She didnt argue. She simply left.
A damp, grey autumn morning seeped through the curtains. Margaret Harper awoke to the shrill chatter of her alarm clock, slid out from under the covers with a sigh, and threw a bathrobe over her shoulders. She shuffled to the window, pulled aside the drape, and stared at the bleak scene beyond a fine rain tapping the naked branches, the sky a low, sour cloud.
Today marked thirty years since she and Michael married, a silver anniversary that had long ceased to sparkle for her. In recent years Michael had forgotten such dates entirely, or only remembered them after she nudged him with the softest of hints.
She brewed a pot of tea, settled at the kitchen table, and the memory of their first anniversary slipped in: five years after the wedding, Michael had burst home with a massive bouquet of roses and tickets to the theatre. After the play they had dined at a restaurant where he raised a toast about love and loyalty. In that moment she believed their happiness would stretch forever.
A loud snore rolled from the bedroom. Michael could sleep until noon. Lately he returned home after midnight, smelling of tobacco and cheap whisky, answering her questions with vague excuses: stayed with the lads, important meeting, youd never understand.
Margaret exhaled and set about making breakfast. She decided on pancakes, hoping the scent would jog his memory; he had always claimed hers were the best in the world.
Around ten, the bleary Michael drifted into the kitchen, bypassed any greeting, and headed straight for the fridge.
Good morning, Margaret murmured softly. Ive made pancakes.
Ive no time to fuss with your pancakes, he growled, pouring kefir into a glass. Victor called, wants me to pop over and look at his car.
A lump rose in her throat. Deep down she still clung to a sliver of hope for a miracle.
Do you even know what day it is? she asked gently.
Michael paused, then shrugged. Tuesday, I think. Why?
Nothing, she whispered, turning to the window to hide the tears that threatened.
He gulped the kefir, flung the empty glass into the sink, and slipped into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he emerged, grabbing his coat.
Im off to Victors. Dont expect me for dinner, he called over his shoulder.
Mike, today marks thirty years since we said I do, Margarets voice trembled.
He stopped in the doorway, scowling. And now what? Want a parade? Flowers? Ill buy some if I must.
Its not about flowers, she said quietly. I thought it mattered to you too.
My schedule is packed. No time for sentiment, he snapped, slamming the door.
The flat fell silent. Margaret cleared the cooling pancakes from the table, brewed another cup of tea, and let memories of happier days swirl in her mind.
After lunch she walked to the park. The rain had ceased, a shy autumn sun peeking through. She breathed the crisp air, thinking of the early days when she first met Michael a cheerful, attentive lad who drove the city bus and dreamed of his own garage. Theyd wed after six months of courtship, welcomed a daughter, Emily, and lived modestly but together. Michael always found a moment for family, even after long shifts.
Soon his garage opened, money flowed, they bought a flat and a car. Emily grew up, moved to another city, and lived independently. Yet, as the years slipped by, Michaels evenings grew later, his absences longer. Margaret endured in quiet, never raising a storm, believing it would pass. It didnt.
Lost in thought, she drifted into a tiny café she hadnt meant to enter. The interior was warm, a soft glow hugging the tables. She claimed a seat by the window, ordered a hot chocolate, and watched the other patrons. An elderly couple at the next table ate cake slowly, sharing whispers. The man dabbed crumbs from the womans lips with a napkin; she smiled back, a tender moment that made Margarets heart ache.
Why did we drift apart? she wondered, stirring the chocolate. When did we stop seeing each other?
Evening found her back home, the flat empty and hushed. She turned on the television to fill the silence, then began preparing dinner out of habit, still feeding a husband who no longer seemed to notice.
At nine, a knock echoed. Peter Clarke, the neighbour, stood on the doorstep with a bottle of red wine.
Sorry to drop by late, Margaret, he said, smiling. Just wanted to wish you well. I recall you mentioned your wedding anniversary is early November.
Margaret blinked, surprised. They were merely friendly neighbours, exchanging pleasantries in the lift. She hadnt even told him about the date.
Thank you, Peter, she replied, taking the bottle. I didnt expect
No intrusion intended, he added, apologetically. I know Michaels often away, so I thought Anyway, Ill leave you to it. Happy anniversary.
When he left, Margaret stood holding the wine, feeling the sting of a stranger remembering her milestone while her own husband hadnt bothered to call.
Near midnight Michael stumbled in, reeking of alcohol, a bright lipstick smudge on his shirt.
Where have you been? Margaret asked softly.
Now I have to explain everything? he snapped. Out with the mates, celebrating
Whats that stain?
What stain? he glanced at his shirt, waving it away. Just a little kiss from Victors daughter when she hugged me. Shes still a child.
The daughter is twentyseven, Margaret. She only wears burgundy lipstick. This is bright red.
