I remember it now, as if it were a chapter in an old diary, the way we used to look back on the things that once seemed unchangeable. Eleanor had lived for Edwardfor twenty years, in factyet it turned out to be a mistake.
What are you doing, leaving? she cried, her fingers digging into the cuff of his jacket until the knuckles of her hand turned white.
Ellie, let go, Edward said calmly, pulling her hands away. Ive already made up my mind. Enough of the theatrics. You know were over.
I dont understand a thing! Just yesterday we were talking about the holidays, the bathroom remodel! And now youre packing? Eleanors voice broke into a shout.
The day before, she had indeed been dreaming of a summer at the cottage. Edward had nodded absentmindedly, then, without warning, said, Ellie, Im off to Laura. At first she thought shed misheard, then assumed it was a joke. But Edward was dead serious.
Whos Laura? Eleanor managed to gasp.
My colleague. Weve been seeing each other for six months, he replied as if he were discussing a new television set, not the collapse of a marriage.
Eleanor sank into the armchair, staring at the man shed spent two decades with, a stranger with cold eyes. The shy, tender, caring Victor shed known was gone, replaced by a man whose warmth had evaporated.
That night she lay awake in the kitchen, wrapped in an old dressing gown, replaying every day of their life together, hunting for the moment when things went wrong. How had she missed the chill in his tone? How had she failed to see the rival appear?
In the early hours he stood in the hallway with a travel bag, ready to walk out, leaving her bewildered, stunned, crushed.
Edward, please, lets talk, she begged, her voice no longer a scream. Twenty years cant be thrown away in one breath. Did something happen at work? Do you need time to think?
Theres nothing to think about, Ellie, he said, not even looking at her, fiddling with the zip on his bag. I love another woman. Youve become boring. Laura understands me, shes fun.
So Im just a cook and a laundress now? Eleanors bitterness surged.
I never said that, Edward snapped, pursing his lips. Just stop making a scene. Ill call a solicitor, well sort the divorce. Youll have the flat, dont worry.
I dont want the flat! I want the family! I want you! she raised her voice again.
Ellie, enough. My taxis waiting downstairs.
He clicked the lock, glanced around to make sure he hadnt forgotten anything, and moved toward the door.
Edward! Eleanor lunged after him. If you walk out now, dont ever come back! Hear me? Never!
He turned at the threshold.
You always love the drama, Ellie. Lets skip the grand speeches. Ill collect the rest of my things next week.
The door slammed. Eleanor leaned against the wall, then slid down to the floor. The room was emptyno tears, no pain, just a deafening void and bewilderment.
Clare, her lifelong friend, arrived the moment she heard the news. She burst into the flat, took in the scene: Eleanor slumped in a chair, photographs strewn about, a vase shattered on the carpet.
Ellie, my dear, Clare said, wrapping an arm around her. Lets have a cup of tea and you can tell me everything.
While the kettle boiled, Clare tidied up, gathered the broken pieces, fetched a blanket and wrapped Eleanors trembling shoulders.
Hes gone to some younger woman, is that it? Clare asked once Eleanor had steadied herself.
I cant even be sure, Eleanor shrugged. He said she was a colleagueLaura, I think.
Classic British love story, Clare sighed. A dash of grey in the beard, a sprinkle of mischief.
Theres no grey at all! Edward looks fine, and that woman shes not much younger than us.
So what does it matter? Clare shrugged. What counts is that your husband swapped twenty years of a happy marriage for a fling with a colleague.
Maybe its my fault, Eleanor said, eyes reddening. Did I do something wrong? Did I miss something?
Dont blame yourself! Clare cut in. Ive seen how you lived all those yearsalways for the family, always for him. You never breathed without permission. You gave up a career when he said a woman belongs at home. You cooked lowfat meals when the doctor warned about cholesterol. You skipped a sisters visit because he wanted to repaint the sittingroom.
But thats normal, Eleanor whispered. Im his wife; Im supposed to care.
Exactlysupposed to, Clare replied. All your life you were supposed to be something to someone: husband, motherinlaw, society. But to yourself? When was the last time you were anything to yourself?
Eleanor lowered her gaze. She had never asked that. A pretty girl from a modest family, shed married the ambitious Edward from a welloff academic family. His parents had made it clear from the start that they saw her as inferior to their son. To prove her worth, she tried to be the perfect spouse. She gave up music schoolher motherinlaw deemed it frivolous, and Edward backed her. She took a secretarial job at a respectable firm, only to quit when Edward decided she should devote herself wholly to the home.
They never had childrena miscarriage at three months into their first pregnancy, followed by doctors bleak advice that she was unlikely to carry a child. Edward was disappointed; hed always wanted a son. Over time he settled, and Eleanor tried to fill the emptiness with endless attentiveness.
