“Divided as Best I Could”
“Hello, Mum,” Emily said, trying to sound as though nothing were wrong, but her voice came out stiff and hollow.
“Oh, Emmeline! What brings you here today? I wasn’t expecting you,” replied Margaret Whitmore.
Emily studied her mother. “Wasn’t expecting” — the words clung to her heart like a burr, then echoed loudly in her mind. Lately, it seemed no one ever expected her. No one waited for her at all.
“Well, don’t just stand there like a statue! Come in, I’m just bottling pickles. Did you drop by for a reason? Is everything all right with James?”
“Everything’s fine, Mum. With James, I mean. We’ve rented him a flat for now. William paid three months upfront, and after that, well, they’ll manage…”
Emily watched her mother, busy as ever with chores. It had always been this way. From childhood, Emily had grown used to Margaret always rushing, always late—”Must hurry,” “The shop’s just had a delivery,” “Stay here, I’ll go,” “Emily, don’t distract me, can’t you see I’m working?” Margaret cared for practical things, while her daughter often heard, “Wait.”
“Em, pour your own tea, won’t you? I haven’t sterilised the jars yet. All right?”
“Fine, Mum,” Emily said, filling a cup though she had no thirst for it.
“So, why *have* you come?”
“Mum… listen, did you ever think of divorcing Dad?” Emily began hesitantly.
“What? No! Why on earth would I? Swapping one for another—they’re all the same, these men. Why?”
“I think… I want to file for divorce.”
“*What?* What’s happened? Has he been unfaithful?” Margaret stopped wiping the jar, clearly stunned.
“It’s not that. We’ve just… grown apart. James is grown, living with his girlfriend. I think William and I… we ought to separate.”
“Good Lord, what’s got into you?”
“Today’s our silver wedding anniversary. 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*? Emmeline, don’t be daft! A wedding anniversary—so what? Your father never gave me a thing, and I never expected it. Why waste money on nonsense?” Margaret scoffed.
Emily blinked back tears. She’d been foolish to think her mother would understand.
“Now don’t start weeping! Divorce is a nightmare—splitting the house, the cottage, the car… And what of your savings? I always kept mine in cash, hidden at home. And that three-bed—all that money sunk into it!”
Emily barely listened as her mother tallied assets and shares. The weight in her chest grew heavier.
“Listen, love—go home and put this out of your head. Fancy some peonies from the garden? They’ll bloom soon anyway.”
“No, thank you,” Emily sniffed.
“Suit yourself. Off you go, then. Oh—they’ve cheap sand at the shop, d’you need any?”
Emily shook her head and hurried out. The air in her parents’ house was stifling.
She headed for the bus stop but changed her mind, turning instead toward the riverside promenade. Her phone buzzed—James.
“Hello, love.”
“Mum, hi. Got a minute? I need to talk.”
“Of course. Meet me at The Rose Café in an hour?”
“Perfect. I’ll be quick.”
Twenty minutes later, Emily sat waiting. James arrived, restless.
“Mum… it’s Melissa. She’s pregnant.”
Emily froze. James had only moved in with his girlfriend weeks ago. At forty-five, she wasn’t ready to be a grandmother.
“You’ll manage?” she asked faintly.
“Course. You’ll help, won’t you? What did you want to say?”
“James… how would you feel if Dad and I divorced?”
“You’re splitting up? Why?”
“We’re just… strangers. Today’s our silver anniversary, and he forgot.”
James shrugged. “Do what you want. I’m grown. Gotta dash.”
Emily paid for her coffee and wandered home, dreading it. She cooked supper mechanically. William returned late, grumbling about his boss and his mate Andrew’s new car. She nodded along.
The next morning, after he’d left for work, Emily washed the dishes, torn between resentment and twenty-five years of shared life. Was she overreacting? Her phone rang—James again.
“Mum, about the divorce… I’ve been thinking. You should divide the assets *before* filing—avoid courts. Swap the three-bed for two one-beds, sell the cottage, and Melissa and I could use the extra for a two-bed. It’s the smart move.”
Emily hung up, heartsick. She dressed and walked to her favourite bench by the river. A man sat there already.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all! Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“You seem down,” he observed.
“Just… things.”
“I know what’ll cheer you up.” He returned minutes later with two ice lollies. “They say ice cream’s got happiness in it. Fancy testing the theory?”
Emily smiled despite herself. It tasted like childhood.
“I’m Edward, by the way.”
“Emmeline. Pleasure.”
They strolled along the river as Edward spoke of his recent divorce, his dreams of travelling, his ex-wife’s practicality. Emily pictured a new life beside him.
That evening, she returned home to find William scowling. “Where’s supper?”
“There isn’t any. I’m leaving you.”
“Fine by me!”
His indifference stung.
The next day, Emily rented a flat. The landlady handed her the keys. “Lift’s broken—seven floors, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll manage.”
Halfway up, a voice called, “Need a hand?”
She turned. “*Edward*?”
“Emmeline! What brings you here?”
“I live here now. Seventh floor.”
“What a coincidence—I’m on the eighth!”
He carried her case up. Later, James called about selling the cottage. “If you’ve found a buyer, go ahead,” she said wearily.
That night, Edward knocked with lilies. “Housewarming.”
Her favourites.
Three months later, the divorce was final. William and James sold the cottage, giving Emily a pittance. She didn’t fight it. When her grandson was born, she visited but kept James at arm’s length.
She and Edward married, bought a cosy flat, and on their first anniversary, he baked a cake and brought lilies.
Emily finally knew: it’s never too late to start anew.
