28October2025 London
I never imagined I would be the one writing these words, clutching a pen while the kitchen light flickers low. The quiet after Eleanors storm has finally settled, and I feel an odd clarity as I look back on the last few weeks.
Eleanor Whitfield my wife of twenty years clung to the lapel of my blazer with such desperation that her knuckles turned white. Victor, what does leaving even mean? After twenty years of marriage? And what about me? she shouted, her voice cracking. I tried to stay calm, gently pulling her hands away. Eleanor, Ive made up my mind, I said, hoping my tone would cut through the hysteria. Its over. Weve both known it for a long time.
She could not believe it. Just yesterday we were planning a holiday, talking about the new bathroom tiles! she wailed, tears flooding her face. The next morning she had been sketching summer ideas while I nodded absentmindedly. Then, out of the blue, I blurted, Eleanor, Im going to Laura. At first she thought Id misheard, then she laughed, assuming it was a joke. But my expression was stonecold; the seriousness was unmistakable.
Whos Laura? she managed to ask, breathless.
My colleague. Weve been seeing each other for six months, I replied as if I were discussing a new television set, not the demolition of a marriage.
Eleanor sank into the armchair, staring at the man she had shared two decades with, unable to recognise the man before her. The shy, caring Victor she once knew seemed vanished, replaced by a stranger with cold eyes.
That night she lay awake in the kitchen, wrapped in an old housecoat, replaying every day of our life, trying to pinpoint the exact moment the tide turned. How had I grown distant? When did the rival appear?
The following morning I stood in the hallway with a suitcase, ready to walk out, leaving her stunned, bewildered, crushed.
Victor, please, lets talk, she pleaded, her voice softer now, pleading rather than screaming. Twenty years cant just be thrown away in one breath. Did something happen at work? Do you need time to think?
Im not thinking anything, Eleanor, I said, not meeting her eyes, fiddling with the zipper on the bag. I love another woman. Youve been a good housewife, but thats not enough. Laura understands me, shes exciting.
So Im just a cook and a laundress? she snapped, bitterness spilling out.
I never said that, I muttered, tightening my lips. Dont twist my words. Ill call a solicitor, well arrange the divorce. Ill leave you the flat, dont worry.
I dont want the flat! I want the family! I want you! she raised her voice again.
Eleanor, stop. I have a taxi downstairs waiting.
She lunged after me at the door. If you walk out now, dont ever come back! Hear me?
I turned at the threshold, Youve always been too dramatic, Eleanor. Lets skip the grand gestures. Ill collect the rest of my things next week.
The door slammed. Eleanor slumped against the wall, then collapsed onto the floor. The room was empty no tears, no pain, just a deafening void.
Lucy Hart, my sisterinlaw and Eleanors best friend, burst in as soon as she heard the news. She took in the scene in seconds: Eleanor sitting with a distant stare, photographs scattered, a shattered vase on the floor.
Darling, lets have a cuppa and you tell me everything, Lucy said, pulling a blanket over Eleanors shivering shoulders.
While the kettle boiled, Lucy tidied up, gathering broken pieces, and set a teapot on the table.
So he left for a younger woman, huh? she asked once Eleanor had steadied herself.
I dont even know, Eleanor shrugged. He said shes a colleague. Some Laura.
Classic, Lucy sighed. Grey hair on the chin, devil in the rib.
Shes not grey at all. Victor looks great, Eleanor objected. And that woman she isnt much younger than us.
What does it matter? Lucy retorted. What matters is that your husband swapped twenty years of a happy marriage for a fling with a colleague.
Maybe its my fault, Eleanor whispered, eyes reddened. Did I do something wrong?
Dont blame yourself! Lucy snapped. Ive seen how you lived all those years everything for the family, everything for him. You never breathed without permission. You gave up your career when he said a woman belongs at home. You cooked lowfat meals after the doctor warned about cholesterol. You skipped trips to your sister because he wanted new wallpaper in the living room.
Its normal, Eleanor murmured. Im his wife; I must look after him.
Exactly must, Lucy said, shaking her head. Youve spent your whole life obliged to someone else husband, motherinlaw, society. But to yourself? Have you ever been obliged to yourself?
