A sensible wife and her notsosensible choice
When Emily first laid eyes on him, she thought it was destiny. Tall, goodlooking, with eyes that seemed to have a permanent kindly glow. He was standing at the other end of the university cafeteria, the one attached to the Cambridge Institute of Research where shed been a librarian for seven years. Her heart whispered that he was the bloke shed been dreaming about since she was a child.
Whore you staring at? asked Lucy, a colleague she shared lunch with. Ah, thats the new postdoc from the physics department. Just wrapped up his PhD, looks promising.
Emily blushed, looked away, and buried her face in a bowl of vegetable soup.
Just scanning the room, she muttered.
Sure, and Im the Queen of England, Lucy snorted, a grin on her face. Your face says it all. By the way, hes still single Ive done my homework.
Hes young, Emily stammered, feeling her cheeks heat up.
How old are you? Thirtytwo? Hes about twentyseven, give or take. Does that matter?
Emily fell silent. The age gap was small, but it felt like a canyon. Shed long accepted that shed probably stay single forever. After a disastrous romance back in the department, shed buried herself in books, making the shelves her confidants. And thenhe.
The next morning the young scientist showed up at the library. His name was James Whitmore. He asked for a rare monograph on quantum field theory. Emily, nerves buzzing, trekked to the back aisles. The book didnt reveal itself immediately.
Sorry to keep you hunting, James said, taking the hefty tome from her. I could have fetched it myself.
Dont mention it, its part of the job, Emily replied, trying to keep her voice calm and professional.
And I saw you in the mess yesterday, he added unexpectedly. May I tempt you with a coffee after work?
Emilys mouth formed a surprised What?
Id like that, she managed, finally.
That coffee turned into a string of evenings together. James proved not only to be clever but also a delightfully witty conversationalist. He explained his research in a way that even a nonphysicist like Emily could follow and become intrigued. She, in turn, regaled him with tidbits from the books shed read. He listened, asked questions, and arguedsometimes for hours, completely losing track of time.
Emily, youre remarkable, James confessed one night while strolling through Regents Park. Youre wise, you know so much, you feel things so deeply. Ive never met a woman like you.
Its all the books, she said shyly. I just read a lot.
No, its more than that. You think, analyse, see what others miss. In the lab they call me a promising researcher, but next to you I feel like a schoolboy.
Dont be daft, Emily brushed him off. Youre a physicist, you understand how the universe works, and I hand out books.
Dont belittle yourself. You understand human souls, which is far trickier than any equation.
They married six months after they met. Jamess parents werent thrilled. His mother, Margaret Whitmore, a formidable and ambitious woman, declared outright that her son was making a mistake.
Shes older than you! No prospects! Just a librarian! she shouted. What could she possibly give you or any future children?
Mother, I love her, James said firmly. Shes not just a librarian; shes intelligent and educated. And yes, well have children.
The wedding was modest. A tiny café hosted a few friends; the Whitmore parents didnt turn up.
The newlyweds started in a tiny rented flat. Money was tighta few quid each monthbut they were happy. Emily turned the place into a cosy home, and James loved coming back after long lab days. They still talked about books, movies, and his experiments.
Then the miracle theyd both hoped for happenedEmily became pregnant. Doctors had once told her her body was unlikely to ever carry a child.
James, Im pregnant, she announced one evening as he walked through the door.
He stopped dead in his tracks, then lunged forward, hoisting her into his arms and twirling her around.
Emily, my love! Thats wonderful! Were going to have a baby!
He doted on her throughout the pregnancycooking broths when nausea struck, sprinting for salty crisps at midnight, reading aloud parenting manuals, even diving into childpsychology textbooks to be a decent dad.
When their daughter arrived, they named her Blythe.
Blythe, my little hope and joy, James whispered, cradling the tiny bundle in a white blanket.
Margaret suddenly softened. She showed up at the hospital with a massive bouquet of roses and a basket of fruit.
Let me see my granddaughter, she demanded, eyes bright. She examined the babys cheek, proclaiming, Shes got your dimple, James!
From then on, Margaret became a frequent visitor, bringing gifts and advicesometimes useful, often intrusive. At first Emily tolerated it; after all, who could refuse a doting grandmother? But the meddling grew.
Emily, dont you swaddle the baby that tightly! Margaret would say. All paediatricians recommend a looser hold.
Emily, why arent you giving her a bit of mashed carrot? She needs more vitamins!
James kept quiet, rarely stepping in. One day he suggested, Mom, maybe we could move in with you. You have a spare room, and you could help with Blythe. Itd ease the finances, and I could keep my job.
What do you think, love? Emily asked cautiously.
Its a decent offer. Wed have more money, and youd have help at home, James replied. Your parents would be thrilled to have a grandchild nearby.
Emily agreed, even though a tiny voice inside warned her it might be a mistake.
The move happened when Blythe turned six months old. At first things were fineMargaret helped, Emily returned to parttime work. But the atmosphere grew tense.
Why are you letting her cry? Margaret would ask when Blythe threw a tantrum. Pick her up, soothe her!
Crying is normal, Emily would answer. Shell learn to manage her emotions.
Exactly! A happy childhood should be tearfree!
James increasingly sided with his mother, leaving Emily feeling sidelined. Disagreements erupted over feeding, sleeping, outings, toyseverything. Emily felt she was losing control, while Margaret gradually became Blythes main influence.
Then the nightmare came. Blythe developed a high fever and a cough. Margaret advocated home remedies.
Lets give her mustard poultices and raspberry tea, and shell be fine!
No, Emily said firmly. Im calling a doctor.
Dont need a doctor! I raised three kids without one!
James, please say something!
James stood between the two most important women in his life, clueless.
Maybe we should try the folk remedies first? he suggested hesitantly.
