I still remember the day I sent my husband and his mother packing, the moment they turned up hoping for a truce. Miss Whitby, are you aware that complaints have been lodged against you? Three in a single month! Thats not how a nurse should work, the head sister barked.
I stood in the office, fists clenched, cheeks flushed, a knot lodged in my throat. Im doing everything by the book, Margaret Sinclair. That Mrs. Crutchfield nitpicks at every little thing. Shes never satisfied, I snapped.
The point isnt her temperament, Veronica. You must speak to patients with courtesy. Youre a nurse, not
What, a chattel who must endure abuse? I cut in, sharper than I intended.
Margaret sighed, removed her spectacles and rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. Veronica, I know youre in a rough patch. Divorces are never easy. But duty is duty. Take some leave, get some rest. Im not sure how much longer I can shield you.
I left the office, tears threatening to spill. A halfyear had slipped by since Ian walked out, and the wound still ached. Each day felt like a trial: the hospital, the empty flat that echoed my own steps, the silence that pressed in on me.
In the staff room, Lucy, my only confidante, waited. So, whats the news? she asked gently.
He offered me a holiday. Says Im on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
Maybe its worth it. A change of scenery might do you good.
I shook my head. Where would I go? Ians alimony is a pittance, and his mother has shoved a bogus tenancy on me, claiming his income is tiny and the flat belongs to her.
Lucy frowned. You should never have signed those papers.
I thought we were a family, I whispered. I never imagined he could be so callous.
I poured a mug of tea from my thermos, sank into a threadbare chair, and trembled. Lucy, have I really become angry? Have I turned cruel?
She laid a hand on my shoulder. Youre merely defending yourself. After twenty years together, he left for a younger woman with no children. Who wouldnt feel bitter?
Tears streamed down my cheeks. I just want a normal life, free from this pain.
That night I walked home on foot, saving a penny on the bus. October was cold and wet, damp leaves clung to my shoes and the wind slipped under my coat collar. My thoughts swirled as I stared at the pavement.
When Ian left, it felt like a nightmare, one I hoped Id wake from and find everything as it had been. He would return from work, hang his coat in the hall, ask what was for supper, and we would share the ordinary rhythm of life. Instead, his mother, Nora Pearson, arrived with cold eyes and a stack of documents. She claimed Ian needed his own space, that I had smothered him, that love had long since fled their marriage. I listened, barely recognizing the woman Id called mother for years.
The flat is in my name now, Nora said, tapping the table. But I wont throw you out. Find somewhere else to live.
Ive lived here twenty years, I whispered. Ian and I bought the furniture together
You bought it with my money, she interrupted. Remember, Ian is my son and Ill always stand by him.
Silence fell. I gathered my things and moved into a council flat on the outskirts, a dim, cramped room shared with an alcoholic neighbour and a communal kitchen that reeked of cats. It was my space, however modest, and no one could take it from me.
One evening, as I neared my building, a familiar black sedan the one Ian had bought half a year earlier idled outside. My heart lurched. He must be nearby. Why?
Climbing the stairs I heard voices. On the landing, Ian and Nora stood, arguing. Nora gestured wildly, Ian nodded.
Ian! he saw me first. At last. Weve been waiting an hour.
I fumbled for my keys, but Nora stepped in front of the door. Hold, we need to talk.
Theres nothing to discuss, I tried to keep my voice steady, though my hands trembled. Please, just let me pass.
Nora, dont be so harsh, Ian said, looking older, tired, dark circles under his eyes. We came to make amends.
Mend? I echoed, bewildered.
Yes, Nora cooed, her tone oily. Your wife left you, turned out to be after money. Hes repentant and wants to return.
Return? I repeated, as if hearing my own echo.
Its us, dear. Were a family. After twenty years you cant just walk away.
Ian reached out his hand, but I stepped back. Lets talk inside, properly. Ill explain everything.
What could you possibly explain? My anger boiled over. How you slipped out in the night, claiming you loved another? Or how your mother drove me out of the home I poured my heart into?
