I want a divorce, she whispered, turning her face away.
It was a chilly evening in London when Emily said quietly, I want a divorce, her gaze slipping from her husbands eyes.
Williams face paled instantly. A silent question hung between them.
Im leaving you to the woman you truly love, Emily said, realising the most important woman in his life had always been his mother. I wont play second fiddle any longer.
Her throat tightened, and her eyes betrayed her with their wet shine. Years of pain and disappointment rose up, choking her.
What are you talking about? What other woman? William asked, stunned, staring at his wife in disbelief.
Weve talked about this so many times. Ever since we got married, your mother has drained usfinancially, emotionally, every way possible. And you let her, because her roast is juicier and her Yorkshire puddings fluffier. I cant do this anymore.
Tears streamed down her flushed face. She mourned the dreams shed once held so clearlya promising fiancé, a respected career, a life in central Londononly for it all to become a constant battle for happiness.
Five years earlier, Emily had stepped hesitantly into the spacious living room of Williams flat. The furniture, the china, the décorto a woman whod spent most of her life in shared housing and student halls, everything looked expensive and fragile.
How did I get so lucky, landing a man with his own place? shed joked, resting her hands on Williams shoulders.
Just wait till I leave socks everywherethen tell me how impressed you are.
Emily had moved in quickly after they met. Their romance had blossomed fast, demanding to be taken further.
Back then, she was in her final year at Kings College, studying journalism, while William, five years older, worked as a sales manager with a solid income.
A year after moving in, they married.
Soon we can turn the guest room into a nursery, Emily had once remarked, hugging her husband, hinting she was ready for children.
But a month later, an unexpected arrival cameWilliams mother, Mrs. Whitmore, stood at their door with two suitcases. She had an excellent relationship with her sonat least in her eyes.
Her parenting, shaped by guilt and the demands of a single mother, had raised a man who felt forever indebted. She was proud of his successand certain it was all her doing.
Every payday, William repaid the debts for their flat, his car, even his childhood. Emily watched from the sidelines, careful not to disrupt their marriage, only mentioning it occasionally.
Where did the money from selling the house go? Emily asked one evening, pouring tea, tiptoeing into the subject. Mrs. Whitmore had come from a small village near Oxford, where shed inherited a modest house with a garden.
Every year, William offered to help her find a place in the city, but she refused. Then, suddenly, she sold the housequickly, and for far less than it was worth.
Some went towards my future holiday, some into my new business.
Mrs. Whitmore was ambitious and strong-willed, despite her humble upbringingbut also domineering and entitled.
People like her had to be handled carefullytheyd bite your hand off if you gave them a finger.
Recently, shed discovered an online cosmetics company. To work with them, she had to buy products in bulk every monthand thats where the money from her house had gone.
Ive decided theres no issue with me staying here, Mrs. Whitmore declared, stirring honey into her tea.
Of course, we love having you! Emily tried to sound cheerful but made sure to clarify, Ill ask my friendshes an estate agent. Shell find you a lovely flat in a good area.
No need. Two homes are a waste. We should saveits no trouble, Mrs. Whitmore countered, painting herself as the victim.
Emily looked at William expectantly. She didnt dislike his mother, but sharing their home indefinitely was too much. Yet William just shrugged. Whatever you think is best.
He always supported his mothers ideas, no matter how questionable, believing he had no right to question her.
And there were plenty of ideasmacramé, candle-making, soap-making, scrapbooking.
She hunted for a goldmine and found it in William, who funded every tool, material, and whimalong with her living expenses.
Since his promotion, Mrs. Whitmore hadnt worked a single day.
Williams childhood beliefthat he owed his mother everythingcrushed his will, manifesting in endless financial support and blind obedience.
It was astounding how a grown man could be so easily manipulated.
The guest room never became a nursery. Three years passed, and little changed. Emily now worked at a publishing house, writing articles on family and relationships.
As she analysed happy and tragic stories, applying psychological insight, she couldnt bring clarity to her own marriage.
Her opinion meant nothing. She was a background figure in her own home, where Mrs. Whitmore held all the power.
Emily understood whyan only child of a single mother marries a woman whod demand his time and money. A threat, countered only by total control.
Mrs. Whitmores sense of superiority, mixed with the belief her son owed her, made it worse.
Only she could fix her own issues. Only William could wake her upbut he was blind.
Their home was now stocked with her pyramid schemes products. Her business brought no profitjust an endless drain. Emily had brought it up, but William always said, Mum knows what shes doing, while Mrs. Whitmore insisted, Good things take time.
Three years had passed. The tree never grew, but the expenses did.
When Mrs. Whitmore suggested Emily invest in the family business, she knew drastic action was needed.
The final straw was a conversation that shouldnt have happened.
On New Years Eve, theyd gone on their first date in agesice skating, then a cosy café.
Emily, cheeks rosy, had glowed with love.
William, are you happy?
Of course, hed said, taking her hand. How could I not be?
I want a baby, she whispered.
Right now? he teased, kissing her hand.
That night, theyd agreed it was time.
But the next day, Mrs. Whitmore stormed into their bedroom.
You cant have a child now!
Emily, shocked, didnt respond at first.
William hasnt paid off the mortgage, the car
Youre just scared hell stop funding your nonsense, Emily shot back, the first time shed ever stood up to her.
Ive only ever wanted the best for my son, even if Ive asked for a little help. Hes all I haveI raised him, clothed him, made him the man he is.
He owes you nothing. You chose to have himnot for him, but for yourself. You can hope for his help out of love, not duty.
Mrs. Whitmore understood but refused to give up her comfortable life. William will see Im right.
Emily feared she was correcthe was so easily swayed.
Nothing would stop her wanting a babybut for William, his mothers disapproval was enough.
A late-night talk confirmed he was hopelessly lost.
One day, hed loved the idea of a childthe next, he argued, Maybe its not the right time. Were not ready.
Emily knew this couldnt continue.
I want a divorce.
Williams face drained of colour.
Im leaving you to the woman you truly love. I wont be second best anymore.
She couldnt ignore the pain anymore. How many times had she tried to talk? He never listened, never faced reality.
Tears welled in her eyes.
What are you talking about? What other woman?
Since we married, its always Mum, Mum Her cookings better, she controls our money. I cant do this
William barely heard the rest, struggling to understand how things had come to this. When had he lost control? Or had he ever had it?
As she fell silent, he sat beside her, studying her tear-streaked face.
Is this really just about Mum living here?
How can you not see? Shes taken over. You dont even belong to yourself. Without my salary, wed be struggling. She forbade me getting pregnantscared of losing her cash flow.
Your mothers a good woman, but she needs boundariesand you erase them by always giving in. Youre suffering. So am I. So would our child. Your debts are long paid, William. Live for yourselfnot her.
The talk was painful, but William begged for a chance, promising to set things right.
The first steps were hardcutting off his mothers monthly allowance, then suggesting
