Youre an orphan, wholl stand up for you? the man chuckled as he threw me out of the house.
Wheres the money I handed you yesterday? James burst into the kitchen, his face flushed with anger.
Emily turned from the stove where the mince patties sizzled, the fat spitting on the hot pan.
Money? You never gave me any.
Dont lie! Fifty pounds for groceries! I left it on the bedside dresser!
James, I didnt take that cash. Look again, maybe I moved it.
Ive searched everywhere! Its gone! You took it and wasted it on your bits and bobs!
Emily switched off the burner and dabbed her hands on the apron. After four years of marriage she was used to such accusations, but they still cut deep each time.
James, I didnt touch your money. I have my own salary, why would I steal?
Salary! he sneered. Your pocketchange from the shop? Thats not a salary, its an allowance!
At the doorway appeared motherinlaw Margaret Brown. Shed been living with us for the past six months after selling her little flat. She claimed shed put the cash into her sons business, though James was merely a project manager at a construction firm.
Whats all this shouting about? she asked, looking over the kitchen. Another row?
Mum, she stole my fifty pounds!
I didnt take anything, Emily whispered.
Margaret stepped closer, appraising the daughterinlaw from head to toe.
James never gave me any money yesterday. He handed it to me for safekeeping because, dear, you cant manage a few pounds. Youll squander it all.
Emily felt a knot tighten in her chest. Again, they were united against her.
Margaret, if you took the cash, just say so. Why pile the blame on me?
Are you calling my mother a thief? James snapped.
I never said that. I just want the truth.
Theres nothing to discuss, Margaret said, pulling a handful of notes from her cardigan. Heres the money. I took it so you wouldnt waste it. James, take it and buy yourself a proper shirt, rather than turning up to work in rags.
James slipped the notes into his pocket without even looking at Emily.
Thanks, Mum. You always look out for me.
Emily stood silently, the sting of humiliation burning inside, though shed long learned to mask her feelings. In this house any display of emotion turned against her.
The patties are burning, Margaret remarked. Everythings falling apart. The housewife cant manage a thing.
Emily returned to the stove. The patties were indeed charred on one side. She flipped them, breathing steadily, refusing to break, refusing to weep, just doing her job.
Four years ago things had been different. James had courted her with flowers, taken her out for coffee. Emily worked in the same local supermarket she still worked at, a plain shop assistant with no qualifications or connections. Shed grown up in a childrens home, later earning a council flat and a job after leaving school. Life had been hard but hers.
Then James appeared: goodlooking, confident, with a steady job. Hed noticed her when he came into the shop for groceries, started chatting, joking, asking her out. Emily could hardly believe her lucka man like him and a girl from a childrens home, with no family, no past.
Their wedding was modest. Emilys side sent only a flatmate from the council house; Jamess side brought his mother, a few relatives, and a handful of friends. Margaret watched the new bride with thinly veiled disapproval, though she kept it hidden.
After the ceremony Emily moved into Jamess twobedroom flat in a council estate. She kept her job, ran the household, tried to be a good wife. But slowly things changed.
First came the petty nagging: the soup not seasoned enough, the shirt not ironed properly, the money not divided correctly. Then the accusations: she spent too much, dressed poorly, was uneducated.
When Margaret moved in, the situation collapsed. She assumed the role of household ruler, critiquing every move Emily made, meddling in everything, turning James against his own wife. And James always listened to his mother.
Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Emily announced, setting the table.
Finally, James sat down, phone in hand. Im starving.
Margaret inspected the spread.
The salads watery, and theres barely any bread. Are you skimping on food?
I bought exactly what we need for the week, according to the list you both drew up.
Dont argue with your elders. Young people these days have no respect.
Dinner passed in a tense silence. James chewed mechanically, Margaret sighed repeatedly, showing her displeasure. Emily barely touched her plate; there was no appetite.
Afterward she washed the dishes while James and Margaret lounged in the living room, watching television, laughing together. Emily felt like a servant whod been allowed to stay.
That night James went to bed without even wishing her good night. Emily lay beside him, staring into the dark, wondering when shed become so unhappy, when shed stopped being a loved wife and become a burden.
