She never argued; she simply left.
The autumn dawn was damp and grey. Margaret Whitaker roused herself to the harsh ring of the alarm and, with a sigh, slipped out from beneath the covers. Throwing a dressing gown over her, she padded to the window and pulled the curtains aside. The bleak scene outsidedrizzling rain, leafbarren oaks, a low cloudfilled skymatched her mood.
It was the thirtieth wedding anniversary of Margaret and her husband, James Whitaker. She had not expected any grand congratulations; in recent years James had forgotten such milestones entirely, and when he did remember it was only after her gentle hints.
She brewed a pot of tea, took a seat at the kitchen table, and the memory of their first anniversary rose unbiddenfive years after the wedding. James had arrived then with a towering bouquet of roses and tickets to the theatre. After the performance they dined out, and he had delivered a heartfelt toast about love and fidelity. At the time she had believed their happiness would last forever.
A loud snore rumbled from the bedroom. James could sleep till noon. Lately he returned home past midnight, smelling of tobacco and spirits, answering Margarets questions with vague excuses: stayed with the lads, important meeting, youll never understand.
Margaret exhaled and set about making a breakfast of pancakes, hoping the familiar taste might jog him about the day. In their early years he had always claimed her pancakes were the best in the world.
Around ten oclock a sleepy James drifted into the kitchen, bypassed any greeting and headed straight for the fridge.
Good morning, Margaret murmured softly. Ive made pancakes.
I havent time to fuss over your pancakes, James grumbled, pouring himself a glass of kefir. John called; he wants me to look at his car.
A lump rose in Margarets throat. Deep down she still clung to a hope for a miracle.
Do you know what day it is? she asked gently.
James froze a heartbeat, then shrugged indifferently. Tuesday, I think. Why?
Nothing, she whispered, turning toward the window to hide the tears gathering.
He gulped his kefir, flung the empty glass into the sink, and shuffled to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he emerged, ready to leave.
Im off to Johns. Dont expect me for dinner, he called over his shoulder.
James, today marks thirty years since we wed, Margaret could not hold back.
He halted in the doorway, a scowl on his face. And now what? Throw a parade? Margaret, how many more dates must I endure? Do you want flowers? Ill buy some, thats all.
It isnt the flowers. I thought it mattered to you as well, she said quietly.
My schedule is full. I have no time for sentiment, he snapped, slamming the door.
Left alone in the quiet flat, Margaret cleared the cooled pancakes from the table and made another cup of tea. Memories of happier days swirled in her mind, now distant echoes.
After lunch she decided to walk. The rain had stopped, and a shy autumn sun peeked through. Strolling through the park, she breathed the fresh air and reflected on her life.
When she first met James, he was a cheerful, attentive lad, a bus driver who dreamed of owning his own garage. They married quickly, six months after meeting. Their daughter, Emily, was born soon after. They struggled financially but remained close; James always found time for family, even after a tiring shift.
Eventually his dream materialised: he opened a modest garage, their fortunes improved, they bought a flat in Manchester and a car. Emily grew up, left home, and settled in Leeds.
Yet their marriage grew colder with each year. First he stayed late at work, then he began disappearing in the evenings. Margaret endured in silence, never raising a fight, believing the rough patch would pass. Time slipped by and nothing changed.
Lost in thought, she wandered into a tiny café, seeking solace with a hot chocolate. Inside it was warm and cosy. She took a corner seat by the window, ordered, and watched the other patrons. At the next table an elderly couple ate cake slowly, speaking in quiet tones. The man tenderly brushed crumbs from the womans lips, and she returned his smile. The simple act pierced Margarets heart with a bittersweet sting.
Why did things go so wrong with James? she mused, stirring her drink. When did we stop noticing each other?
That evening she returned to the flat, its silence heavy. She switched on the television to fend off loneliness and began preparing dinner, the habit of feeding a husband who no longer seemed to appreciate it still ingrained.
Around nine, the doorbell rang. Peter Jenkins, the neighbour, stood on the step with a bottle of red wine.
Sorry to drop by so late, Margaret, he said, smiling. I remembered you mentioned the anniversary falls in early November.
Margaret was taken aback. She and Peter were merely friendly neighbours, exchanging a few words in the stairwell or helping with small tasks. She could not recall ever mentioning her wedding date to him.
Thank you, Peter, she replied, a faint smile on her lips as she accepted the bottle. I didnt expect
I didnt want to be a nuisance, he continued apologetically. I know James is often away, so I thought Id wish you well. Ill be off now. Happy anniversary.
When he left, Margaret lingered, the wine in her hand, astonished that a stranger remembered her milestone while her own husband had not.
Close to midnight James staggered in, reeking of alcohol, a bright lipstick stain on his shirt.
Where have you been? Margaret asked softly.
Now I have to report in? he retorted. Had a night out with the lads celebrating
Whats that stain on your shirt?
Stain? Oh, that, he waved it off. Johns daughter leaned on me when I greeted her. Shes still a kid.
Johns daughter is twentyseven, Margaret replied evenly. She only wears deepred lipstick. This mark is bright scarlet.
Enough of your jealousy, James snapped. Maybe she has a new shade, who knows? And why the interrogation?
