“You only have yourself to blame,” Mum huffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, for heavens sake! So he strayedbig deal. All men do it. Stop whinging and go make up with him. Or do you think Ive got room here for you and that bump of yours?”
“Mum… he *cheated* on me,” Emily reminded her, voice trembling.
Her whole world had collapsed. Yesterday, shed caught her husband in bed with another woman. Today, her own mother was practically shoving her out the door. Both spoke to her as if she were some spoiled little girl throwing a tantrum.
“So he cheated. And?” MumMargaretscowled. “You drove him to it. What, you think youre special? Plenty of women go through pregnancies without kicking up a fuss. But no, youve got to be the delicate one. You were still workingclearly not *that* poorly, were you?”
“Mum! Dont you remember waiting up for Dad all those nights?” Emily choked through tears.
“That exactly proves my point!” Margaret threw her hands up. “They all do it. Most just dont get caught. Right, youve got a week to patch things up. If you dont, youre on your own.”
Just yesterday, her mother had been furious with the cheating husband, swearing hed “pay for this.” Now she was practically shoving Emily back into his arms. Deep down, Emily knewMum just didnt want to help.
Not that shed planned to ask. But right now, with the baby on the way, she couldve used a shoulder to lean on.
Her mother knew full well what this felt like. Emilys father, Geoffrey, had been a serial cheat. Margaret had her own way of dealing with itnights spent crying, waiting by the window, then battering him with the bouquets he brought home the next morning.
“Never buying you roses again,” Geoffrey had joked once, shameless. “Too many thorns.”
And shed laughed with him. Every betrayal came with a pricehints dropped, demands made. A mink coat. A car. An entire shelf of French perfume.
“Hes putty in my hands after,” shed bragged to a friend, flaunting her latest prize. “Might as well get something out of it. Not like Im leaving himwhy let another woman have him?”
“Margie… ever thought of divorce?” her friend sighed. “This isnt living.”
“Oh sure, hand him over to someone else? Not bloody likely!”
Over the years, shed convinced Geoffrey to put the house in her name and renovate itjust in case. Hed agreed.
When Emily was eight, they divorced. Geoffrey left for good, barely bothering with his daughter beyond the odd holiday call.
Margaret had been devastated, but she adjusted. For a while, they lived off savings and old luxuries. Then she had to get a job.
“Used to live like royalty, now Im counting pennies,” shed moaned.
“At least youre not wondering where he is tonight,” her friend pointed out.
“Yeah. Just wondering if I can afford bread.”
Times got hard. Margaret even sold her gold jewellery. But they learned to live cheaplyno more weekly theatre trips, no new clothes every season.
Emily swore shed never end up like that. Never let her children see such misery.
How wrong shed been.
Shed followed her mothers footsteps anyway.
James had seemed perfect. Wealthy heir, sharp mind, a chain of high-end salons across London bringing in steady money.
And he talked a good gameall about “communication” and “compromise.”
“People should talk things through,” hed say. “Thats the key. Half these divorces wouldnt happen if couples just sat down and *discussed* things.”
Charming, gentle, accommodatinguntil they married. Then the cracks showed. James would fetch her peaches at dawn, run out for midnight cravings, pay for her salon visits. But the moment real conflict arose? Different story.
Shed fret over his late nights at work. Hed brush her off”Busy, love.” When she begged him to at least *answer* his phone, hed nod… and still ignore her calls.
“James, do you even *care* that I worry?” shed snap when he stumbled in past midnight. “Is picking up the phone really that hard?”
“Em, youre overreacting. Your emotions, your problem.”
“And if *I* did this? Youd just sit there?”
“Yep. My problem. Wouldnt bother you with it.”
His logic baffled her. Hed “compromise”so long as it was *her* bending. Shed brushed it off as typical bloke blindness to feelings.
Maybe thats why she kept working, even pregnant. She refused to depend on him.
It wasnt easy. By the second month, nausea dogged her every move. Dizziness, migrainesall she wanted was silence. But she dragged herself to work, questioning if it was worth it.
Turns out, it was.
First, chores fell apart. She stopped cookingmeals became pasta, ready-made pies, the occasional takeaway. James never complained. If he fancied something fancy, hed order it. She took it as understanding.
Then intimacy died. Exhausted, she couldnt face it. At first, James sulked. Then… he seemed fine.
Or so she thought.
His phone became glued to his handwork chats, she assumed. Until she checked. Flirty texts. Photos.
She confronted him that night.
“*You* drove me to this!” he spat. “What, you expected me to live like a monk? Im a man! A *year* without sex? Then itll be kids, excuseswhat, Im just supposed to put up with it?”
“I expected *patience*,” she shot back. “Not cheating.”
“Try seeing *my* side! One of my barbers, Davehis wifes pregnant too. Doesnt push him away. But *you* cant be bothered?”
Thats when she saw ithis kindness was just wrapping paper. Underneath? Pure selfishness. He loved himself, not her.
She packed up and fled to her mothers, desperate for support. Instead? More blame.
“Mum, I *need* help right now”
“I *am* helping! Im telling you the hard truth. Go back. You need a man, that baby needs a father. Stop snivelling.”
Margaret saw betrayal as opportunity. Forgiveness was “wisdom.” Patience? Just survival. Maybe she truly thought she was saving Emily.
But Emily knew better.
Next day, she met her old colleague, Sophiesomeone to *actually* listen.
“Em, this is rough… but youll get through it,” Sophie said gently. “Youve got maternity pay, child support, benefits. You wont be homeless. Hell, move in with me. Cant promise forever, but Ive got space now. Split the billseasier for both of us.”
Emily was stunned. Her husband blamed *her*. Her mother sided with *him*. Yet here was a near-stranger offering lifeline.
She said yesnot just for the room, but for someone whod *stand* by her.
Back home, she packed her things. Margaret caught her at the door.
“Changed your mind? Made up?” she smirked.
Emily met her gaze, calm.
“Never.”
Margaret gasped, splutteredbut Emily was already gone. Inside, she was raw with fear, loneliness… yet somehow, she could breathe again.
However hard it got, she wouldnt crawl back. Not to James. Not to her mother. Shed claw her way through hell firstbecause betrayal hurt worse than being alone.