In the morning she rose before anyone else, as usual, prepared breakfast, packed a lunch for Jamess shift. He left muttering something unintelligible.
Emily, we need to talk, Margaret entered the kitchen as Emily finished her tea.
Im listening.
You see, this flat is too cramped for the three of us. Its getting cramped.
I understand, but we dont have the money for a bigger place.
Thats exactly why we think you should move out for a while. Find a room, for instance. You do have a salary.
Margaret, this is my husbands flat. Im his wife.
Wife? Margaret smiled cruelly. What kind of wife are you? Cant have children, hopeless around the house, not a pretty face. James could do better.
James chose me, Emily said softly.
He made a mistake. People make mistakes, but they must be corrected.
Youre suggesting I leave my husband?
Im suggesting you make his life easier. Youre not divorcing, just living apart. Might be best for everyone.
Emily rose from the table, hands trembling, trying to keep composure.
Ill speak to James.
Talk, talk. Hes already agreed with me. It was his idea.
All day at work Emily replayed the conversation. Could James really want her out? Did four years mean nothing?
That evening she came home early. James was already there, sitting with his mother, drinking tea.
James, I need to speak with you alone.
Talk in front of Mum, she already knows everything.
This is about us.
He sighed, went to the bedroom, and Emily followed, closing the door behind her.
Your mother said you want me to go. Is that true?
James turned toward the window.
Its true. We need space. Mums here, Im uncomfortable, and you just take up room.
Im your wife!
A wife who hasnt given you a child in four years. A wife who brings home pocketchange from the shop. What good are you?
James, the doctors said the problem isnt me. You
Shut up! he snapped, eyes flashing. Its your orphan background! Who knows whats in your family history!
What does the orphanage have to do with this? My parents died in a crash when I was three. Im a normal, healthy person!
Normal, he sneered. No family, no roots, nothing. I married you out of pity, now youre a burden.
Tears welled, but Emily held them back.
So you want a divorce?
I want you out. Just out. Then well see.
Where should I go?
I dont know. Back to the council hall, or rent a room. Your problem.
James, I love you. We can try again
Too late, Emily. Its decided. Pack your things.
When?
Tomorrow. You have tonight to gather what you can.
He left the room, leaving her alone on the bed theyd shared for four years, where shed once dreamed of children, of a happy family, of a future. Everything collapsed in an instant.
She started stuffing clothes into a bag, taking documents, a few pounds shed hidden, photos, books. How much of her was left? Almost nothing.
Margaret peeked in.
Clever girl, you understand. No need for a scene.
Im not looking for a scene, Emily replied, still packing.
Good. Slip out quietly, and thats that. James will find someone proper, from a decent family.
Emily said nothing. Margaret had always thought her unworthy of her son and now had achieved her aim.
In the morning Emily dressed, grabbed the bags. James still slept. Margaret was sipping tea in the kitchen.
Leaving?
Yes.
Leave the keys on the table.
Emily placed the keys down, walked to the hallway, paused at the door, turned back. The flat that had been her home for four years would never feel like home again.
She descended the stairwell, out onto the street. Early dawn, almost no traffic. Where to go? Her council room was already taken. Renting a place required money she barely hadjust a few pounds left.
She went to work, arrived early, sat in the staff room, bags by her feet. She wanted to cry but the tears wouldnt come, just an empty ache.
Emily? Why so early? Veronica, the store manager, appeared in the doorway. She was in her early fifties, stern but fair.
Cant sleep.
Veronica squinted at the bags.
Whats happened?
Nothing. Alls fine.
Dont lie. Ive known you four years; I can tell when youre not being straight. Talk.
Emily told her everythinghusband, motherinlaw, being thrown out. Veronica listened, nodding.
Youre a right bastard, she said when Emily finished. Sorry for the language, but thats the truth.
I dont know what to do.
My daughter lives in another town; her flat is empty. Stay with me for a bit, sort things out.
Veronica, I cant
You can. And stop calling me Mrs., just Veronica. Pack up, well go after your shift.
Ill pay you back.
First get on your feet.