Ellie, maybe this is for the best, Clare said, breaking the gloom. Its time you start living for you.
How can you say that? Eleanor blurted. What best are you talking about? My life is over!
Nonsense! Clare retorted. Youre fortytwo, still beautiful. Look at yourselfyouve disappeared into him. Wheres the real Ellie? The one who sang with goosebumps down her spine? The one who dreamed of traveling? The one who wanted to help children in the orphanage?
Eleanor fell silent. Clare was rightthe real Ellie had been left behind somewhere in the past. Those twenty years had been lived not as her own.
Alright, love, Clare said, standing. Ill stay the night. Tomorrow well figure out what to do next. For now, take a shower and have this, she handed over a small tablet. Itll help you sleep.
Morning brought no relief. Eleanor felt shattered. Clare was already bustling in the kitchen, whipping up breakfast, humming cheerfully.
Good morning, sleepyhead! Clare chirped, spotting her. Omelettes almost ready. Sit down, lets eat.
I dont want any, Eleanor shook her head. I cant swallow a bite.
Fine, Clare said, turning off the stove. Lets pack a bag and head to my country cottage. Fresh air does wonders, and theres plenty to keep you occupied.
No, thank you, Eleanor sighed, exhausted. Ill stay here. Maybe Edward will change his mind and come back
And youll take him back? After he left you for a younger woman?
Laura isnt a firsttime fling, Eleanor mumbled. He says shes interesting.
So youre boring to him? Clare snapped. What does he know about interesting people? Hes glued to his work, has no friends, his hobbies are the sofa and the telly. Youve guessed his every desire for twenty years, and now hes bored?
Stop it, Eleanor snapped. Edward is educated, reads books, attends lectures
One lecture a week, Clare observed. Has he ever taken you with him?
I never wanted to, Eleanor admitted weakly. I always had the house to run.
Of course the stew wont cook itself, Clare teased. And Laura probably cooks a stew while she goes to those smart lectures.
Eleanor sighed, realizing perhaps she was at fault for becoming uninteresting to her husband. Shed sunk into domesticity and forgotten herself.
Lets go to the cottage, she said suddenly. Youre right; I need a distraction.
Clares cottage was a modest, cosy cottage surrounded by a garden awash with roses, the only sounds the birdsong and a distant church bell. It was the perfect place to collect ones thoughts.
From dawn till dusk Clare tended the garden; Eleanor helpedpulling weeds, watering, gathering berries. The hard, honest work kept her mind off Edward and his betrayal.
One evening, as they sat on the porch sipping tea made from freshly picked blackberries, Clare asked, Do you remember singing at the music school? You had a voice like a nightingale!
That was ages ago, Eleanor waved her hand.
No, I mean you havent lost it; you just buried it, Clare pressed. Edward was always jealous of your singing.
Ridiculous, Eleanor scoffed. He thought singing in clubs was frivolous. He was rightits not a profession.
You could have gone professional, Clare insisted. Your teacher said you had huge potential. Remember Mr. Howard? He wanted to send you to the conservatoire.
Whats that got to do with now?
Its about you burying yourself alive for a man who never appreciated it.
Eleanor thought back. She had once dreamed of the stage, of a musical career. Then Edward had come along and everything changed.
I have an idea, Clare said suddenly, eyes sparkling. Lets go to the local community hall. They have live music on weekends, a karaoke night. Lets have some fun.
Youre mad, Eleanor protested. Im almost fortythree, married well, formerly married.
Exactly, Clare grinned. Now youre a free woman with choiceseither sit and weep over a man who left you, or start living anew.
The hall was noisy, bright with flashing lights and a youthful crowd. Eleanor felt out of place at first, but Clare coaxed her, a glass of wine in hand, and soon she began to loosen up.
Now for karaoke! the MC shouted, stepping onto the stage.
No, no, I wont, Eleanor protested.
You will, Clare said firmly. Stop hiding.
Before she knew it, Eleanor stood on stage, microphone in hand. The opening line of an old favouriteIll never forget you from a classic balladglowed on the screen. She sang timidly at first, then her voice grew steadier, richer. The audience fell silent, listening. When she finished, a wave of applause broke out.
Bravo! someone shouted.
She stepped down, legs trembling, when a man in his thirties, wearing a denim jacket and a checked shirt, approached.
Brilliant performance! he said. Are you a professional singer?
No, Im just a housewife, Eleanor blushed.
I dont believe it. With that voice, you could be anything, he replied. Im Michael, I conduct the local choir.
Eleanor, she offered a hand.
Its a pleasure, Eleanor. Listen, we have a soloist spot open. Would you consider trying?
