Put your hat on, its freezing outside. Youll catch your death.
I held out the woolly hatyes, the blue one with the silly pom-pomthat Sophie had actually chosen herself just a month ago at Marks and Sparks.
Youre not my mum. Got that?
Her shout shattered the early morning hush of the hallway. The hat hit the floor with vicious force, as if it were burning her.
Sophie, Im only
And you never will be! Hear me? Never!
The front door slammed so hard the glass rattled. A gust of cold air swept down the corridor, icy and harsh.
I just stood there by the door, staring at that battered, ridiculous hat by my feet. Tears stung behind my eyeshot, angrybut I fixed my gaze on the ceiling and bit down hard. Dont cry. Not now.
Just half a year back, Id imagined things so differently. Cosy Sunday lunches. Honest chats. Maybe weekend escapes to the Cotswolds. Ben had always spoken so lovingly about his daughterClever, talented, hed said, just a little closed-off since her mum died. She just needs time.
But time passed, and Sophie stayed as frosty as ever.
From day one, when I stepped through that door as Bens wife instead of just his friend, there was no welcomeSoph stopped letting me in. Every time I reached out, I hit a wall. Homework help? Ill manage. Suggest a walk? Im busy. Compliment her new haircut? Shed just glare and turn away.
I have a mum, she said, the second morning after I moved in.
We were at the breakfast table. Ben was rushing, glancing at the clock above the kettle.
Had and always will. Youre no one here.
Ben choked on his tea. Mumbled something, tried to smooth it over. I forced some sort of smileit may as well have been painted onand dropped it.
Things only got worse.
Sophie stopped snapping when her dad was around. She just withdrew. Walked through the house as if I were invisible, answered only when pressed, and with as little as possible. Shed leave the room the moment I entered.
Dad wasnt always like this, she muttered over shepherds pie one night. He used to be normal. We talked, you know. Youve changed everything.
She broke off, poking at her food. Ben went pale. My fork felt heavyeating had become a chore.
Ben spent his evenings running between us, lost and restless. At night, hed slip into our bedroomhis bedroom, our supposed sanctuary, though Id never managed to call it homeand ask me to hang in there.
Shes just a kid. Shes grieving. Give her time, Anna.
Then hed go to her, gently asking Sophie to give me a chance.
Annas good, love. Shes trying. Please try to accept her.
I could hear them through the thin wall. Bens weary, broken voice; Sophies clipped, resentful replies.
He was coming apart at the seams. That worry-line between his brows grew deeper every week. Hed flinch if Sophie and I crossed paths, and the circles under his eyes darkened daily.
But hed never make a choice. Or wouldnt dare to.
I bent to pick up the hat. Absently dusted it off, hung it back on the peg. Drifted into the sitting roomand stopped, as I always did.
Photographs. Dozens of them. Lined along the mantle, across the shelves, perched on the windowsill. A fair-haired woman with a kind smileBens late wife, Judith. There she was with little Sophie in her arms. With Ben, looking so young and happy. Wedding snapshots, holidays at the seaside, Christmas around the tree.
Judiths things were still everywhere. Her dresses and scarves, perfectly folded and scented with lavender. Her hand cream sat on a tray by the sink. Her slipperssoft, pink and fluffyby the door, as though she might be back any moment.
Mum made this better, Sophie would declare over Sunday roast.
Mum never did it like that.
Mum wouldnt have wanted this.
Every Mum was a punch in the gut, and Id smile, nod, swallow my hurt with my tea. At night, Id lie awake, wondering how you compete with a ghosta memory that only gets more golden with time?
Ben still loved Judith. He stared at her photos with that hollow look that turned him into someone I barely recognised. When Sophie spoke about her mother, Bens face shuttered and drifted away from me.
What was I to Ben? An attempt at moving forward? A balm for his loneliness? Or just the convenient woman who happened to be there?
Id lie beside him in the dark, staring up at that unfamiliar ceiling. Someone elses house, someone elses story, not mine. And all the while I knewsharp as winter airthat our marriage was falling apart. Ben had married me, but hed never let go of the past. Sophie would never let me in.
I had the sinking realisation, somewhere between three and four in the morning, as I listened to Bens deep, even breath beside me. He always fell asleep within minutes, facing the wall, leaving me alone with the shadows and Judiths photo on the dresser that he couldnt bring himself to remove.
Enough.
The decision came to me calmlycold, but clear. This wasnt a fight I could win. You cant compete with the dead. Cant take the place of someone wholl always be perfect in their absence.
I sat up in bed. Ben didnt stir.
Three days later, I filed for divorce. Just me, by myself, no solicitor, no warning. I took my passport and marriage certificate to the registry office, filled in the forms in my neatest handwriting, signed my name. The woman behind the counter gave me that professional, practiced sympathy; she must have seen women like me every day.
Anna…
Ben found the paperwork in the kitchen that evening, white as a sheet, staring at me.
Whats this?
Its all there. I scrubbed at the washing up. Ive filed for divorce.
ButWhy? Since when? We never even talked about it…
What is there to say, Ben?
I dried my hands on the towel. Turned to face him.
Im tired of living in a museum. Tired of being second best. Tired of seeing you gaze at those photos. Tired of your daughter reminding me Im nobody.
Sophies just a child, she doesnt understand…
She knows exactly what shes doing, and so do you. Youre just afraid to admit it.
Ben stepped towards me, gentle, as if Id break.
Anna, lets talk. I can fix this. Ill talk to Soph, move the pictures, we can start again…
You still love Judith.
It wasnt a question. I looked into his eyes and saw the truth before he spoke a word.
You love her, even now. And me? What am I, Ben? A stand-in? Company? The woman who cooks and washes your socks?
Thats not fair…
Then tell me you dont love her. Tell me youve moved on. Go on.
Silence.
Bens hands dropped, and he stepped back. His face, grey and hollow, seemed to age ten years in a minute.
I nodded. I never expected anything else.
Sophie sat in her room. Door half-openwhether by chance or to make a point, I didnt know. As I passed, she glanced up from her phone and gave me the tiniest of smiles. Satisfied. Victorious.
Shed won.
The rest of the day was mechanical. Cupboard. Hangers. Suitcase. That dress Ben bought for our anniversary three months agoanother life. The perfume hed chosen after deliberating in Boots for ages. The book we started reading together and never finished.
I folded everything deliberately, smoothing out every crease. Dont think. Dont look back. Just pack.
The evening dragged on. I sat on the bed beside two bulging suitcasesmy whole attempt at a family, condensed into luggage.
I left at eight.
Id booked the taxi, carried my cases downstairs alonelift working silently, no doors creaking. Left the keys on the hall table.
The cabbie helped load my bags and pulled away. I didnt look back.
Evening London flashed by outside, all pavements and unfamiliar faces hurrying to the tube. Somewhere behind me, the flat brimmed with photos and ghosts. Ben clinging to his old love. Sophie, fiercely loyal to a mother shed never let go.
I gazed out the window and breathed, really breathed, for the first time in six months. The loneliness frightened me, but not nearly as much as living forever in someone elses shadow.
This was a new beginning. Blank, lonely, honest. No husband, no family, no more illusions.
But at leastat lastI was free of being measured against a woman who existed now only in memory.