Veronica, calm down, Nora pressed her lips together. Our intentions are good.
Good? I laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. You came because your son is alone, because the girl he chased proved smarter than me. Now you expect me to welcome him back?
You dont understand, Ian began, but I cut him off.
I understand perfectly. Six months ago you said I smothered you, that there was no love left, that you needed space. And you were right.
Its not Ian stammered.
No, let me finish. I spent thirtyfive years smoothing your shirts, cooking your favourite meals, tolerating your mothers endless interference. I gave up my career because you wanted a housewife. I never had children, and your mother called me defective.
I never said those things, Ians face turned ashen.
But you stayed silent while she berated me. You stayed silent while I wept.
Nora exhaled dramatically. Enough dredging up the past. Ian has come to apologise, hes seen his mistake. Isnt that enough?
It isnt, I said, meeting Noras gaze. In these six months Ive realized Im finally living for myself. Yes, its hard. Yes, Im in a council flat and money is tight. But this is my life now, and no one can tell me its wrong.
Perhaps we should go in? Ian asked, glancing at the neighbours door where footsteps echoed. We dont want to be seen by strangers
Strangers? I smiled wryly. To you theyre strangers. To me theyre neighbours, and they treat me better than you and your mother ever have.
You have no right! Nora snapped. I was like a mother to you!
A mother does not cast a woman out onto the street, nor strip her of a roof she tended for twenty years.
The flat is mine on paper!
On paper, yes. But not in conscience.
The law is the law, Nora snapped, tapping the table.
I nodded. Youre right. The law is the law. I ask for nothing no flat, no money, no apologies. Just ask you to leave and never appear in my life again.
Ivan, wait, Ian grabbed my arm. I truly regret. I was foolish. That Christine
It doesnt matter, I pulled my hand free. What she did, why she left I dont care. Im done.
Youre not even angry anymore? Ian whispered, shoulders slumped like a punished schoolboy.
No, Im relieved. You loved convenience, perhaps. I was a convenience.
I turned the key, my hands steady now, a calm I hadnt felt for months settling over me.
Come on, Mum, lets go, Nora urged, her voice rising. Youll regret this, Veronica. At fortythree youre old, youll end up alone!
Maybe, I shrugged. But Id rather be alone than with those who dont value me.
I stepped through the doorway, closed it behind me, leaned against it and shut my eyes. Voices drifted on the other side Noras protest, Ians low replies, the clatter of a lift.
I made my way to my tiny room, slipped off my shoes and collapsed onto the bed. The silence wrapped around me like a warm blanket. For the first time in months, the emptiness didnt feel frightening.
My phone buzzed. It was Lucy. How are you? Handled Crutchfield?
I smiled, typing back, Handled her. And more.
I rose, walked to the window, and watched the streetlights flicker on. The city bustled on, cars humming, people hurrying. I was a part of it now, not anyones wife or daughterinlaw, just Veronica.
Morning found a shaft of sunlight cutting through the thin curtain. I wondered if yesterday had been a dream. No, Ian and his mother had stood at my door, pleading for reconciliation, and I had turned them away.
I rose, did my exercises, and remembered how for the past six months Id begun jogging at dawn and signing up for yoga at the community centre, not to impress anyone but because I finally had time for myself.
At work Lucy noted a change. Youre glowing, she said. What happened?
Ivan came by with his mother, wanted to make peace, I replied. I sent them away, politely but firmly.
Lucy beamed, hugging me. Youre brilliant. Im proud of you.
I spent the night staring at the ceiling, thinking about the twenty years I lived in his shadow. I realised Id forgotten who Veronica is, what she loves, what she wants.
What do you want now? Lucy asked.
Im not sure yet. But I wont return to what was, I said. It feels like breaking out of a cage terrifying at first, then you realize you can fly.
Lucy laughed. If he shows up again?
He wont. I saw his face. He expected me to swoon, to thank him for returning. He was taken aback when I didnt. Men like that never learn.
The following week I asked Margaret for a weeks leave. Where will you go? she inquired.