Clare nudged her. Of course you do, love! Right, Ellie?
Eleanor hesitated. I havent sung in years
But you sang beautifully, Michael said. Take my card. Ill wait for your call.
Clare gushed all the way home, Did you see them? You were magnificent! Michael seems a nice chap, too.
Im not looking for another man, Eleanor whispered, embarrassed.
Why not? Clare asked. Youre free now. You were formally married, but practically abandoned. You have every right to start a new chapter.
A new chapter Eleanor turned the card over in her hands. Could she really join a choir, chase the dream shed shelved?
The next morning she felt a strange lightness. For the first time in weeks she didnt want to weep. She phoned Michael and arranged a meeting.
The choir was amateur but skilled, rehearsing three evenings a week at the village hall. Michael, after hearing her again, was thrilled and offered her several solo parts.
You have a wonderful gift, he said. Its a shame you never pursued it professionally.
It just happened differently, Eleanor shrugged.
Never too late to change, Michael smiled.
The rehearsals became a breath of fresh air. She felt herself slip back into the youthful version of herself who loved music above all. She also enjoyed the camaraderie of the other singers, all different yet united by song.
A month passed. Eleanor still hadnt signed the divorce papers; she clung to a faint hope that Edward might return. She called him often, but he either didnt answer or spoke coldly. The solicitor had emailed the documents, but she delayed signing.
One afternoon, after a rehearsal, she heard a knock. Edward stood on her doorstep, a tentative smile on his face.
Hello, he said. May I come in?
Of course, she replied, opening the door. He stepped inside, eyes wandering.
Did you redecorate? he asked.
No, just moved the furniture, changed the curtains, she said. She hadnt sat idle all this timeshed refreshed the flat, tossed out old things, cleared the space.
It looks different, Edward remarked. You havent signed the papers. My solicitor is pressing.
A cold knot tightened in her stomach. He wasnt back to apologise; he was there to push the divorce forward.
I havent had the chance, she stammered. Ive been busy.
Busy with what? Edward raised an eyebrow. You dont work.
I sing in a choir now, she said, voice firm. Three rehearsals a week, plus performances.
What? he looked shocked. You? In a choir?
Yes. She felt a flush of pride. I love it.
He muttered, Thats just a hobby.
It matters to me, she replied coolly. I even have solo parts now.
He snorted. How long have you been at it?
Almost a month.
And what got you into it?
Clare helped me, she said, not wanting to go into detail. If youre only here for the paperwork, I wont keep you.
He hesitated, then said, Actually, I wanted to talk. Maybe we could have coffee?
She walked to the kitchen, heart pounding. Could he have truly changed? While she brewed coffee, he watched her.
You look thinner, he observed.
A little, she replied, placing the cup before him. What did you want to discuss?
He paused, gathering his thoughts. You know, things with Laura arent going smoothly. Shes always out with friends, never at home, doesnt cook much. The house is a mess.
Eleanor barely managed a smile. It was clear now why he had left. Laura was not the tidy housewife he had grown accustomed to.
So what do you want from me? she asked.
Maybe we could try again? he suggested. I havent filed for divorce.
The solicitors papers?
That was just a scare, he waved it off. Ellie, you love me. Twenty years isnt a joke.
Eleanor looked at him and felt nothingno joy, no sorrow, no triumphjust a hollow calm.
No, Edward, she said evenly. 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, you try to come back.
You dont understand! Edward shouted. I was wrong! I love you!
No, Edward, you dont understand, she replied. You loved the comfort I created. You loved being served. You never wanted the real me, the woman who sings, who wants to learn, who craves the world beyond these walls.
He stared at her as if she were mad. What are you talking about? The real me?
The real me who loves to sing, who wants to grow, who is curious about life beyond this flat.
Ellie, stop. Youre my wife; weve been together twenty years. Yes, Ive been foolish, but things will be different now. I promise!
Yes, everything will be different, she said, a faint smile touching her lips. But not with you. Ill sign the papers and send them to your solicitor. Now I must get ready for rehearsal.
She rose from the table, signalling the end of the conversation.
Youll regret this! Edward shouted as he headed for the door. Youll never belong in that choir! Youll just pretend to be a singer and then come back!
She said nothing. As the door shut, she stood for a moment, listening to the silence inside. It felt light, calm. She walked to the mirror, smoothed her hair, added a touch of colour to her lips, and smiled at her own reflection.
Lived for him. And it was a mistake, she thought, and headed out to the choir, where new songs and new friends awaited. Perhaps even a new loveMichael had shown a keen interestShe stepped onto the stage of her renewed life, confident that the melody of her own heart would guide her forward.