Enough with your jealousy, Michael snapped. Maybe she has a new shade, who knows? And why the interrogation?
Margaret didnt argue. She slipped into the bedroom, shut the door, and lay down. Sleep evaded her; the thought that their marriage had become a farce lingered. They lived like distant neighbours, barely friendly.
The next morning, while Michael dozed on the sofa, Margaret called Emily.
Hey, love. Hows everything? Little Harry?
All good, Mum, Emily replied. Hes crawling everywhere. Dad didnt ring yesterday forgot about the anniversary?
See, Margaret sighed. I need to talk. Remember you asked me to come help with the baby?
Of course! Are you coming? Emily chirped. Wed love to have you. Itll be good for Harry to spend time with Grandma.
Ill come, Margaret said firmly. But not just for a week. Im thinking of staying longer, maybe moving in.
Mum, is something wrong? Emily asked, concerned.
Nothing major, Margaret replied. Just tired. Well discuss more later. Ill be there in three days.
The conversation lifted a weight shed carried for years. The decision shed been mulling over finally took shape. She no longer wanted to live with a man who neither respected nor valued her.
Michael awoke around lunch, throbbing from a hangover. Margaret placed a tablet and a glass of water beside him.
Whats with the gloom? he asked, wincing. Still mad about yesterday? Sorry, I blanked on the date. Who hasnt forgotten?
Im going to Emilys, Margaret said calmly. Ill help with the baby.
When?
Day after tomorrow.
For how long?
I dont know. Possibly forever.
Michaels mouth hung open, the tablet forgotten.
What do you mean, forever?
I mean Im leaving you, Mike.
Why now? Because of an anniversary? I could buy you flowers right now if you want.
Its not the flowers, she shook her head. Weve become strangers. You live your life, I live mine. We pretend to be a family for the sake of appearances.
Margaret, what are you talking about? Thirty years together!
Thats exactly why Im leaving, she said, a sad smile flickering. I dont want another thirty years of torment.
Whats tormenting you? he shouted. Roof over our heads? Money? I bring home a paycheck. What else?
She watched the angry, bewildered man and wondered how far he had changed, or perhaps simply stopped pretending.
I need attention, care, respect, she whispered. I need to feel loved, not just a housekeeper who washes shirts stained with someone elses lipstick.
Again with your complaints! Michael exploded. There was nothing there!
It doesnt matter whether there was or not, Margaret replied, weary. What matters is were now strangers. You act as if I dont exist, and I cant bear that any longer.
Wait, he brushed his hair back, frantic. Youre really going? What about the flat? The things?
Ill take only what I need. The flat can stay with you. I need peace of mind more than furniture.
And where will you go? To my daughters roof? Does she need a motherinlaw?
Emily invited me. Ill help with Harry, maybe find work there. The citys big, opportunities are plenty.
What about me? Who will cook, wash, clean?
Margarets smile was tinged with sorrow. Youre an adult, Mike. Youll manage. Or youll find someone younger and prettier to put up with your antics.
For the next two days Michael seemed to doubt the seriousness of her resolve, tossing halfhearted promises and clumsy compliments her way.
Lets forget everything, he pleaded one evening as she packed. Ill try, I promise. Well go to the theatre, dine out. How about a seaside holiday next summer?
But Margaret had already decided. She placed the essentials into a suitcase, leaving the rest for later.
A taxi arrived at dawn. Michael lingered in the doorway, shifting nervously.
Maybe youll stay? he asked as Margaret reached for the handle. Think it over. Thirty years isnt a joke.
Goodbye, Mike, she whispered, brushing his shoulder lightly. Take care of yourself.
She didnt argue or linger. She simply stepped out.
The taxi rolled toward the station, the familiar streets slipping past the window. For the first time in years, Margaret felt a lightness, a strange freedom. The unknown ahead did not frighten her; it beckoned with promise.
At the station Emily waited with little Harry, who immediately clutched his grandmothers hand. She lifted him, tears tracing her cheeksnot of sorrow, but of relief.
Mum, are you crying? Emily asked, startled. Did you and Dad fight?
No, love, Margaret said, kissing his chubby cheek. We didnt fight. I just realised sometimes you have to walk away at the right moment.
Six months later, Margaret worked in a nursery, rented a cosy flat near Emily, and felt happier than she had in years.
Michael called now and then, pleading for her return, but his voice held only selfish longing for comfort, not genuine remorse.
One evening, on her way home from work, Margaret passed a park bench where an elderly couple sat handinhand, just as she had seen in the café. The woman smiled at her, and Margaret returned the smile.
True love looks like this, she thought, still tender after decades, not sour with irritation.
Back home she brewed a cup of tea, settled into her armchair, and opened a book. Outside, a gentle spring rain fell, but inside her heart was warm and calm. She harboured no regrets. Sometimes, she realised, you must simply leave one door shut to open another.
