Emily, what are you doing? – Margaret’s voice trembled with outrage. – How can you leave your husband over such nonsense?
“I’m not doing this for nonsense, Mum,” Emily replied, flatly, her hands folding clothes into a suitcase. “I can’t live with David anymore.”
“And the children? Have you thought about the children?” Margaret stepped ahead, blocking Emily’s path to the wardrobe. “Grace asked yesterday why Daddy doesn’t stay home. What am I supposed to tell her?”
“Tell her the truth. That Mummy and Daddy aren’t living together anymore.”
Margaret clutched her chest and slumped onto the bed.
“God, what’s the world coming to? In my day, women endured things. They kept their families together. And now at the first sign of trouble, *divorce*!”
Emily paused, holding a dress. She stared at her mother, this seventy-year-old woman with greying hair and a perpetually scowling face, knowing the argument would just circle back to the same old ground.
“Mum, it wasn’t the first sign of trouble I divorced over. These problems have lasted ten years…”
“Ten years! Pah. I put up with your father for forty-two years. And we didn’t speak of such things.”
“Dad drank?”
“Of course he drank. Men do. The important thing was he brought in the money.”
“And he hit you?”
“Emily!” Margaret’s voice cracked. “Your father was a good man, rest his soul.”
“A good man doesn’t beat his wife.”
“He never hit me! Just… shook me a few times when I got out of hand.”
Emily shut her eyes and inhaled deeply. This conversation had happened a hundred times. Her mother refused to see that her marriage had been a torment, believing family was sacred and unbreakable, no matter the cost.
“David hits me regularly. When he drinks. When he’s sober. When he’s angry. Happy. Just because he can.”
“Nonsense. David’s an educated man. He’s a teacher.”
“Teachers hit their wives, too, Mum.”
“You’re doing something wrong. Men need to be guided, soothed.”
Emily turned sharply. “Am I at fault? Should I blame myself for being beaten?”
“Don’t shout at me!” Margaret pursed her lips. “I didn’t say you were wrong. Just be wiser. A woman in a marriage must be diplomatic.”
“Diplomatic,” Emily sneered. “Right. Last night, that diplomat got punched in the face for over-salting soup. The night before, for turning up the TV volume when he came home.”
The bruise on her cheek still showed, hidden beneath makeup. Margaret noticed but feigned ignorance.
“Emily, sweetheart,” Margaret’s tone softened, “I know it’s hard. But think of the children. Grace is eight, Tom’s six. They need a father.”
“They need a father who doesn’t terrify them.” Emily sat beside her mother. “When David gets drunk and screams again, they hide in their room, crying. Is that acceptable?”
“They’ll get used to it. Grow up and understand.”
“Understand what? That their father abuses their mother, and you let it happen? That’s your idea of normal?”
“They’ll understand family is the most important thing. That forgiveness and compromise are necessary.”
Emily stood again, folding items with strained movements—her ribs ached from the latest bruises.
“Mum, I’m moving to Aunt Teresa’s. She offered to let me stay until I find a flat.”
“Teresa? That divorcee?” Margaret grimaced. “She’s the one who taught you this nonsense, hasn’t she?”
“No one taught me. I’m making my own decisions.”
“Making them! Made them!” Margaret rose, pacing. “Teresa’s a lost cause. She’s the one who’s ruined your head.”
“Teresa is happier without her husband. She hasn’t pushed me to do anything I don’t want.”
“Happier!” Margaret scoffed. “She lives alone, barely sees her kids. That’s not a life!”
“It’s better than this one.”
“Emily, think again!” Margaret gripped her arm. “You’re thirty-four, not a child. Who’s going to have you now? With two kids and no husband?”
“Mum, I’m not marrying again. I just want to live without fear.”
“Without a man? A woman without a man is not a woman. She’s half a person.”
Emily yanked free and moved to the window. Children played outside in the Manchester sunshine, their laughter drifting in. When had she last smiled?
“Mum, did you ever find happiness with Dad?”
“Certainly!” Margaret replied too quickly. “We had a long life together.”
“Long doesn’t mean happy.”
“Don’t be a know-it-all. Happiness is having a family, children, a home. Not this romantic nonsense you see on TV.”
Emily faced her. “So according to you, I should suffer the beatings, the humiliation, the drinking—just to stay married?”
“Think of the children. What people will say. Raising two kids alone.”
“And what about the fact the kids see their father hit me? Is that not important?”
“Not in front of them, of course!”
“Mum,” Emily slumped onto the windowsill, “yesterday, Tom asked why I had a bruise. I said I fell. He looked at me and said, ‘Mummy, does Daddy hit you?’ Can you believe it? A six-year-old knows. But you keep saying ‘not in front of them.'”
Margaret hesitated, then shook her head. “Still, it’s wrong. Families must stay together. A man can change.”
“After ten years, he’s only gotten worse.”
“That means you approached it the wrong way. You should’ve…”
“What? Suffered more? Spoken less? Cooked better? Dressed better? I’ve tried all that!”
“Don’t shout at me!”
“I’m not shouting! I’m trying to reach you!”
Grace appeared in the doorway.
“Mummy, why you and Grandma arguing?”
Emily softened instantly.
“We’re not arguing, sweetie. Just… discussing.”
“Why are you packing things?”
“Grace, we’re going to stay with Aunt Teresa for a few days. Remember her place?”
