Im not dragging myself to that godforsaken village to bury your mother, James snapped. Yet when he heard there was a tidy sum in the bank, he turned up with a bouquet.
Emily was jolted awake by the insistent ringing of her mobile. It was still dark; the clock on her nightstand read eight minutes past eight on a Monday in August. Beside her, James groaned, yanking the pillow over his head as if that could silence the world.
Hello? Emilys voice was hoarse and halfasleep.
Emily, its Valerie, your mothers neighbour, the tremulous voice of an elderly lady crackled. Love, Im sorry to be the bearer of bad news your mother her heart gave out last night. We called an ambulance, but they arrived a bit too late.
The phone slipped from Emilys fingers. The room spun. Her mother gone. Just three weeks earlier theyd been chattingMrs. Margaret had complained about the heat, bragged about her apple trees and the harvest in her garden
What happened? James muttered, still halfclosed.
My mums dead, Emily breathed, the words feeling foreign on her tongue.
James propped himself up on his elbows, gave her a glance that was more irritation than sympathy.
Well, thats unfortunate. My condolences, he muttered, then turned his gaze back to the wall.
Emily pushed herself up, legs feeling like jelly, but she had to think about the funeral, the paperwork, the packing. She opened the wardrobe, grabbed a suitcase and began stuffing a black dress, sensible shoes and her passport.
James sat up, flicked on the news feed on his phone.
Where are you off to? he asked, eyes glued to the screen.
To the village for the funeral.
What village? That hole 300 miles away?
James, my mothers dead. Do you understand?
He winced as if the words had a taste.
Ive got an important presentation this week. The directors are coming from London. I cant just drop everything and trudge off to that backwater.
Emily froze, a shirt in her hands, and turned slowly.
Im not asking you to quit your job. Its my mums funeral.
So what? The dead dont care who shows up. I have to think about my career. Remember the mortgage?
She kept packing in silence. After fifteen years of marriage Emily had endured his temper, his stinginess and his indifference to domestic life. Something finally snapped.
How long will you be? James asked, heading to the kitchen.
Three or four days. I need to sort the paperwork.
Dont splash out. Weve got enough expenses already.
Emily clenched her jaw. What expenses? His new smartphone that cost a fortune? His endless fishing trips?
Two hours later she stood at the bus depot, suitcase in hand. James hadnt even offered a lifthe claimed he was going the other way. No hug, no supportive words.
Let the locals dig the grave, hed said as he left. Im not dragging myself out to that dump.
On the coach Emily sat by the window. Golden fields rushed past under the August sun. Her mother had always loved this time of year, saying August was the most generous month, when the earth gave back for all the labour.
A plump woman with a kindly face sat next to her and asked gently:
Off on holiday?
For a funeral. My mums died.
God rest her soul Burying a parent is the hardest thing.
Emily nodded, not feeling like chatting. Jamess words echoed in her mind: not dragging myself. How could anyone be so indifferent? Margaret had always treated James kindlysending homemade jam, knitting socks, looking after him when he broke his leg. Shed looked after him for a month.
The village welcomed her with quiet and the scent of freshly cut grass. The house on the edge of townwhitewashed with blue shutterswas exactly as her mother had kept it. A home should be beautiful, like a holiday, Margaret used to say.
Valerie met her at the gate.
Emily, dear Margaret didnt complain at all, she was out in the garden, cheerful as ever
Where is she?
In the house. Weve prepared everything with the neighbours. Shell be in her blue dressher favourite. The coffin was made by Mr. Peterson, the local carpenter.
Emily stepped into the sittingroom. The coffin sat on a table draped in white cloth. Her mother lay there peacefully, as if asleep. Her face seemed smoother, younger. Emily fell to her knees and wept for the first time that day.
The funeral was set for the next morning. Emily rang up her relativescousin, nepheweveryone promised to attend.
That evening, Alexander Peterson, the head of the parish council, paid a visit. Greyhaired and bearded, he knew everyone in the hamlet.
Emily, please accept my deepest condolences. Margaret was a rare soul. Everyone here respected her.
Thank you.
Im here on official business. Your mother came to me a year ago asking to notarise a copy of her savings book. The deposit was in your name.
Emily took the document, surprised. Her mother had never spoken of it. Shed lived modestly, pinching pennies.
Its a decent sumabout £8,000, the chairman continued. She saved for years, and with interest it grew.
Emilys heart tightened. Eight thousand pounds could change everythingpay off part of the mortgage, replace the cracked boiler, maybe even a proper car.
And she left you the house as well. The will is at the notarys office in the district centre. She thought ahead, clever woman.
After Alexander left, Emily sat on the porch. The sky glowed pink, cows mooed in the distance, returning from pasture. Her mother had loved these evenings, tea in hand, watching the sunset.
Her phone was silent. James hadnt called all day. Emily dialled him herself.
Yes? His voice sounded irritated.
The funeral is tomorrow at two.
So what? I told youIm not going.
Thats not why Im calling. Mum left a deposit. In my name. Eight thousand pounds.
Silence. Then a light cough.
Eight thousand? Are you serious?
Yes. And she left me the house too.
Thats thats great! His tone suddenly warmed. Maybe Ill come after all? Help with the paperwork?
No need. I can manage.
Emily, come on. Im your husband. I should be there for you.
She smiled bitterly. When she grieved, he turned his back. When he heard money, duty sprang to mind.
Come if you want, she said quietly. If notstay where you are.
James never showed. Only relatives and neighbours attended. Margaret was laid to rest with dignityquiet eulogies, kind memories, genuine tears from those whod known her as a hardworking, caring woman.
