13May2025
Dear Diary,
Tonight the kitchen turned into a battlefield again. I slammed the kitchen door after a heated exchange with David, my husband, as he stormed in, face flushed with anger.
Wheres the money I handed you yesterday? he barked, eyes blazing.
I was just taking the mince patties off the hot pan, the sizzle of fat still echoing.
What money? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. You never gave me any.
Dont lie! You owe me fivehundred pounds for groceries. I left it on the nightstand in our bedroom!
I didnt take it, David. Have another look; maybe you misplaced it.
He tore the room apart, rummaging through drawers, cupboards, the whole flat. Its not here! Youve spent it on your fancy clothes!
I turned off the hob and wiped my hands on the apron. Four years of marriage have taught me to brace for these accusations, but they still cut deep each time.
David, I didnt take your money. I have my own salary; why would I steal?
Salary, he scoffed. Your petty earnings from the shop? Thats not a salary, its an allowance!
Just then Margaret Collins, my motherinlaw, stepped into the doorway. Shed been living with us for the past six months after selling her flat, insisting that every penny she saved went into Davids future business. In reality David was just a site manager for a construction firm.
Whats all this shouting about? she asked, casting a glance around. Another argument?
My mother, shes stolen my moneyfive hundred pounds! David snapped.
I didnt take anything, I whispered.
Margaret moved closer, scrutinising me from head to toe.
David never gave me any cash yesterday. He handed it to me for safekeeping because you, dear, cant handle money. Youd blow it all away.
I felt a wave of panic. Again they were on my side.
MrsCollins, if you took the cash, say it straight. Why accuse me?
Youre calling my own mother a thief? David roared.
Its not what I said. I just want the truth.
My dear, theres no point debating, Margaret said, pulling a few banknotes from her coat pocket. Here, I took the money so you wouldnt waste it. David, take this and buy yourself a decent shirt. You cant be showing up to work in that ragged thing.
David slipped the notes into his jeans pocket without even looking at me. Thanks, Mum. You always look out for me.
I stood there, the sting of humiliation burning hotter than the burnt mince. In this house any display of feeling turns against you.
The patties are burning, Margaret remarked. Everythings falling apart. The lady of the house cant manage a thing.
I flipped the patties, fighting to keep my breathing even, not to break, not to cryjust to finish the job.
Four years ago, things were different. David used to charm me, bring flowers, take me out for tea in the city centre. I worked at the same local supermarket where I still ama simple shop assistant with no qualifications or connections. I grew up in a childrens home, later moving into a council flat after leaving the home. Life was hard, but it was mine.
Then David appearedgoodlooking, confident, steady job. He noticed me while picking up groceries, started joking, invited me on dates. I could hardly believe my luck, a girl from a care home finding a man like him.
Our wedding was modest. I had no family to invite, only my flatmate, Lucy. Davids side brought his mother, a few relatives and friends. Margaret watched me with a thinlyveiled disapproval, though she kept it hidden.
After we moved into a twobedroom flat in a Manchester suburb, I kept working, kept the house tidy, tried to be a good wife. Slowly, though, small criticisms crept inYou oversalted the soup, You didnt iron my shirt properly, You spent the money wrong. Then came the accusations: I spent too much, dressed badly, was uneducated.
When Margaret moved in, everything worsened. She assumed the role of the households ruler, critiquing every move I made, pulling Davids strings. He obeyed his mother, always.
Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, I announced, setting the table.
Finally, David muttered, slumping into his chair, phone in hand. Im as hungry as a dog.
Margaret inspected the spread. The salad is watery, and theres barely any bread. Are you skimping on food?
I bought exactly what we need for the week, based on the list you both wrote.
Dont argue with your elders. Young people these days have no respect.
Dinner passed in a tense silence. David ate without a word, Margaret sighed loudly, and I barely touched my plate.
Afterward I washed the dishes while they lounged in the living room, laughing at the telly. I felt like a servant, allowed to live under their roof.
That night David went to bed without even wishing me good night. I lay awake, wondering when I became the unwanted burden rather than the beloved wife.
The next morning I rose early, made breakfast, packed his lunch, and watched him leave muttering something incomprehensible.
Later, while I was sipping tea, Margaret entered. David and I think the flat is too cramped for three of us. We need more space.
What do you mean? I asked, eyes meeting hers.
You could rent a room elsewhere for a while. You have a salary, after all.
This is my husbands flat. I am his wife.
Wife? Margaret chuckled. What kind of wife? You cant have children, youre useless around the house, you have no beauty. David could find someone better.
David chose me, I whispered.
He was wrong, she said. People make mistakes. They should be corrected.
Youre suggesting I leave him?
Im offering to make his life easier. You dont have to divorce; just live apart for a while.
My hands trembled, but I forced myself to stay calm. Ill speak to David.
The only one wholl agree is me. It was my idea.
The whole workday I replayed the conversation. Could David really want me gone? Did four years mean nothing?
That evening I arrived home early. David and his mother were in the kitchen sipping tea.
David, we need to talkalone.
Talk in front of Mum, she already knows everything.
Its about us.
He sighed, rose, and went to the bedroom. I followed, closing the door behind me.
Your mother said you want me out. Is that true?
He stared out the window. Its true. We need space. Mums here, Im uncomfortable, and youre just taking up room.
Im your wife!
Wife who hasnt given me a child in four years, who brings home pocketchange from the shop. What use are you?
The doctors said my health isnt the problem, yours is
Silence! he snapped, eyes flashing. Its your background, a carehome orphan! Who knows whats in your bloodline!
My parents died in a crash when I was three. Im a normal, healthy person!
