Its over, she whispered, turning her eyes away.
It was a cold evening in London when Ethel quietly said, I want a divorce, averting her gaze from the face of her husband, Arthur.
Arthurs complexion went ashen in an instant, a silent question hanging in the air.
Ill leave you to the woman you truly love, Ethel replied, realizing that the most important woman in his life had always been his mother. I will not be a second choice any longer.
A tightness clenched her throat and tears gathered in her eyes. The pain and years of disappointment burst forth, choking the breath from her chest.
What are you talking about? Which other woman? Arthur asked, bewildered, staring at his wife in disbelief.
Weve talked about this so often. Since our wedding your mother has been draining us financially, emotionally and timewise, and you accept it all because her soup is tangier and her scones are fluffier. I cannot endure it any longer, Ethel blurted.
Her tears streamed down her pinkcheeked face. She mourned the dreams she had held so clearly: a promising fiancé, a respectable career, a life in central London that had always seemed a battle for her own happiness.
Five years earlier, Ethel had nervously stepped into the spacious living room of their flat. The furniture, the crockery, the décoreverything looked costly and fragile to a girl who had spent most of her life in shared houses and, most recently, a university hall.
How could I ever be so lucky to find a man with his own flat? she had said with a wry smile, placing her hands on Arthurs shoulders.
Just wait until I leave my socks everywhere, then tell me how impressed you are, he had teased.
Ethel had been swiftly drawn to him after their first meeting. It was a blossoming romance that seemed to demand a sequel.
At that time she was in her final year at University College London studying journalism, while Arthur, five years older, worked as a sales manager with a solid income.
A year after moving in, they married.
Soon we can turn the spare bedroom into a nursery, Ethel had remarked once, embracing Arthur and hinting that she was ready for children.
But a month later an unexpected addition arrived: Arthurs mother, Mrs. Whitaker, stood at the front door with two suitcases. She believed she had an excellent relationship with her son, at least in her own eyes.
Her upbringing, forged by a constant sense of guilt and the demands of a loneparent, had raised a man who felt forever indebted to her. She was proud that her son had achieved so much and believed it was entirely her doing.
Each payday Arthur repaid debts for the flat, the car and his childhood. Ethel watched from the sidelines, careful not to disturb their marriage, and only mentioned it gingerly now and then.
Where did you invest the money from selling the house? Ethel asked while pouring tea, brushing the subject lightly. Mrs. Whitaker came from a small village near Coventry, where she had inherited a modest cottage with a garden.
Every year Arthur offered to help find a city flat, but his mother refused to move. Suddenly she sold her cottagequickly, but at a low price.
Partly for my future holidays, partly for my new business, she explained.
Despite the hardships of her youth, Mrs. Whitaker remained ambitious, active, and exceedingly domineering. Dealing with such people required caution, for they were known to bite the hand that offered them a finger.
Recently she had discovered an online company selling cosmetics. A condition for further collaboration was a considerable monthly purchase of products. It was exactly this income that Mrs. Whitaker funded with the proceeds from the house sale.
Ive decided it wont be a problem to stay here, she declared confidently, stirring a spoonful of honey into her tea.
Of course, we welcome guests! Ethel replied, hoping the arrangement was only temporary. Ill ask my friend, shes an estate agent; she can find a better flat in a pleasant district.
No need. Two flats are too many. Well save on my end; its not a problem, Mrs. Whitaker retorted, casting herself as a victim of circumstance.
Ethel looked expectantly at her husband. She bore no personal grudge against his mother, but sharing the household permanently was an unreasonable demand. Arthur merely shrugged. Do as you wish, he said.
He always supported his mothers ideas, however questionable, believing he had no right to oppose anything Mrs. Whitaker said or did.
And there was plenty of that: macramé, candlemaking, soapcraft, diarykeeping, photoalbums. Mrs. Whitaker tried to find a gold mine and found it in Arthur, who funded all the equipment and materials, as well as a decent living.
Since becoming a manager, Mrs. Whitaker had not worked a single day.
Arthurs childlike conviction that he owed his life and upbringing to his mother literally suppressed his own will, manifesting not only in disproportionate financial support but also in complete acquiescence to every demand.
It was astonishing how an adult, selfsufficient man could be so swayed, yielding to every manipulation as if he were a child.
In the end the spare bedroom never became a nursery, and after three years little had changed. Ethel worked for a publishing house; her articles appeared in the Family & Relationships section, illuminating joyous and sorrowful stories from a psychological viewpoint, yet she could not bring clarity to her own household.
Her opinions carried no weight; she lingered in the background while Mrs. Whitaker wielded the family scepter.