No! Emily snapped. Im the mother, I decide whats best for my child.
She called a doctor, who diagnosed early pneumonia. Prompt treatment saved Blythe.
After that, Margaret felt scorned, reminding anyone whod listen that shed almost ruined her grandchild by ignoring wise advice.
James spent more time at work, avoiding home fights, and returned home exhausted and irritable.
Emily, can we talk? he asked one evening after Blythe was asleep and his parents had gone to a neighbours.
Of course, she replied, sensing trouble.
Theyve offered me a sixmonth fellowship in Manchester. Its a huge prestige, a onceinacareer chance.
Thats brilliant! Emily said, brightening. When do we move?
James averted his gaze.
The thing is Im thinking of going alone.
Alone? What about us and Blythe?
Youll stay here with your parents. Itll be easier for everyone. Theyll look after Blythe; I can focus on the fellowship.
Emily couldnt believe her ears.
Youre abandoning us?
Im not abandoning! Its just six months. Then Ill be back, or you could visit me if everything works out.
You dont get it. If you leave, your mother will completely take over Blythes upbringing. She already believes she knows better than me what my child needs.
Youre exaggerating, James muttered. Mum just wants whats best.
For whom? For her? For Blythe? Certainly not for me.
What do you mean?
James, look around. When was the last time we had a hearttoheart? When did we discuss books or movies? You hide behind work to avoid conflict, and now you want to run away completely.
Thats not true! James protested. I work hard, I have responsibilities.
You used to work hard and still made time for us. Now youre choosing the easy way out.
James flared.
The easy way? A fellowship at the countrys leading research centre is the easy way? Do you know how many people dream of that?
Im not talking about the fellowship, Emily said, weary. Im talking about you fleeing problems instead of solving them.
Its not fleeing! Its a step forward in my career!
And what about a step forward for our family? For our marriage? Have you even thought about that?
They argued fiercely that night, the worst theyd ever fought. By morning James announced his decision: he would go to Manchester alone, and if Emily loved him, she should understand and support him.
Emily spent the next days racking her brain over the choice: keep living a halflife, losing herself and perhaps her husband, or make a change.
On the day of his departure she packed his suitcase, helped Blythe into a coat, and called a taxi.
Youre going where? James asked, surprised.
Were taking you to the station.
Alright, fine.
At the station, minutes before the train left, Emily kissed him and said, I love you, James. I always will. But I cant keep living under your parents roof. Blythe and I are moving back to our old flat.
What? James stammered. Youre moving out? What about Mum and Dad?
Theyre lovely people, but I want to raise my daughter myself and try to save our marriage, if theres still a chance.
You cant do that! James exclaimed.
I can, James. Im doing it. Go to your fellowship, work, grow. Well be here, waiting, in our home.
She turned and walked toward the exit, hand firmly gripping Blythes small hand. Her heart hammered like a drum. Was this the dumbest thing shed ever done? Perhaps. Yet a quiet voice told her it was the wise wifes move.
Mom, did dad get home yet? Blythe asked as they slipped into the taxi.
Hes at work, sweetheart. Hell be back.
Where are we going?
Home, love. Were going home.
The first few days back in the cramped flat were rough. Blythe whined, demanding Grandmas attention. Phone calls from Margaret were relentless, demanding the grandchilds return. Emily took a short leave from work to establish a new routine.
James vanished for a week, then sent a brief text: How are you both?
Were fine, getting settled, Emily replied.
Gradually life found a new rhythm. Emily dove into motherhood, taking Blythe to the park, the zoo, a puppet theatre. Evenings were spent reading, drawing, and moulding plasticine. She discovered Blythe was calmer and happier than when shed been with her motherinlaw.
James called rarely, offering clipped updates about the fellowship, new contacts, breakthroughs. He never asked how they were doing. Emily didnt pry, but she sent him photos of Blythes latest crayon masterpiece.
Three months later, after tucking Blythe into bed, Emily was reading when the doorbell rang. James stood on the threshold, clutching a massive bouquet of wildflowersher favourite.
May I come in? he asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.
Emily stepped aside, letting him in.
Is Blythe asleep? he asked, slipping off his shoes.
Yes, just dozed off.
How is she?
Good. She misses you.
James perched on the sofa, setting the flowers down.
And you? he asked quietly. Do you miss me?
Emily sat beside him, not touching.
Very much, she admitted.
Ive finally understood, Emily, James said suddenly. I was running from problems, making cowardly choiceseasy ones.
What now?
Now I want to make the right choice, the hard one. I want to come back, if youll have me.
And the fellowship?
Its over. I finished early, did everything they asked, and even more. They offered me a permanent post in Manchester with a good salary and prospects.
You turned it down? Emily guessed.
Yes. Because I realised I need nothing without you, without us. It doesnt matter whether were in London or Manchester; what matters is being together.
And your parents?
I had a proper talk with themmaybe the first real one in years. I told them well decide together how to raise Blythe. Theyll help if asked, but they wont command. Mum was shocked, of course, but I think shell come round eventually.
Emily looked at James, seeing determination and love she hadnt seen in a long time.
You know what else Ive realized? James continued. Youre the truly wise one. You saw what I didnt, you did what I lacked courage to dopull us out of this endless loop.
Honestly, I wasnt sure I was doing the right thing, Emily confessed. It felt risky.
That risk wasnt a foolish choice at all, but a wise one.
James reached out and gently brushed her cheek.
Will you forgive me?
Instead of answering, Emily leaned in and kissed him. From the bedroom came a tiny voice:
Mum, did Daddy get home?
They laughed, got up together, and went to their daughter. Emily thought that sometimes the choices that look the silliest at first turn out to be the wisest. And sometimes you just need a dash of courage to take a bold step and rescue what truly matters.