Eleanors gaze fell. She had never considered that question. She was a pretty girl from a modest background, married early to Victor, whose parents, respectable academics, never treated her as an equal. To prove herself, she abandoned music school when her motherinlaw dismissed it as frivolous, and Victor backed that decision. She took a secretarial job at a respectable firm, only to quit when Victor insisted she devote herself entirely to the home.
They never had children a miscarriage at three months and doctors later told her chances of carrying a child were slim. Victor was disappointed; he had always wanted a son. He eventually made peace, and Eleanor filled the void by showering him with care.
Maybe its for the best, Lucy said gently, trying to lift the weight off Eleanors shoulders. Its time to live for yourself.
What are you talking about? My life is over! Eleanor cried.
Nonsense! Youre fortytwo, still beautiful, with so much ahead. Look at you youve disappeared into him. Wheres the real Eleanor? The one who sang with goosebumps, who dreamed of traveling, who wanted to work with children in care homes?
Eleanor stayed silent. Lucy was right the real Eleanor had been left behind somewhere in the past.
Alright, Lucy said, standing. Ill stay the night. Tomorrow well figure out what to do next. For now, take a shower and have this, she handed a tablet. Itll help you sleep.
Morning brought no relief. Eleanor felt shattered. Lucy busied herself in the kitchen, humming as she prepared breakfast.
Good morning, sleepyhead! Lucy shouted, spotting her. Omelettes almost ready. Sit down.
I dont want anything, Eleanor muttered, shaking her head.
Listen, Lucy said decisively, turning off the stove, lets pack a bag and head to my cottage. Fresh air helps clear the mind, and theres plenty to keep you busy.
No thanks, Lucy, Eleanor replied wearily. Maybe Victor will change his mind and come back
Will you take him back after he threw you away for a fling? Lucy snapped. Laura isnt a firstmeet; he said shes interesting.
So you think Im boring? Lucy retorted. He never knows what interesting looks like. Hes glued to work, has almost no friends, hobbies are the sofa and the telly. You guessed his every desire for twenty years, and now hes bored.
Stop it, Eleanor winced. Victor is educated, reads books, attends lectures
And he never took you to any? Lucy asked. Did he ever bring you along?
I never wanted to, Eleanor admitted. My duties at home always came first.
Of course, the borscht wont cook itself, Lucy quipped. And Laura probably makes borscht while attending lectures.
Eleanor sighed. Perhaps Lucy was right; perhaps she had let herself become uninteresting to Victor, sinking into domesticity and neglecting selfdevelopment.
Lets go to the cottage, she decided suddenly. Youre right; I need a distraction.
Lucys cottage turned out to be a perfect sanctuary: a modest yet cosy cottage, a garden bursting with blooms, the only sounds the birdsong. From sunrise to sunset Lucy tended the vegetable patch, and Eleanor helped weeding, watering, picking berries. The hard work kept her mind off Victors betrayal.
One evening, perched on the veranda with tea made from freshly picked blackberries, Lucy asked, Do you remember singing at music school? You had such a voice!
Its a thing of the past, Eleanor waved her hand.
No, it isnt, Lucy persisted. You buried that talent. Victor was always jealous of your music.
What nonsense? Eleanor replied. He thought singing in clubs was unserious. He was right; its not a profession.
You could have been a professional, Lucy said stubbornly. Your teacher said you had huge potential. Remember Mr. Sergei Ivanov? He wanted to send you to the conservatoire.
What does that have to do with now? Eleanor asked.
It shows you buried yourself alive for a husband who never appreciated you, Lucy said. You gave up a dream for a man who didnt value it.
The thought lingered. Eleanor had once dreamed of a stage, of music. Victor had changed everything.
Heres an idea, Lucy said suddenly, eyes bright. Lets go to the local community club. They have live music on weekends, karaoke. Well shake things up.
Are you mad? Eleanor gasped. Im nearly fortythree, married well, formerly married
Exactly, Lucy replied. Now youre a single woman with choices either sit and weep over a man who left, or start living anew.
The club was noisy, bright, full of youngsters. Eleanor felt out of place under the flashing lights, but with Lucys encouragement and a glass of wine, she relaxed.
Now for karaoke! Lucy announced when the host took the stage.
No, I wont, Eleanor protested.
You will, Lucy said firmly. Stop hiding.
