Long ago, when I married Edward Whitmore, we had no home of our own. We lived with his parents in a cramped two-bedroom flat in Manchester, making do as best we could. Then one fateful day, his stepfather returned early and found his mother, Margaret Whitmore, in the arms of another mansome slick, younger fellow with grand promises of “streets paved with gold” if only she’d sell the flat and follow him to Liverpool.
We tried warning her. “He’ll swindle you,” I said. “You’ll be left with nothing.” But she scoffed, “You’re just jealous. Keep your noses out of my business.”
A week later, we stood on the pavement with our baby in my arms. The flat was sold, and we were tossed out like rubbish. Edward took on double shifts at the docks while I, still on maternity leave, stayed up nights writing articles for pennies. We barely scraped together rent, but we enduredfor the sake of our future.
We dreamed of a mortgage, but fortune offered another chance. My aunt passed, childless, leaving me a spacious flat in Birminghamlight-filled, overlooking a quiet courtyard. With our savings, we fixed it up. For the first time in years, I breathed easy.
Peace, however, was short-lived.
One evening, as I scrubbed supper dishes, a knock came at the door. There stood Margaretface swollen from weeping, eyes like a whipped dogs. “Lass my boy he’s thrown me out. Everythings gone. All I have is this suitcase. You must help me…”
Edward and I exchanged glances. I watched his face soften as he guided her to the kitchen, poured her tea. My chest ached dullyId begged her not to be a fool, yet shed cast us out without a second thought.
He turned to me. “She cant manage alone. We cant abandon her. Shes my mother.”
I pressed my lips tight. “She tossed us aside like rubbish. And now youd bring her here? Into this home weve barely made our own?”
Margaret whimpered, “Edward, I cant sleep rough Please Ive learned my lesson.”
Then came the words that cleaved me in two: “If you wont let Mother stay with us, Ill file for divorce.”
The room spun. Calmlythough my heart bledI replied, “Then divorce it must be, for Ill not live with a man who bargains with our love.”
