“Divided, As I Could”
“Hello, Mum,” said Emily, trying to sound as if nothing was wrong, but her voice came out stiff and hollow.
“Oh, Eleanor! What’s brought you here? Wasn’t expecting you today,” replied Margaret Wilkins.
Emily studied her mother’s face. “Wasn’t expecting” — the words latched onto her heart like a burr, then echoed loudly in her mind. “Wasn’t expecting!” Lately, it seemed no one wanted her anywhere.
“Well, don’t just stand there like a statue! Come in, I’m bottling pickles. Did you just drop by, or is something wrong? Everything alright with James?”
“Everything’s fine, Mum. With James, I mean. We rented him a flat for now. Michael paid three months upfront. After that, they’ll figure it out…”
Emily watched her mother. As usual, she was busy with chores. Always rushing, always behind. “Hurry up,” “Just nipping to the shops,” “Stay here, I’ll go,” “Emily, don’t distract me, can’t you see I’m working?” Margaret Wilkins cared about practical things. To her daughter, she mostly said, “Wait.”
“Ellie, pour yourself some tea, I haven’t sterilised the jars yet. Alright?”
“Alright, Mum,” Emily said, filling a cup though she didn’t want it.
“So, why’d you come, then?”
“Mum… listen. Did you ever think about divorcing Dad?” Emily asked hesitantly.
“Oh… no, not really. Why swap one trouble for another? Men are all the same! What’s this about?”
“Mum, I… I want to file for divorce.”
“What? What’s happened? Has he been unfaithful?”
Margaret clearly hadn’t seen this coming. She paused, mid-wipe, a jar dangling from her fingers.
“Mum, we’re just… different people. James is grown, living with his girlfriend. I think Michael and I should end things.”
“Good Lord, what’s got into you?”
“Today’s our silver wedding anniversary. This morning, he didn’t even mention it. Just asked where his socks were and how long till breakfast. That’s all.” Emily’s voice cracked.
“That’s all? Ellie, don’t be daft! A wedding anniversary? Big deal! Your father never gave me a thing, and I never gave him anything. Why waste money on nonsense?” Margaret scoffed.
Emily blinked back tears. She shouldn’t have come. Her mother never understood.
“Oh, now the waterworks! Do you know the mess you’re making? Divorce means splitting the house, the cottage, the car… What about your savings? I withdrew mine ages ago, stashed it at home. And that lovely three-bed—think of the renovation costs!”
Margaret rattled on about equity and resale value. Emily’s chest tightened.
“Listen, love,” Margaret sighed, “go home and forget this nonsense. Fancy some peonies from the garden? They’ll wilt soon anyway.”
“No, thanks,” Emily sniffed.
“Suit yourself. Off you go, then. Oh! They’ve got cheap compost at the garden centre—need any?”
Emily shook her head and hurried out. The air in her childhood home was too thick to breathe.
She headed for the bus stop but changed her mind, veering onto the pavement, then the riverside promenade. Her phone buzzed—James, not Michael, though some foolish part of her had hoped otherwise.
“Hi, Mum. Got a minute? Need to talk.”
“Of course. Meet me at The Rose Café? I’m nearby. There’s… something I need to say too.”
Twenty minutes later, she sat stirring coffee. James arrived, fidgeting.
“Mum, listen… Melissa’s pregnant.”
Emily’s world tilted. James had only moved in with his girlfriend weeks ago. At forty-five, she wasn’t ready to be a grandmother.
“Mum? You there?”
“I… It’s just sudden, Jamie. Are you sure you can manage?”
“Course! You’ll help, won’t you? What did you want to tell me?”
“I… Jamie, how would you feel if Dad and I divorced?”
“Wait, you’re splitting up? Why?”
“We’ve grown apart. Today’s our silver anniversary. He forgot.”
“Right. Well, do what you want. I’m not a kid. Gotta dash.”
“Bye, son.”
Emily paid, trudged home, mechanically shopped for groceries, cooked dinner. Michael returned late, grumbled about his boss, his mate Andrew’s new car. She nodded, hollow.
Next morning, she washed up, adrift. Part of her ached at Michael’s indifference. Yet twenty-five years was a lifetime. To unravel it over forgotten flowers… Maybe her mother was right. Then James called again.
“Mum, about the divorce—listen. You should divide the assets now, avoid court. Swap the three-bed for two one-beds, sell the cottage, split the cash. Melissa and I could use a two-bed. It’s the smart move.”
“Maybe, Jamie. Let’s talk later.”
“Just saying—it’s the best deal. Don’t dither, Mum.”
She hung up, numb, and wandered to her favourite bench. A man sat there.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all! Glorious weather, isn’t it?”
“Yes…”
“You seem down.”
“Just… things.”
“Wait here.” He returned with two Cornettos. “Ice cream’s got happiness hormones. Fancy testing the theory?”
“Thank you.” The vanilla sweetness melted on her tongue, fleeting warmth.
“I’m William, by the way.”
“Eleanor. Pleasure.”
“Fancy a stroll?”
They walked. William spoke of his divorce, his wanderlust, his ex’s pragmatism. Emily imagined stepping into his stories, into a new life.
…Home again. Michael was early.
“Where’ve you been? No dinner.”
“There won’t be. I’m leaving you.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Just like that?”
“Won’t beg.”
Next day, she rented a flat. The landlady handed her keys.
“Lift’s broken. Seventh floor, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll manage.”
The suitcase was lighter than the weight she’d carried for years. On the third-floor landing, a voice called:
“Need a hand? Which floor?”
“William?!”
“Eleanor? What brings you here?”
“I live here now. Seventh floor.”
“What a coincidence! I’m on the eighth.”
He carried her case up. Her phone rang—James.
“Mum, found a buyer for the cottage. Lucky, eh?”
“If you’re happy, Jamie. Dad’ll help.”
She cleaned the flat, humming. That evening, William knocked with lilies.
“For you. Housewarming.”
“Thank you. My favourites.”
“I had a hunch. Fancy a cuppa?”
…Three months later, the divorce was final. Michael and James sold the cottage, gave her a pittance. She didn’t fight it. When her grandson arrived, she visited but kept James at arm’s length.
She and William married, bought a cosy two-bed. On their first anniversary, he baked a cake and brought lilies. Emily finally understood: it’s never too late to start anew.
