14 October
I arrived at St. Mary’s early, only to find the matron, Susan Harper, waiting with a furrowed brow. John, you realize weve received complaints about you? This is the third this month. You cant keep working like this.
I stood in her office, fists clenched, cheeks flaming, a lump stuck in my throat.
Everything I do is by the book, Susan, I snapped. That nurse, Sarah Brooks, picks apart every little thing. Shes always dissatisfied.
The issue isnt her attitude, John. Youre required to speak to patients with courtesy. Youre a nurse, not
Not what? I cut in, sharper than intended. Not a doormat who has to endure rudeness?
Susan sighed, pushed her glasses up, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. John, I know youre going through a rough patch. Divorces are never easy. But work is work. Take some leave, get some rest. Im not sure how much longer I can shield you.
I left the office, tears threatening, thinking a holiday might fix everything. It had been six months since I walked out of the house with my exwife Emma, and the wound still ached. Every day felt like a trial: the ward, my empty flat where my own footsteps echoed, the silence that followed.
In the doctors lounge, Lucy Miller, my only confidante, waited.
So, whats the news? she asked sympathetically.
The matron suggested I take time off. Says my nerves are shot.
Maybe you should actually go somewhere, clear your head.
I shook my head.
What am I supposed to do? Emmas maintenance payments are a few pence a week. Her mother, Margaret, has slipped me some bogus paperwork, claiming Emmas income is negligible and that the flat is in her name.
Rats, Lucy muttered. I told you not to sign those papers.
I thought we were a family. I never imagined she could be that cold.
I poured tea from my thermos, sank into a worn chair, hands trembling. I was exhaustedby the job, by the thoughts, by the constant ache in my chest.
Lucy, have I really changed? Am I becoming bitter?
She placed a hand on my shoulder. Youre just defending yourself. After twenty years together, its natural to feel angry when he walks out for a younger woman without kids.
I dont want to be angry, I choked, tears streaming down my cheeks. I just want a normal life, free of this pain.
That evening I trudged home on foot, skimping on the bus fare. October was cold and drizzling; wet leaves stuck to my shoes, the wind slipped under my coat collar. I stared at the ground, lost in thought.
When Emma left, I thought it was a nightmare Id wake up from and everything would be as beforehim hanging up his coat, asking whats for dinner, us sharing the days stories. But he never came back. Instead his mother arrived, papers in hand, a stern expression. She claimed Emma needed space, that my care had suffocated him, that there was no love left in the marriage. I listened to a woman Id called mother for years, barely recognizing her.
The flat is legally in my name, Margaret said, tapping the table. But I wont evict you. Stay until you find somewhere else.
Ive lived here twenty years, I whispered. We renovated together, bought furniture
On my money, she interjected. Dont forget, hes my son. Ill always stand by him.
I fell silent, packed my belongings, and moved into a tiny council flat on the outskirts. It was grim, shared kitchen reeking of cats, a neighbour who drank too much. Yet it was my space, no one could claim I didnt belong.
Approaching the building I saw a familiar black sedan outside the entranceEmmas car from six months ago. My heart tightened.
Climbing the stairs I heard voices. On the landing, Emma and Margaret stood, Emma waving her hands, Margaret gesturing fiercely.
John! Finally! Weve been waiting an hour, Emma called, relief in her tone.
I fumbled for my keys, ready to open the door, when Margaret stepped forward.
Wait, we need to talk first.
Theres nothing to discuss, I tried to stay calm, though my whole body trembled. Please let me in.
Dont be so stubborn, love, Emma pleaded, looking older, eyes hollow, cheeks sunken. Weve come to make amends.
The word amends hung in the air. After months of silence, humiliation, and being thrown out by her mother, they wanted reconciliation.
Reconcile? I echoed slowly.
Yes, John finally realised his mistake, Margaret said, voice oily. That girl he left you for turned out to be mercenary. Hes sorry, wants to return.
Return, I repeated, hearing my own echo.
