28October2025
Ive finally put pen to paper about the mess that began two years ago when I started seeing Milly Harper. We lived in a modest terraced house in Manchester, and for a long while I thought we had something solid. Milly would often pop over to my parents place, the Browns, and they would receive her politely, if not warmly. She seemed convinced we had a bright future together.
I wasnt the most diligent student, but Id always managed to keep a decent reputation. Then, during the lockdown, I fell into a rabbithole of video games and let my Englishlanguage exam slide. The result was a looming threat of being expelled from university a nightmare Id never imagined.
One evening, feeling the pressure, Milly snapped at my mother, Mrs. Eleanor Brown, and declared:
I dont want a man who drifts through life without ambition. I need someone who can stand on his own. I wont be a housemaid; I expect us to share the chores and the earnings alike.
Her words hung in the air, casting doubt over any plans we had.
Mrs. Brown took it as a personal affront. Shed spent her whole life caring for my father and me, believing a womans role was to look after the home while the man led the family. She answered:
My word! She doesnt want to be a housekeeper? A ladys first duty is to guard the hearth, and a man is the head of the household!
Milly fell silent, not wanting to fuel the argument. From that point onward the door to the Browns home seemed closed to her. Our communication dwindled to secret texts, occasional calls, and brief meetings in neutral cafés. I was desperate to see her, but instead of honesty I resorted to manipulation.
Milly, we have to talk to my mum, I urged over the phone. You need to tell her you dont actually think that way. Im tired of hiding. Can you make peace with my parents?
Whats the point? Why should I prove anything to your mother? She didnt raise me. This is your problem, not mine. Why should I bend?
Because you love me and I love you. Its the only way to fix things. If you dont, well lose each other forever.
With a heavy heart I agreed love made me swallow my pride and try to explain myself to a woman who wasnt even mine.
When I brought Milly to the family sitting room, my father, Mr. Henry Brown, descended the stairs and barked:
Victor, whats this girl doing here?
I was speechless. Millys face went ashen; the question felt as though Id introduced a stranger, not my own partner.
Dad, Milly, we I began, but he cut me off:
I see who she is. Shes out!
My mother emerged from the lounge, looking bewildered:
Whos making all this noise? Victor, whos with you?
My father, ignoring Milly, shouted:
The very one who taught you how to live.
It hit me then theyd never wanted me to bring her into this house. Hurt and humiliation surged, and instinct took over.
Im leaving, and you stay, you pathetic, pampered son! Milly hissed, slamming the front door shut with a bang.
I was stunned; I didnt even try to stop her.
Moments later my phone rang. Victors voice crackled with fury, not remorse:
What did you say? Youve ruined everything!
What have I ruined? Your father just turned me into a callgirl! I retorted.
It doesnt matter who he placed me with! Youve caused a scene! Mother is in a fury and Father wants me to cut you off!
He finished with a final barb that cut deep:
And guess what? I wont even be allowed to sit at the computer any more.
A cold resolve replaced my anger. I told him:
Youre blaming me for not being able to play games? Your familys problems are theirs to fix, not mine to shoulder. You should have dealt with them yourself.
It was clear he hadnt changed. He remained the same childish bloke, forever hunting for someone else to blame. He never defended me.
I cant put up with this any longer, Victor. This is over, I said firmly, blocking him on every platform. The split was abrupt but necessary. His familys burdens were his cross to bear, not mine.
A year later I began to rebuild my life. I met James Whitaker, and after three months we were talking about marriage.
One afternoon, while browsing a shop, I ran into Mrs. Irma Clarke, my former motherinlaw.
Victor! My dear, hello! she exclaimed, rushing toward me.
I managed a polite, Good afternoon
She enveloped me in a hug and bombarded me with questions:
Its been ages! How are you? Hows life? I heard you and James split; hes gone mad with his games, wont work, spends all his time on the computer. When you were together he seemed far more responsible Do come over for tea sometime!
Im sorry, Mrs. Clarke, Im busy. Work, home
She noticed a ring on my finger.
And that? Are you married?
No, were only engaged. Well have the wedding this summer.
Her smile turned sour in an instant:
Ah, thats why! Good thing James left you! We dont need someone like that!
I shrugged and turned toward the bookshelf. In a twisted way, she was right: it was fortunate James abandoned me. Still, I regret the time I wasted on him.
Looking back, Ive learned that love should never force you to swallow your dignity, and that a partnership built on mutual respect is worth more than any familial approval. The lesson I carry is simple: never let anyone else dictate the terms of your selfworth.