Before she could object, Eleanor found herself on stage, microphone in hand. The opening lyrics of Ill Never Forget You from the musical *Juno and the Paycock* appeared on the screen. It had once been her favourite song.
She sang timidly at first, then her voice grew stronger with each note. The room fell silent, listeners hanging on. When she finished, applause erupted.
Bravo! someone shouted.
She stepped down, trembling, when a middleaged man in jeans and a checked shirt approached.
Fantastic! he said, smiling. I havent heard a performance like that in ages. Are you a professional singer?
No, Im just a housewife, Eleanor blushed.
I doubt that, he replied, shaking his head. Im Michael, leader of the local choir.
Michael, Eleanor extended her hand. Nice to meet you.
Listen, Eleanor, Michael said, we have a vacancy for a soloist. Would you consider it?
Lucy nudged her, Of course you do, love! Right, Ellie?
Eleanor hesitated. I dont know I havent sung in years
But you sang beautifully, Michael insisted, handing her his card. Give me a call.
Lucy gushed, Did you see the look on their faces? Michaels charming, too. This could be the fresh start you need.
Eleanor tucked the card into her pocket, feeling a flutter of something she hadnt felt in ages.
That night, she called Michael and arranged a meeting. The choir met three times a week at the community centre, a modest but enthusiastic group. After a second audition, Michael was thrilled, offering her several solo pieces.
My life turned out differently, Eleanor said later, but its never too late to change.
Victors solicitor had sent the divorce papers by email, but she delayed signing, hoping he might return. She tried calling him; he either didnt answer or spoke coldly. The papers sat untouched on the kitchen table.
One afternoon, after a rehearsal, Victor appeared at her door, a briefcase in hand.
Hi, he said, hesitating. Can I come in?
Sure, Eleanor opened the door. He stepped inside, eyes scanning the modest redecorations new curtains, reordered furniture.
Youve done some work here, he noted.
Just rearranged a few things, she replied, feeling a strange calm.
You havent signed the papers, he said, eyebrows lifting. My lawyer keeps urging me.
Ive been busy, she said, swallowing.
Busy with what? Victor asked, skeptical. You dont work.
I sing in a choir now, she answered, voice steady. Three rehearsals a week, plus occasional performances.
What? Victor flinched. A choir?
Yes, a choir. And I have solo parts.
He scoffed, Thats just a hobby. Not serious.
It matters to me, she said coldly. I even have a solo role.
He tried to downplay it. So youve been what? Singing for a month?
Almost a month, she said. Lucy helped me get here.
Victor stared at the coffee she poured, then sipped slowly. Youve changed. Lost weight, perhaps?
A bit, she answered. What did you want to talk about?
He hesitated, then said, Things with Laura arent as smooth as I thought. Shes always out with friends, has her own interests. At home, the place is messy, meals are not daily
Eleanor suppressed a smile. So youre saying?
I havent filed the divorce yet, he blurted. Maybe we could try again?
She set his cup down, eyes steady. No, Victor. Ive learned a lot this month. I lived for you, and you never valued that. You left when you wanted something new, never considering my feelings. Now that its inconvenient, youre back.
You dont understand! he shouted. I made a mistake! I love you!
You love comfort, Eleanor replied. You love being served. You never wanted the real me the woman who sings, who wants to learn, who craves the world beyond these walls.
Victor stared, bewildered. What are you talking about? The real me?
The me who sings, who wants to grow, who isnt just a housewife, she said. You never knew, never wanted to know.
Victors face twisted. Eleanor, stop. Weve been married twenty years. I was a fool, but Ill change, I promise!
Youre right, everything will be different, she smiled, but without you. Ill sign the papers and send them to your solicitor. Now I must get to rehearsal.
She rose, the conversation over.
Youll regret this! Victor shouted as he left, You wont belong in the choir! Youll just play the singer and then come back. I wont take you back!
She heard the door shut, stood for a moment listening to the silence that now felt light, not heavy. She walked to the mirror, adjusted her hair, applied a touch of lipstick, and smiled at her reflection.
I lived for him. And it was a mistake, she thought, stepping out to the rehearsal hall where new songs and new friends awaited. Perhaps a new love would blossom Michael had already shown interest but that is a story for another day.
Lesson learned: we cannot surrender our own lives to anothers convenience. Only when we claim our own voice do we truly begin to live.