“Will Daddy come, too?”
“No, Daddy stays home.”
Grace frowned. “Are we coming back?”
Emily glanced between mother and daughter, then mother’s silent glare. “Sweetheart, go play with Tom. We’ll finish our discussion soon.”
The girl left slowly. Emily closed the door.
“They’ll get used to it. It’s better for them than growing up with constant arguments.”
“Better without a father?” Margaret rose. “Emily, I forbid you from ruining this family!”
“I’m thirty-four, Mum. You can’t forbid me anymore.”
“I can! I’m your mother! While I’m alive, I’ll protect you from nonsense!”
“Protect me from saving myself from abuse?”
“From making a mistake you’ll regret for life!”
“The only thing I regret is not leaving him sooner.”
Margaret grabbed her hands.
“Emily, listen. Rely on a mother’s experience. You can’t manage alone. The children need both parents.”
“Mum, a full family is when parents love each other. Not when one tortures the other.”
“Love isn’t just gifts and flowers. It’s patience, understanding, forgiveness.”
“And bruises? And degradation? And fear?”
“Don’t dramatise. Men need to vent.”
Emily stared at her mother. “Remember when Dad hospitalised you with a concussion?”
“It wasn’t a concussion! I just slipped.”
“Do you remember lying to doctors about falling down the stairs?”
“Enough! Don’t speak ill of the dead!”
“I’m not. I’m stating the truth.”
“Truth is he worked for us all his life. Gave you an education, bought this house!”
“And I should’ve accepted his drinking and violence in return?”
“Be grateful!”
Emily fell silent. The conversation was pointless. Her mother would never admit her own suffering, no matter the proof.
“Mum, I know it’s hard for you to accept. But I’ve made my choice.”
“Cancel it! I won’t let you destroy this family!”
“I’m not destroying it. I’m saving myself and the kids.”
“Saving!” Margaret snorted. “From what? A normal life?”
“From an abnormal one. From violence.”
“Violence, violence! No one used that word in our time! Women stayed quiet then.”
“That’s because they died of stomach cancer at forty.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“No, I won’t. Did you mean it about me?”
Emily said nothing, remembering Margaret’s decades of stomach pains, the refusal to see doctors, the eventual operation and treatments.
“Mum, I don’t want to live your life over again.”
“Your life is a normal woman’s life: family, children, home!”
“Thirty years of fear and pain.”
“Nonsense! I loved your father!”
“You did, Mum. But he didn’t love you. He hurt you.”
“Silence!” Margaret wiped her tears. “Don’t you dare say that!”
“Fine, I won’t. But I’m leaving David either way.”
“Emily,” Margaret gripped her hands, voice trembling, “as your mother, I beg you. Think again.”
“Mum, I’ve thought for ten years. That’s enough.”
“Then I won’t speak to you! You won’t hear from me when the kids grow up and leave. When you see what you’ve done!”
“Let it be so. I won’t come to you for help either.”
“Good! See if I help you now!”
Margaret slammed the door. Emily collapsed onto the bed, hands clamped over her face. No tears came—she was too exhausted.
Grace returned. “Mummy, why did Grandma leave so angry?”
“Grandma’s upset about us leaving.”
“Are we really going?”
“Yes, sweetheart. Tonight.”
“Forever?”
Emily pulled the girl close. “We’re going because Mummy can’t live with Daddy anymore. Understand?”
“Because he yells?”
“Partly. It’s more than that.”
“Won’t we see him again?”
“We will. We’ll just live separately.”
“Will Grandma visit us?”
Emily hesitated. “Not yet. She’s still angry at me.”
“Why?”
“Because she doesn’t understand why we need to leave.”
“I understand,” Grace whispered. “I’m scared too when Daddy yells.”
Emily held her tighter. There it was—proof her choice was right, even if Margaret refused to see it.
“Tom, help Mummy pack your things.”
The children obediently gathered their toys and clothes, asking no questions. They simply trusted her.
Emily zipped the last bag, glancing at the room where ten years had passed. This was where she’d once been happy, where she’d given birth, where she’d hoped for better. But nothing had changed. Now, she was leaving—not just her mother’s warnings, but the shadow of her own pain.
The phone rang. Teresa.
“Hey, how’s it going? When are you coming?”
“Hey, Tom. We’re here in an hour. Mum tried to stop me.”
“And did she?”
“No. She only made me more determined.”
“That’s my girl. Sometimes mothers don’t get what’s best for their daughters.”
“I’ve seen her suffer. She expects me to do the same.”
“But you’re not her, Emily. You have a choice she didn’t.”
“I know. I’m making it.”
“Right. How are the kids taking it?”
“Fine. They’ve accepted it calmly.”
“They always do when adults make the right decisions.”
After hanging up, Emily felt steadier. She grasped the suitcases, called the kids, and stepped toward the door. At the threshold, she looked back. Ten years of life were trapped inside—decades of effort, hope, defeat.
But ahead lay a new, uncertain life. Not easy, not without fear. But one she could call her own.
Mum said a woman without a man isn’t a woman. But she was wrong. A woman without a man is still a woman. Just freer.
Emily closed the door. The children clung to her hands, trusting her.
She had made her choice. Not for approval, not for comfort, but for herself. And no matter what Mum said, she wouldn’t back down.