After twenty years, were still a family. You cant just walk away.
Emma reached out, but I stepped back.
Hold on, lets sit and talk properly. Ill explain everything.
Explain what? My anger boiled. What you did, sneaking out in the night, claiming you loved someone else? Or how your mother kicked me out of the flat I poured my heart into?
John, stop, Margaret snapped, lips pressed. We came with good intentions.
Good intentions? I laughed, a dry, bitter sound. Youre here because your son is alone, because his new girlfriend proved smarter than me. Now you expect me to take him back?
You dont understand, Emma began, but I cut him off.
I understand perfectly. Six months ago you told me I was smothering you, that there was no love. And you were right.
John
No, let me finish. I spent thirtyfive years smoothing your shirts, cooking your favourite meals, tolerating your mothers constant meddling. I gave up my career because you wanted a housewife. I never had children because it just didnt happen, and I endured your mothers accusations that I was a failure.
Emma paled.
…but I never said those things, I just stayed silent while your mother insulted me, while I wept.
Margaret sighed dramatically. Enough, John. Lets move on. Hes apologised, isnt that enough?
Ive learned something in these six months, I said, meeting Margarets eyes. For the first time in twenty years Im living for myself. Its hard, Im in a cheap council flat, money is tight, but its my life. No one can tell me its wrong.
Will you let us in? Emma asked, glancing at the hallway where neighbours footsteps could be heard.
Your neighbours? I smirked. To you theyre strangers. To me theyre the only people who treat me better than you and your mother ever did.
Outrageous! Margaret shouted. I was like a mother to you!
A mother doesnt throw you out onto the street, doesnt strip a woman of the roof over her head after twenty years of caring for her son.
The flat is mine on paper!
On paper, yes. But on conscience
Conscience has nothing to do with the law, Margaret snapped. The law is the law.
I nodded.
Youre right. The law is the law. Im not asking for the flat, the money, or an apology. I just want you both to leave and never appear in my life again.
John, wait, Emma grabbed my wrist. I truly regret. I was a fool. That Claire
Dont bring Claire into this, I snapped, freeing my hand. I dont care who she is or why you left. It matters not to me.
But we were together for so long! We loved each other!
We did, I admitted. At least I loved you. You, however, seemed to love convenience or habit.
I turned the key, my hands steady now. A strange calm settled over me, something I hadnt felt in months.
Come on, Mum, Margaret urged, dont waste two hours in traffic because this stubborn woman wont let us in!
I glanced back at her immaculate coat, her makeup, the way she commanded her son. I looked at Emma, head bowed like a guilty schoolboy.
Youre right, Margaret, I said quietly. Good men are hard to find. Thats why I wont look for any.
Youll regret it! she shouted. At your age, who will you be with? Youre fortythree, the youth is gone. Youll die alone!
Maybe, I shrugged. But better alone than with people who never value me.
I opened the door, stepped out, and closed it firmly behind me. I leaned against it, eyes shut, listening to muffled voices and the distant clatter of a lift.
Back in my flat, I slipped off my shoes, collapsed onto the bed. The silence was not frightening; it felt like a weight lifting from my shoulders.
My phone buzzed. Lucys name flashed.
Hows it going? Sorted that issue with Sarah?
Sorted. And more than that.
I rose, walked to the window. Night had fallen, streetlights flickering, the city humming its endless rhythm. I was part of it nownot a wife, not a daughterinlaw, just John.
Morning came with a sliver of sunlight through the thin curtains. My first thought was whether yesterdays drama had been a dream. Noit was real. Emma and her mother had stood at my door, begging for reconciliation, and I had turned them away.
I did my exercises, a habit Id kept for the past six months: a short jog, some yoga at the community centrenot to impress anyone, just because I finally had time for myself.
Lucy noticed the change at work.
You look brighter, she said. What happened?
Emma showed up with his mother, wanted to make up.
And you?
I sent them away, politely but firmly.
Lucy beamed and gave me a hug.
