“Mum, have you completely lost your mind?”
The words hit Lydia like a punch to the gut—sharp and cruel. She swallowed the pain, silently peeling potatoes, her fingers moving mechanically.
“People are already pointing fingers—a mother running wild! If it were Dad, fine, he’s a man—but you? A woman! The heart of the home! Aren’t you ashamed?”
A tear rolled down Lydia’s cheek, then another. Soon, they fell unchecked, even as her daughter raged on.
Her husband, Colin, sat slumped on a chair, lips jutting out in self-pity. “My father’s ill—how could you? He needs care. Is this how you repay him? After everything he gave you? After raising a child together?”
Lydia wiped her hands on her apron. “And how *should* it be done, then?”
“What—are you joking? Look at him—look! She’s mocking us now!”
Colin sniffled dramatically.
“Tanya, I might as well be your worst enemy, the way you speak to me. Funny how you’ve suddenly become his protector.”
“Mum! Don’t play the victim! I’ve had enough—I’m calling Gran. Let *her* deal with you. This is a disgrace.”
Tanya turned to her father. “Imagine—I’m walking home from uni, and there they are, arm in arm—him reciting poetry, probably something he wrote himself. Love poems, was it, Mum?”
“You’re cruel, Tanya. Young and foolish, that’s all.”
“No remorse—fine. I’m calling both grandmothers. Let them sort you out.”
Lydia straightened her dress, brushed off invisible lint, and stood.
“Right then, my dears. I’m leaving.”
“Where, Lyd?”
“I’m walking away, Colin.”
“What—how? What about *me*?”
Tanya barked into the phone, eyes flashing with venom.
“Taaanya!” Colin wailed like a mourner at a funeral. “Tanya—!”
“What? Dad—your back? Where does it hurt?”
“Ohhh—oh—Tanya! She—your mother—she says she’s leaving!”
“*Leaving*? Where? Mum—have you lost it in your old age?”
Lydia smirked, carefully packing her suitcase.
She’d nearly left before, but then Colin’s sciatica flared up—how he’d groaned, how he’d wept.
“Lyd—I think it’s a slipped disc…”
“The MRI showed nothing.”
“Bah—what do those quacks know? They keep it quiet at first!”
“Oh? Why’s that?”
“To bleed more money out of you! Same thing happened to Pete at work—sciatica this, ointments that, then *bam*—some horror of a slipped disc…”
Back then, Lydia stayed. She couldn’t abandon him in his “agony.”
But now…
“Life’s too short, Lyd,” her best mate Liz had told her. “You’ve slaved for them like a galley rower. What’s Colin *ever* given you?”
*Nothing.* Liz smacked the table for emphasis.
“Spent his youth tomcatting around like a stray—remember that hairdresser—what was her name?”
“Milly.”
“Yeah, *Milly*. Dragged her home like she was a prize. You worked two jobs, odd shifts, while Colin lazed about. Oh, but *he* needs his spa retreat—*poor Colin’s back!* You? You limp to your mother-in-law’s garden, then your mum’s. And your bad leg at forty? That’s just life, eh?”
Lydia had tried defending him. “Liz, Colin’s just—”
“Just *what*? Made of special stuff? Sacred, is he? Other men break their backs for their families. You? You break yours so *he* doesn’t have to.”
Lydia hesitated. “Liz… You’ve always… avoided him. Like you resent him.”
Liz exhaled sharply. “Fine. I’ll say it.”
Lydia braced herself—what if Liz admitted feelings?
*”Why would I love that weasel?* You remember—or maybe you don’t—how his grubby hands groped me. We were at his birthday party at the cottage. I’d had a bit too much, passed out. Woke up—couldn’t breathe. His stinking palm over my mouth, the other up my blouse.”
Liz shuddered. “I scratched his face bloody. He blamed it on a stray cat. *Worse?* His mum was right there, watching. Then *she* had the gall to say *I* led him on. Said if I squealed, she’d tell *you* *I* came onto *him*.”
She scoffed. “I left fast. Didn’t want to wreck your marriage—you were pregnant with Tanya then. I’ve avoided him ever since. If my Mick knew, he’d flatten Colin. So I kept quiet—for *you*.”
Lydia sat frozen. All these years…
Liz gripped her hand. “Wake up, Lyd. Look how other men treat their wives. *Real* marriages. Holidays, gifts, *respect*. Your ‘family photos’? Once a year—*his* birthday. What’s he *ever* given you?”
Lydia struggled to recall. A vacuum? A dumpling steamer—because *Colin* loved dumplings. Perfume? His mum’s decades-old bottle, regifted with pride. Three tulips on Mother’s Day. A single rose for her birthday.
*God—had she sleepwalked through her life?*
Liz had been blunter that night. “Why’d you marry him?”
Lydia hesitated. “He… was premature.”
*”What?”*
“His gran baked him in an oven—well, a wool boot in the cooling range. Only child, frail…”
Liz gaped. “*And that’s* why you wed him?”
“I *pitied* him. All the lads had motorbikes, guitars, *personality*. Colin? Clumsy, thick glasses…”
Liz groaned. “Christ. His mum bullied you into it, didn’t she?”
Lydia nodded. “*‘Marry him or be a scandal.’* I was stupid, Liz. Thought he’d be quiet, steady. Instead, I nursed him—bad back, ulcers, *always* something.”
Liz sighed. “At least you’re awake now.”
And she was.
She walked out.
The backlash was brutal.
*”Go back! Beg his forgiveness!”* Her mother screamed. Her mother-in-law faked a heart attack—Lydia stepped right over her. Neighbours, though? They *cheered*. They’d seen how she lived.
Tanya came later—apologising. Rebuilding.
Colin brought four carnations, wrapped in newspaper. *”Come home.”*
She refused.
A month after the divorce, he was parading with Milly—backache *miraculously* cured.
Lydia didn’t care. She was learning to *live*—not just survive.
Tanya booked her a spa day. Pete—an old friend—invited her hiking, like in their youth.
She smiled.
It’s never too late to start again.
Hard at first—then, like clockwork, life moves on.