Normal, he sneered. No family, no roots. I married you out of foolishness, now Im stuck with a burden.
Tears welled up, but I swallowed them.
So you want a divorce?
I want you out. Just out. Then well see.
Where should I go?
I dont know. Back to a council flat, maybe a room. Its your problem.
David, I love you. We can fix this, try again
Its too late, Ethel. Its decided. Pack your things.
When?
Tomorrow. You have the evening to sort yourself.
He left, closing the door on me. I sat on the bed wed shared for four years, the place where I once dreamed of children, of a happy family, of a future. Everything crumbled in an instant.
I began to gather my belongingsclothes, documents, a few pounds I kept hidden, photos, books. There was hardly anything of my own.
Margaret peeked in. Good, you understand. No drama, just go. David will find a proper wife from a respectable family.
I said nothing. Her words were a knife.
In the hallway she asked, Leaving?
Yes.
Leave the keys on the table.
I placed the keys down, paused at the door, looked back at the flat that had been my home for four years, and stepped out, knowing I would never return.
The streets were quiet at dawn. My council flat was already occupied by new tenants, and I had only a few hundred pounds left. I went to work early, hoping a quiet corner in the staffroom would give me time to think.
The shop was warm and silent. I sat on a wooden stool, bags beside me, trying not to cry.
Ethel? Whats got you up so early? called Verity Hughes, the store manager, a stern yet fair woman in her fifties.
Just couldnt sleep.
She leaned in, eyebrows raised. Dont lie. Ive known you four years; I can tell when youre not being truthful.
I poured out everythingmy husband, my motherinlaw, being thrown out. She listened, nodding occasionally.
Youre a scrounger, she said finally, but youre a good worker. We have a scheme for staff support. Ill help you.
She offered her daughters spare room for me to stay until I got back on my feet.
I cant I began.
You can and you will. Im not your boss now, just Verity.
She arranged for me to move after my shift.
I finally broke down, tears finally streaming down my cheeks, relieved to find someone on my side.
That evening Veritys flat, a modest twobedroom in a leafy suburb, welcomed me. Make yourself at home. The beds fresh, the teas ready.
Thank you, Verity. I dont know how to thank you enough.
No need. We all need a hand sometimes.
The next day David called, demanding I collect a box of his belongings.
Ive got everything, I replied.
He insisted on a time. I told him I was at work late. He hung up without a word.
When I finally returned home, he opened the door and handed me a cardboard box.
Heres your stuff.
I stepped inside, the flat now foreign. A young woman, twentyseven, impeccably dressed, lounged on the sofa.
Ethel, this is Lena. Shes my girlfriend.
Girlfriend? I whispered.
Just a formality. Im filing the papers soon.
She looked at me with thinlyveiled superiority.
So youve already found a replacement.
Im not a replacement, Lena said, rising. Im his partner. Real, not a temporary fix.
David avoided my gaze. Weve been seeing each other for six months.
Six months. While I was trying to be a decent wife, he was already elsewhere.
He smirked, Youre an orphan, dear. Who will stand up for you? No one.
He turned to leave. Take your box and get out.
I walked away, box in hand, my heart a mixture of anger and numbness.
On the way back to Veritys, tears finally fell freely.
Verity greeted me with tea and a slice of cake.
How did it go? she asked.
Hes with someone new, six months. He called me a stray.
Rubbish. Hes the one whos lost.
She patted my shoulder. Youll find better. Youre stronger than you think.
The following week I spoke to the stores HR manager, Maria Clarke. She arranged a small financial assistance package and a bonus to help with a deposit on a room.
Honestly, we dont abandon our own, she said.
A stranger named Tamara called later. She claimed to be Margarets sister.
I heard youve been evicted. Im against that. If you need help, let me know.
She had been through a similar ordeal and offered support.
Within days I secured a room in a shared house. The landlady, MrsIvy Whitaker, was elderly but kind.
Live peacefully, love. Keep it tidy and quiet, and youll be fine.
I moved in, arranged my few belongings, placed my photographs on the wall. It was cramped but my own space, free from condemnation.
David sent a message confirming the divorce. I accepted without bargaining, eager to close that chapter.
Three months later, life settled into a quiet rhythm: work, modest home, occasional chats with Verity and Maria.
One afternoon a man in his forties entered the shop, tall, bespectacled, with a warm smile. He lingered, asking for advice on a product. His name was Michael, a teacher whod recently divorced. He returned several times, and we began chatting.
Do you always help customers so attentively? he asked.
Its part of the job.
Your kindness is rare.
He invited me for tea. No pressure, just a cup, no expectations.
Our meetings grew, simple and honest. He never pried into my past, just enjoyed our conversations.
One evening he said, Youre strong, Ethel. Youve survived betrayal, being thrown out, a divorce, and youve rebuilt.
I dont feel strong, I admitted, smiling faintly.
You do. Strength isnt about never falling; its about getting up each time.
Months later I ran into David on the street, handinhand with Lena, who was visibly pregnant.
Hows life? he asked, smirking.
Fine. No one humiliates me here.
Lena tugged his sleeve, Come on, love, were late.
They walked off, and I felt nothing but indifference.
Later, walking home with Michael, I told him about the encounter.
Its over, he said. Youve let it go.
He took my hand, his eyes full of genuine warmth.
It doesnt matter where you came from or what youve lost. It matters who you are now.
I realised that the people who truly cared for meVerity, Maria, Tamara, Michaelwere my new family. Blood wasnt what defined it.
Lesson: No one is truly orphaned when there are strangers willing to stand up for you. Kindness, not blood, builds a family, and that support is the strongest armour against lifes cruelties.