Ethel understood the dilemmaa single child of a single mother marrying a man whose time and money would be constantly claimedrequiring a fierce focus on herself to survive.
Mrs. Whitakers sense of superiority, convinced that her son owed her, only deepened the conflict. Only Arthur could have recognised the problem, but he seemed completely blind.
The whole domestic chemistry had been replaced by the network cosmetics products; Ethel could no longer bear the sight of bottles and jars. Mrs. Whitakers business yielded no profit, and Ethel saw it as a hollow pastime for her husband and a distraction for his mother.
She had raised the issue repeatedly, yet each time heard, Mum knows what shes doing, from Arthur, and Patience, dear. Trees dont grow overnight, from the motherinlaw. The tree had not sprouted for three years, while expenses kept climbing.
When Mrs. Whitaker suggested that Ethel should also invest in the family venture, Ethel finally realised that drastic measures might be necessary.
The final straw came on the eve of New Years 2023. After a long spell apart, the couple managed a date night on the ice rink, then retreated to a small café.
Ethels cheeks were flushed, her joy radiating like warm sunlight.
Arthur, are you happy? she asked.
Of course, he replied, taking her hand. How could I be anything but, with you by my side?
I want a child, Ethel whispered, leaning closer.
Right now? Arthur smiled, kissing her hand.
That evening they agreed it was time to bring a miracle into the world. Yet twentyfour hours later Mrs. Whitaker stormed into their bedroom as Ethel returned from work.
You cannot have a child now!
Shocked by his mothers brazen remark, Ethel did not react immediately.
Arthur still hasnt cleared the mortgage, the car loan is still there, she retorted, finally confronting the matriarch. Youre afraid he might stop feeding your endless whims, she added. I have always wanted the best for my son, even when I asked for a little help. He is the one I have raised, clothed and guided into a decent, independent man.
You owe him nothing, Mrs. Whitaker snapped. You chose to have a child of your own, not for his sake. You can only hope for his love, not his duty.
Mrs. Whitaker seemed to understand, yet refused to give up her comfortable life, pausing before declaring, Arthur will see that I am right.
Ethel feared this might be true, for her husband leaned heavily on his mothers opinion.
No obstacle could stop Ethels desire to bear Arthurs child, but his mothers opposition was a barrier too great, leaving Ethel hopeful yet uncertain of his reason.
A latenight conversation made it clear Arthur was hopelessly lost, even to himself. The day before, he had embraced the idea of a child; now he argued, Perhaps its not yet time, why rush? Were not ready, we cant provide everything it needs.
Ethel knew they could not continue thus.
I want a divorce, she said, the words that would finally settle everything. She made this conscious choice because their family life had hit a dead end.
Arthurs face paled instantly.
Ill leave you to the woman you truly love. I will not be a second choice any longer.
The hurt from such injustice could no longer be ignored. How many times had Ethel tried to discuss the intruding mother since she moved in, only to find her husband deaf to her reality?
She wept, her eyes brimming.
What are you talking about? Which other woman? Arthur asked, baffled, staring at his wife.
Since we wed youve only ever said Mum, Mum Her soup is tangier, her scones fluffier. She controls our finances. I cant endure this any longer, Ethel replied.
Arthur struggled to comprehend, his mind searching for the moment he lost control, or perhaps he never had it. When Ethel fell silent, he sat beside her on the bed, looking into her tearstained face.
Is it really just about Mum living with us? he asked.
How can you not see? She has consumed you. You belong to no one but her. Without my wages wed be scraping by. She forbids me from becoming pregnant, fearing loss of her generous income stream.
Your mother is a good woman, but she must recognise boundaries she must not cross, and you erase those limits with your total compliance. You suffer, as do I and our future child. Your debts are long paid, Arthurlive for yourself, not for your mother.
The conversation was uncomfortable for both, yet Arthur asked for a chance, promising to settle his mothers influence and to set priorities that favoured their shared future.
The first steps were hard: refusing the large monthly sums to the mothers empty venture, then suggesting Mrs. Whitaker move out.
A month later Ethel chose wallpaper for the nursery. She got along better with the motherinlaw when they didnt share a roof; occasionally Mrs. Whitaker visited, but the shift in Arthurs behaviour was painful. Eventually she relented, realising she could no longer lean on him for everything.
Deprived of his funds, she could not continue buying from the cosmetics firm and was more or less forced out. All this led her to seek ordinary employment, learning to rely on herself.
A year later they welcomed a child, and Mrs. Whitaker, now content with a regular job, gladly helped Arthur and Ethel. The whole family often spent time together, and everyone was happy.