Margaret said nothing, slipped into the bedroom, locked the door and lay down. Sleep would not come. She thought of their marriage as a hollow performance; they lived like neighbours, barely friendly.
The next morning, while James slept on the sofa, Margaret called Emily.
Hi, love. Hows everything? Hows little Tommy? she asked.
Everythings fine, Mum, Emily answered. Tommys crawling everywhere. Dad didnt call yesterday; he forgot about our anniversary, didnt he?
Exactly, Margaret sighed. Listen, I need to talk. Remember you asked me to come help with the baby?
Of course! Are you coming? Emily chirped. Youd be wonderful, and Tommy would love his granny.
Ill come, Margaret said firmly. Not just for a week as you suggested, but longer. I might even move in permanently.
Mum, is something wrong? Emilys voice trembled.
Nothing serious, Margaret replied. Just very tired. Well speak more later. Ill be there in three days.
After speaking with her daughter, Margaret felt a strange relief. The decision that had lingered for years finally took shape. She no longer wanted to stay with a man who showed her no respect.
James woke around lunchtime with a throbbing headache. Margaret placed a tablet and a glass of water by his bedside.
Whats got you so gloomy? he asked, wincing. Still sulking about yesterday? Sorry, I forgot the date. Who doesnt make mistakes?
Im going to Emilys, Margaret said calmly. Ill help with the baby.
When? he asked, uninterested.
The day after tomorrow.
For how long?
I dont know. Possibly forever.
James, about to swallow the tablet, froze with his mouth open.
What do you meanforever?
In the literal sense, Margaret met his gaze. Im leaving you, James.
Whats this now? Because of the anniversary? I could buy you a bouquet right now if thats what you want.
Its not about the flowers, she shook her head. I thought it mattered to you too. It doesnt. Were strangers living under the same roof. You lead your life, I lead mine. Yet we pretend to be a family.
Margaret, what are you talking about? Weve been together thirty years!
Thats why Im leaving now. I wont let us waste another thirty years hurting each other.
Whos hurting you? he protested. Do you have a roof over your head? Yes! I bring in the money, dont I? What more do you need?
Margaret watched the angry, incomprehending man and thought of how much he had changedor perhaps simply stopped pretending.
I need a lot, James, she whispered. I need attention, care, respect. I need to feel loved and important, not just a housekeeper who washes shirts stained with someone elses lipstick.
Again with your complaints! James exploded. I told you nothing happened!
Whether it happened or not doesnt matter, Margaret replied, weary. What matters is that we have become strangers. You live as if Im invisible, and I cant endure that any longer.
Wait, he said, running his fingers through his hair. Youre really going? What about the flat? The belongings?
I wont take much. Just my things. The flat can stay with you. I value my peace of mind more.
And where will you go? To my daughters house? Does she need a motherinlaw?
Emily invited me. Ill help with the baby, maybe find work there. The city has plenty of opportunities.
What about me? Who will cook, wash, clean?
Margaret gave a sad smile. That was the answer.
Youre a grown man, James. Youll manage, or youll find someone younger and prettier to put up with your antics.
For the next two days James acted as if Margarets plans were a joke, alternating between feigned indifference and clumsy attempts at sweettalk, promising to change.
Lets forget all this, he pleaded one evening as she packed. Ill try, I swear. Well go to the theatre, dine out. How about a holiday by the sea next summer?
But Margaret had already decided. She packed her essentials into a suitcase, leaving the rest for later.
A taxi arrived at dawn. James stood in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.
Maybe youll stay after all? he asked as Margaret was about to leave. Think it over. Thirty years isnt a trifle. You cant just walk away.
Goodbye, James, she whispered, brushing his shoulder lightly. Take care of yourself.
She did not argue or demand explanations. She simply walked away.
On the taxis way to the station, Margaret looked out at familiar Manchester streets and felt, for the first time in years, a genuine sense of freedom. The future was unknown, but it no longer frightened her; instead she hoped that a new life might hold something good.
At the station Emily waited with baby Tommy. The little boy immediately clung to his grandmother, and Margaret lifted him, tears of relief streaming down her cheeksnot from sorrow, but from release.
Mum, are you crying? Emily asked, startled. What happened? Did you and Dad fight?
No, love, Margaret shook her head, kissing the childs chubby cheek. We didnt fight. I just realised sometimes you have to know when to walk away.
Six months later Margaret found work in a childrens nursery, rented a modest flat near Emily, and felt happier than she had in years.
James called a few times, begging her to return, but his voice carried only selfish longing for the comfort of the familiar, not true remorse.
One evening, returning from work, Margaret passed a park where the elderly couple from the café sat hand in hand, strolling slowly and chatting quietly. The woman smiled at Margaret as she passed, and Margaret returned the smile.
Thats what real love looks like, she thought. Even after many years, you can still see someone with tenderness, not irritation.
Back home she brewed a cup of tea, settled into her favourite armchair and opened a book. Outside a gentle spring drizzle fell, but inside her heart was warm and at peace. She never regretted her choice. Sometimes you must simply walk out the door to begin anew, closing one chapter to open the next.