Four days later Emily returned to the flat. The front door wouldnt turn easilyJames had forgotten to oil the lock. His scuffed trainers lay in the hallway, his jacket tossed carelessly on a chair. The living room looked like a storm had passed throughbeer cans on the coffee table, pillows strewn about, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. The kitchen was worse: a mountain of dirty dishes, crusted food, the bin brimming.
In the bedroom, James lay in a rumpled tshirt, staring at his tablet. He looked up when he heard her footsteps but didnt get up.
So, youre back? Im starving, he said.
Emily stood in the doorway, taking in his unshaven face, greasy hair, a posture more lazy than tired. Fifteen years with this manhow had it come to this?
Did you ever wash the dishes while I was gone?
No time. Work.
Todays Sunday.
So what? I need a rest too.
She slipped into the kitchen in silence and began cleaning. Her hands moved automatically, but her mind drifted to her mother, who had saved every penny for a better life for her daughter, and to the man who couldnt even lift a bin while his wife buried her mother. A life that was supposed to get easier had become a burden.
That evening something unexpected happened. James returned with a huge bouquet of red roses and a bag of the bakerys best eclairsEmilys favourite.
Love, Ive been thinking I behaved terribly. Your mum died and I wasnt there. That was wrong, he said, arranging the flowers in a vase, laying the pastries on a plate, brewing tea. His face was strained, as if he were forcing remorse.
Forgive me, Emily. Remember how we met? At the county fair, when you were selling cucumbers and courgettes. Your mum smiled at me like I was part of the family.
Emily nodded. She remembered. Back then James had been differentalive, attentive, caring. Where had that man gone?
I was thinking about the money We need to handle it right. I can take a day off, go with you to the bank, to the solicitor. There are so many scammers now I just want to protect you.
Thanks, but I can manage it myself, she replied.
But were a family! We should decide together how to invest it. I know a bloke whos into investments, he could help.
Its my mothers inheritance. Ill make the decisions.
James frowned, then quickly composed himself.
Of course, dear. But you understandin a family everything is shared. Weve been together for years, paying the mortgage together
That mortgage is in your name, Emily reminded him softly but firmly.
Thats just a formality! The flat is ours, youre registered there
Registration doesnt mean ownership. Inheritance is separate property.
James sprang up, the mask of the repentant husband slipping.
What are you saying? That you wont share?
Im saying I wont rush into anything. My mum died a week ago. I need time.
Time? He snapped. When I needed a car, you didnt ask for time! You just said we had no money!
Because we didnt. We were barely getting by.
But now we do! Eight thousand pounds! We could buy a decent car, maybe even a short trip to Europenot that shabby spa you dragged me to!
That shabby spa was the only thing we could afford. I saved for it for six months.
Enough! James slammed the table. The vase rattled, roses scattering, glass shattering.
Im your husband! I have a right to half!
No, you dont. The law is clear: inheritance is personal property.
How do you know that?
I read it on the bus. And I also found out I can file for divorce without your consent.
James froze, then sank into a chair.
You want a divorce?
Im thinking about it. Emily, face the truth. You didnt come to my mothers funeral because you didnt care. Now you care only after hearing about the money.
I truly regret it! Its just work, stress
Dont lie. You dont care that I lost my mother. You care about the bank account.
How dare you! Ive worked for us for fifteen years!
Worked? When was the last time you cooked dinner? Did the laundry? Asked how I was? I work just as much, but I run this house alone!
Thats a womans job!
And a mans job is what? Being rude, demanding, doing nothing? Where were you when I needed support?
James hurled the broken vase at the wall. You ungrateful wench! I pulled you out of that village and gave you a decent life!
Emily stared at him, seeing not a husband but a strangeraggressive, greedy. For the first time in years she thought, Hes just tired, He means well, Hell change. None of it fit.
You know what? she said quietly, standing. Get out.
This is my flat!
This is a mortgaged flat, and I pay half. If you want, Ill call the police and tell them youre breaking the law.
She snatched his keys from the hook and handed them to him.
Ill pack your things and leave them in the hallway. Take them and go.
You wouldnt dare!
Just then the hallway door opened. Mrs. Nina, the downstairs neighbour, stepped out, drawn by the shouting.
Everythings fine, Nina, Emily said calmly. James is just leaving.
Nina glanced at his flushed face, then at Emilytired but resoluteand nodded.
If you need anythingcall me. Mr. Peterson will help.
James realized he had lost. With a witness present he didnt dare cause more trouble. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out.
Youll regret this! he shouted down the stairs.
Emily shut the door and leaned against it, hands trembling. Inside there was no emptiness, no fear, only a strange, unexpected reliefas if after years of captivity she were finally free.
The next day she boxed his belongings, left them in the hallway, changed the locks and informed the building manager.
A week later she filed for divorce. No children, no disputed assets. In court James tried to claim half the deposit, but the judge made it clear: inheritance is personal property.
A month later everything was settled. The £8,000 was in her account, the village house officially hers. Emily took a short break and went up to the country cottageto sort through her mothers things, clean, breathe the air of her childhood home.
On the porch she watched the sunset, the warm wind smelling of apples and hay. In the distance children laughed, cows mooed. Peace, at last.
Her phone rang. Jamess number flashed. Emily calmly declined and blocked the contact.
The past was behind her. Ahead lay a new lifewithout humiliation, without pretense, without enduring a stranger beside her.
Her mother had been right: happiness isnt about money. Happiness is having the right to choose how to live.
And now Emily had that choice.
