter, celebration, the feeling that life went on. Hed been grateful enough to overlook her selfishness, her coldness toward his children, her disregard for his past. He told himself those were minor quirks, that everything would smooth out. Hed been so desperate for happiness he almost made the biggest mistake of his life.
By morning his mind was clear. The decision came as naturally as a breath.
Megan was already at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, looking fresh and beautiful as if yesterdays heated argument never existed.
Morning, love, she sang. I hope youve thought it all through.
Andrew poured himself coffee in silence and sat opposite her.
Yes, he said evenly. Ive thought it through.
He met her eyes, and there was no longer love or doubtjust a cold, empty space.
You can start gathering your things, he said quietly but firmly.
Megan froze, cup halfway to her lips.
What? What did you just say?
I said you should collect your belongings. Youre not living here any longer.
Her mask slipped, revealing fury and bewilderment.
You youre kicking me out? Because of them? Youre choosing them over me?
Its not about them, Andrew corrected. Its my children. Ive never had to pick between you and them because that choice is impossible. A family isnt something you can discard like an old settee. I guess I forgot that. Thanks for reminding me.
Youll regret this! she shrieked. Youll be left alone in your den with your memories and two little calves! No decent woman will ever put up with you!
Perhaps, Andrew replied calmly. But Id rather be alone than betray the most precious thing I have.
He rose and drifted back to his workshop, unwilling to hear any more. The door slammed behind him, making the kitchen cupboards rattle. A crash from the bedroom announced Megan hurling her things into a suitcase.
Andrew sat at the workbench, handshands of a maker used to creating and fixingtrembling slightly. He glanced at Annes photograph; she still smiled at him with that warm, understanding grin.
Half an hour later the flat fell silent. The front door clicked shut as Megan left.
Andrew stepped into the hallway. A silk scarfher scarflay on the floor, abandoned in the rush. He tossed it into the bin. The house was quiet, a quiet that hadnt been felt in years. It wasnt the oppressive silence of loneliness, but the calm, soothing hush of a home finally back to its rightful order.
Sleepgroggy Kyle and Poppy emerged from their rooms, surprised to see the empty corridor.
Wheres Megan? Poppy asked.
Shes gone, Andrew answered simply.
The kids exchanged glances. Their eyes held no glee, no spitejust a shy, quiet relief and a lingering question.
Andrew walked over and hugged them both, tighter than he had in ages.
She wont be coming back, he said, feeling Poppy cling to him and Kyle, now more adultlooking yet still prickly, rest his hand on his shoulder. Everythings going to be alright. I promise.
He didnt know what the future held for them, but he knew one thing: he was home, in his real home, with his real family. And no one would ever force him to choose again.