To my sisters in the countryside.
My sister Gillian lived in a small Cotswold village three hundred miles away. I hadnt visited for years; work, Ian, the city had kept us apart.
Gillian welcomed me with open arms. Veronica, love, come in, come in! she cried. The cottage was modest but cosy, the air scented with fresh scones and apples. A ginger cat purred on the hearth, geraniums lined the windowsill.
Youve lost weight, Gillian noted, pouring tea. You look pale.
Im divorced, I said plainly.
Thank heavens! she clapped her hands. Ian was never right for you. Hes just a mothers son, a drudge.
Gillian!
What I love most is that you finally see it. You spent twenty years serving him and that meddlesome mother, and now youre free.
The funny thing, Gillian continued, is they came begging for a truce yesterday. The very girl Ian left him for is now with him again.
Did you send them packing? I asked.
Thats exactly what I did.
She nodded approvingly. Now live for yourself. Youre still young, still beautiful. Lifes ahead of you.
Fortythree, Gillian. Is there a life left?
Of course not! My neighbour is fiftyeight and married a widower last year. Shes thriving.
I spent ten days at Gillians. We walked the woods, collected mushrooms, helped in the garden. She never pried into my past, never gave advice, just kept me company.
One evening we sat on the porch, tea steaming, as the sun set in pink hues.
Veronica, have you thought about moving here permanently? Gillian asked.
To the country? Why?
Its quieter. My house has room. The local clinic needs a nurse. Pay isnt like London, but you wont have the stress.
I contemplated the prospect. A village, peace, no constant reminders of Ian.
Leaving everything behind is daunting, I admitted.
What would you be leaving? Gillian pressed. The council flat? The job where youre undervalued? The city where you might run into your ex?
I had no answer, but the thought lodged itself firmly.
When I returned to London, fatigue fell over me again. Grey skies, sootstained streets, crowds rushing past. The council flat smelled of damp and a quarrelling neighbour. Work was unchanged Mrs. Crutchfield still complained, Margaret still sighed. Lucy noted my distraction.
Whats on your mind? she asked over lunch.
Gillian wants me to move to her village.
And youll go?
Im not sure. It could feel like running away, but perhaps thats exactly what I need a fresh start.
Lucy fell silent, then said, Whatever you decide, Ill support you. Just think it through. Village life isnt city life. It has its own rhythm.
A few days later, as I left the ward, I saw Ian standing outside a shop window, arm linked with a young woman who was not the one who had driven him away. They laughed, chatting animatedly. My heart clenched. Six months had passed since that stairwell confrontation, and he was already with another.
He caught sight of me, hesitated, then turned his gaze back to his companion. He didnt even nod. I stood in the middle of the street, a sudden laugh bubbling up. I laughed at the absurdity, at the strangers puzzled looks, because at last I understood: I didnt need this life, these people, these memories, this pain.
The next morning I handed in my resignation.
Youre serious? Lucy asked, eyebrows raised.
Absolutely. Im heading to Gillian. Starting anew.
What about your flat? Your belongings?
Only a few things. Ill take what I need, give away the rest.
Lucy embraced me. Ill miss you. Promise youll write.
I promise.
Packing took a week. Two suitcases and a bag held everything I owned. As I walked the city for the last time, I visited the park where Ian and I had once strolled, paused at the building where we never truly lived, and felt a strange peace.
On the coach, I watched the familiar landmarks recede, the horizon widening ahead. I was not afraid; for the first time in many years fear had left me.
At the bus station, Gillian greeted me.
Here to stay for good? she asked.
Here to stay.
A genuine smile broke across my face, free of bitterness.
Life in the village proved challenging, but I never regretted the choice. I took a post at the local health centre, moved into a small cottage near Gillians, and evenings were spent on the porch, tea in hand, chatting about everything and nothing.
Sometimes I recall that night when I shut the door on Ian and his mother. I remember the tremor in my hands, the cold fear of being alone, and now I know that night marked the true beginning of my life a life where I finally became the heroine of my own story.
