“If it weren’t for you, we’d be living like proper people!” Victor glared at his wife, his voice shaking with barely contained anger.
“Please, enough,” Anna murmured without looking up. “How long are you going to keep saying this?”
“As long as it takes!” he snapped. “Until you admit you ruined everything!”
Their wedding had been nearly thirty years ago.
When Victor first stepped into that flat in a small town in the Midlands and clumsily greeted Anna’s parents, he was just twenty-two. A lanky lad from the countryside, with no grand ambitions but bright eyes and dreams of a better life, he didn’t exactly win their trust.
“Just look at him,” her father muttered. “No education, no proper job, not a penny to his name. How are you going to live?”
“Annie, love, think about it,” her mother chimed in. “When children come along—how will you raise them? Maybe don’t rush into this?”
“It’s too late,” Anna whispered.
“What do you mean ‘too late’?” Her parents tensed.
“I’m expecting.”
“Right,” her father said after a pause. “We’ll have the wedding. You’ll live here.”
“We were planning to rent a place,” Anna said meekly.
“What for?” Her mother threw her hands up. “There’s plenty of room. You need rest now, good food. No, your father’s right—you’ll stay with us.”
The newlyweds got the largest bedroom. They were allowed to decorate it as they pleased. The agreement was that they’d be one family for the time being.
“There’s only one woman running this house,” her father said sternly. “Your mother’s in charge. You two—” he looked at his daughter, “—will contribute to food and rent. How much? Your mother will work it out. Don’t worry, she won’t take more than fair. Agreed?”
Anna and Victor nodded in unison.
“One more thing,” her father’s voice hardened. “Your mother’s word is law. What she says, you do. Understood?”
“Understood, Dad,” Anna said quickly, seeing Victor’s discomfort. “We agree to everything. Thank you for having us.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” her father softened slightly. “This is your home. The question is how we’ll get along. Hopefully, we’ll manage.”
And they did, at first. Anna’s dad, though he never warmed to Victor, kept his distance. Didn’t pry, didn’t lecture. Never said a harsh word to him. Her mother turned out to be a kind mother-in-law, looking after Victor like one of her own.
At least, that’s what her parents thought. Victor saw it differently.
“They drive me mad, especially your mum,” he’d whisper to Anna. “‘Love’ this, ‘love’ that. I’m not her ‘love.’ And your dad? Smiles, but his eyes are full of scorn. We should’ve found our own place.”
“Vic, with what money?” Anna kept her voice steady. “I’ll be giving birth soon. Mum will help with the baby. And Dad… he respects you. Maybe doesn’t love you, but that’s normal—you’re strangers. He’s no fool.”
“Exactly—strangers!” Victor snapped. “Then they should act like strangers, not pretend to be parents!”
“No one’s pretending,” Anna shot back, hurt. “You’re imagining things. We should be grateful we’ve got a roof over our heads! Have you checked rental prices? Your wages? How would we survive? On my maternity pay?”
Tears welled up in her eyes.
“So my wages aren’t good enough?” Victor exploded. “And stop crying! This is all your fault!”
What exactly her fault was, Anna never understood. And she couldn’t figure out why her husband was so angry.
But Victor hated everything: the house, his factory job, his in-laws—whom he barely tolerated—and his wife’s endless pregnancy. Back in his village, things were simple: the man was the head of the house, his word was final. Here, some woman he barely knew was dictating his life!
Who knows how far this resentment would’ve gone? But then tragedy struck.
Anna’s father died suddenly. He’d held his newborn granddaughter—a perfect little girl—for just a couple of days.
After the funeral, her mother, weeping, made them promise not to leave her alone.
“I can’t imagine living in this house without him,” she sobbed. How could they refuse?
Now Anna and Victor had two rooms. Her mother moved into the smaller one. She handed over the reins, saying she didn’t need much—the young ones could decide how to live.
Victor breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, he felt like the man of the house. And he began showing the temper he’d kept hidden.
Soon, Anna and her mother felt like they owed Victor just for being fed. He never missed a chance to remind them, ignoring Anna’s maternity pay or her mother’s pension. “I’m supporting you,” full stop.
Years passed. Anna went back to work, and their daughter, Lucy, started nursery. Victor stayed at the factory.
Then one evening, there was a knock at the door. Victor’s cousin, Paul, had come to visit. He was starting a garage in town, laid out his plans—said it was a sure thing, that in a few years, they’d have a chain. He offered Victor a partnership.
“Me? A partner?” Victor was stunned. “I don’t know the first thing about mechanics!”
“We’ll invest together, split the profits fifty-fifty. Simple!” Paul clapped him on the back. “Come on, mate, take the chance!”
Victor was buzzing. He pictured a new house, a fancy car, lounging on a beach somewhere. This was everything he’d ever wanted!
Just one problem: where would the money come from?
“No big deal!” Paul waved it off. “I’m selling my flat. That’ll cover the start-up.”
Victor glanced at Anna. She was clearly against it.
Paul left, giving them time to think, and Victor began pleading with his wife.
“This is our shot! We won’t get another!”
“How do you see this working?” Anna argued. “Where would we live with a child? What about Mum? She won’t agree. It’s too risky.”
Victor begged, he argued, but Anna stood firm. She wouldn’t sell the house.
Two weeks later, Paul called. When he heard the refusal, he just said, “Your loss. You’ll regret it when it’s too late.” Then hung up.
Life went on. Lucy finished school, Anna worked, her mother kept house, and Victor, his eyes dull with resignation, became a senior technician.
The smell of fried potatoes and garlic mixed with the hum of the telly, where the newsreader droned on about new sanctions. Victor pushed his food around, leaving neat fork marks on the plate.
“Paul rang,” he said suddenly, not looking up. “Bought a house in the Cotswolds. With a pool.”
Anna slowly set down her spoon. She knew what came next: news about his cousin, a pause, accusations, then a week of icy silence.
“Good for him,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.
“Good for him?!” Victor slammed his fork down, the clang sharp against the plate. “He’s got everything! And us? And you know why? Because you clung to your mum’s apron strings and wouldn’t let me take a chance!”
The door banged—Lucy had bolted from the kitchen. She’d long since learned to leave when these rows started.
Anna walked to the window. Snow fell outside, just like the night Victor first hugged her at the bus stop. Back then, he’d smelled of dreams.
“We could’ve sold the house,” his voice was hollow, like it came from underground. “Invested. Lived properly.”
Anna turned. The ache in his eyes was familiar—he was already living the life where everything had worked out.
“And if it had failed?” she asked, steadying her voice.
“At least I’d have tried!”
She closed her eyes. Saw it: a rented room, Lucy ashamed in front of friends, her mother coughing in the corner…
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, surprising herself. “We should’ve taken the risk.”
Victor froze. He’d waited years to hear those words, but now they felt like ashes.
“See!” His laugh was bitter. “Even you admit it!”
“I do, just don’t shout. You’ll wake Mum.”
“I’m awake,” her mother said, sitting down. “Heard it all. Annie, he’s right—you should’ve tried. I’d have backed you…”
The kitchen went quiet, thick like the snow outside.
“So you’ve made up your mind?” Victor spat. “After years of saying your mum was against it? Because of you, we’ve got nothing!”
Anna looked at him, weary but resolved, and said, “Then let’s build something new—together.”