Emily finally let the tears fall, feeling a weight lift. Someone was on her side, offering help without asking for anything.
That evening they drove to Veronicas modest twobedroom flat on the citys edge. It was simple but cosy. The spare room was small, with a narrow bed, a desk, a wardrobe.
Make yourself at home. The beds fresh, I changed the sheets yesterday. If you need anything, just say.
Thank you so much. I dont even know how to thank you.
No need. Weve all been through something. Someone helped me once, now Im paying it forward.
Emily arranged her belongings, sat on the bed. It was cramped and modest, but it was hers, a place where no one belittled her.
The next day James called.
Where are you? Need to collect the rest of your stuff.
Ive taken everything.
Theres still a box left. The junk. Can you come today?
I cant, work runs late.
Then tomorrow. Mum needs space for her things.
He hung up without asking how she was, just about the box.
Emily returned to work, thinking of the call. Could James really want her out? Did four years mean nothing?
The following day after her shift, James opened the door, holding a cardboard box.
Here, take it.
Can I come in?
Why?
I need to discuss something.
He let her in reluctantly. The flat smelled of unfamiliar perfume. In the lounge sat a young woman, about twentyfive, attractive and wellkept.
Meet Lena, James said. Lena, this is Emily, my exwife.
Exwife? Were not divorced.
Formalities. Ill file the papers soon.
Lena looked at Emily with barely concealed superiority.
So youve already found a replacement, Emily said quietly.
Im not a replacement, Lena replied, standing. Im his girlfriend, the real one, not some temporary sideissue.
James, how long have you been seeing her?
He avoided eye contact.
Six months.
Six months. While Emily tried to be a good wife, James had been seeing someone else, lying, and then simply booted her out.
You cheated on me and then blamed me for everything, Emily said.
Dont make a scene. Youre an orphan, wholl protect you? James smirked, looking down at her. No one will step in for you. So pack your box and get out.
Emily took the box, hands trembling, the anger and humiliation boiling inside, but she kept a steady face. She turned and left.
On the walk back to Veronicas she wept openly, tears finally finding their way. How could someone be so cruel?
Veronica met her with tea and a slice of cake.
Saw him?
Yes. He already has someone new, together six months.
What a wretch. He said youre an orphan and no one will stand up for you.
Veronica set the cup down.
Hes wrong. There are people who will. Me, the girls from the shop, anyone who cares.
Thanks, but whats the point? Hell divorce, marry someone else, and forget me.
Thatll be the best thing for you. Youll be free from that idiot and can build a proper life.
That weekend Veronicas friend Alana, also from the shop, dropped by.
How can you kick someone out like that!
Apparently you can, Emily replied, halfsmiling.
Have you spoken to the manager? We have a staffsupport scheme, you could get some financial help.
I didnt know.
Talk to Susan on Monday, shell sort you out.
On Monday Emily did just that. Susan, the store manager, listened, frowned, then said,
Those bastards. Sorry. Ill arrange a small grant for you and a bonus this monthenough for a deposit on a room.
Thank you so much.
We dont abandon our own. Youre a good worker, an honest person. People like you deserve a chance.
Emily left the office feeling lighter; the money would help her rent a room and start anew.
That evening a stranger called.
Emily? Im Helen, sister of Margaret. I heard what happened. Im against what youve been through. If you need any help, just ask.
Why do you care?
Because Ive been there. My first husband threw me out too. I understand.
They talked for a while. Helen shared her story, gave advice, offered support. By the end Emily felt steadier.
A week later she found a room in a shared house. It was cheap but decent. The landlady, an elderly lady named Zinnia, welcomed her warmly.
Live peacefully, love. I keep order, but Im not a nag. Just keep it clean and quiet.
Emily moved in, arranged her small space, hung photos, set up books. It was tight, modest, but it was hers, free from humiliation.
James sent a message about the divorce. Emily accepted all his terms, asked for nothing, just wanted to close that chapter.
Three months later she settled into the new rhythm: work, home, occasional meetups with shop friends. Life was quiet, simple, free of arguments and accusations.He smiled at the sunrise over the quiet garden, feeling at last that he had finally reclaimed his own peace.