Im proud of you.
I spent the night thinking, and I realised Id lived in his shadow for twenty years. His wishes, his mothers wishes, his choices. I forgot who John was, what he loved, what he wanted from life.
What do you want now?
Im not sure yet. I just know I dont want to go back to the way things were. It feels like breaking out of a cagescary at first, unfamiliar, but then you realise you can actually fly.
Lucy whistled. Beautifully put. What if he comes back?
He wont. I saw his face; he expected me to fall at his feet, to thank him for returning. Hes used to getting his way.
Later I approached Susan about the leave.
Can I take a week off? I asked.
Of course, John. Where to?
To my sisters in the countryside. Its been ages.
My sister, Helen, lives in a small village three hundred miles north of London. The cottage is modest, walls lined with apple pies and the scent of rosemary. A ginger tabby named Marmalade curled on the windowsill, and geraniums brightened the sill.
Helen welcomed me with open arms.
John, love, youre here! Come in!
The house was simple but cosy. Emmas flat was a distant memory.
You look thinner, paler, Helen noted as she poured tea.
Im divorced, I replied shortly.
Hush! That boy was never right for you. Hes just a mothers son, a pushover.
Helen!
Youre right. You spent twenty years serving him and his mother. Then they tossed you out when a new girl appeared.
Helens blunt humour made me laugh.
The funniest part is they came back to make amends after I sent them packing.
Yes, you did. Now live for yourself. Youre still young, still beautiful. Lifes ahead.
Youre fortythree, Helen. Life ends at fortythree?
Ridiculous. My neighbour is fiftyeight and just got married to a widower. Still going strong.
I stayed ten days, walking the woods, picking mushrooms, helping with chores. Helen never pried into my past; she simply was there.
One evening, sitting on the porch with tea and honey, she asked, Ever thought of moving here permanently?
Why?
Its quieter. My house has room, the local clinic needs nurses. Pays lower than the city, but the stress is gone.
I thought of the citys grey sky, the cramped council flat, the neighbour who shouted about the kitchen.
Is it not just running away? she pressed.
What am I running from? The flat? The job where Im not valued? The city where every corner reminds me of him?
I didnt answer then, but the idea lodged itself.
Back in London, the fatigue hit again. The sky was overcast, streets crowded, the council flat smelled of damp and a constantly complaining neighbour. Work stayed the sameSarah Brooks still complained, Susan still sighed. Lucy noticed my distracted stare.
Whats on your mind? she asked over lunch.
Helen suggested I move to the village. Im not sure if thats fleeing or a fresh start.
Whatever you choose, Ill support you. Just think it through. Village life is different, but you wont regret it.
I might regret staying here.
A few days later I saw Emma outside a shop, arm in arm with a young woman, laughing. My heart clenched, then a laugh escaped mebitter, absurd. I realised I didnt need his approval, his mothers, anyones.
The next morning I handed in my resignation.
Youre serious? Lucy stared.
Absolutely. Im moving to Helens.
What about my things?
Just a few suitcases and a bag. Ill give the rest away or toss.
Lucy hugged me.
Promise youll call?
I promise.
Packing took a week. Two suitcases and a bag held my entire life. I walked the city one last time, stopping at the park where Emma and I once strolled, then at the flat that never felt like home.
On the coach, I watched the familiar streets recede, the unknown stretching ahead. For the first time in years I felt no fear.
Helen met me at the bus station.
Here for good? she asked.
Yes, for good.
A genuine smile broke across my face, free of bitterness.
Life in the village isnt easy, but I have no regrets. I work at the local health centre, live in a small house near Helen, evenings spent on the porch with Marmalade, chatting about everything under the sky.
Sometimes I recall the day I shut the door on Emma and his mother. My hands shook then, terrified of being alone. Now I understand that moment sparked the true beginning of my lifeone where I finally became the main character.
Lesson learned: after years of living for others, the only way to find yourself is to walk away from the people who never valued you and to claim the life thats yours alone.
