“You just don’t realise your own happiness.”
“Half a million?!” Catherine stared at the notification on her mobile, reading the digits for the third time before they made sense. “You took out a loan for half a million pounds?”
James was slouched on the settee, eyes glued to his smartphone, not bothering to look up.
“Oh that Yes, just a small thing. For my mothers house, you know the pipes are leaking, parquets warped, damps ruined the wallpaper”
“Hold on.” Catherine sank onto the edge of an armchair, her legs suddenly refusing to hold her. “You took out a loan. For half a million. And gave it all to your mum? Without saying a word to me?”
James finally sighed and set his phone aside. His face was blank with confusion, as though she had asked why water was wet.
“Cathy, its my mum. She lives alone, her pensions tiny. Who else is she supposed to turn to?”
“And you didnt want to discuss it with me?” Catherine’s voice rose; she couldnt stop herself now. “Ask my opinion? Give me any sort of warning?”
“Youd just start an argument,” he shrugged. “And Mum needed it urgently.”
For four years Catherine had endured his mother. Four years of nightly calls to check what James had for dinner. The mother who dropped in unannounced to pick at the cleanliness of their flat, who at every family meal made sure Catherine sat at the far end of the table.
“You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” James droned on calmly. “Well manage, pay it off quick. Its not that much. Its family.”
Hot, angry tears spilled over. Catherine wiped them away with the back of her hand, mascara smudging across her cheeks.
“Family? Am I family? Or just some add-on?” Her voice shook. “Remember when your mother decided we needed a new car, and you sold ours behind my back? Or when she threw out my things from the guest room because she couldnt sleep surrounded by strangers rubbish? How on my birthday, you both left to pick her a new fridge instead?”
“Little things,” James dismissed. “Youre just tired, you need a break.”
She looked at this man tall, gentle features, dimples she once found adorable. Now he seemed nothing more than a thirty-year-old child, tied to his mother like an umbilical cord he couldn’t sever.
“Well manage,” he repeated like a chant. “Love conquers all.”
Catherine stood up and quietly retreated to their bedroom. The two large sports holdalls shed brought when she moved in lay stowed at the top of the wardrobe. She fetched them, tossed them on the bed, and began pulling open drawers.
James appeared in the doorway twenty minutes later, just as the first bag was packed to bursting.
“What are you doing? Catherine, dont be ridiculous. Youre not serious?”
She ignored him, folding jumpers, jeans, underwear meticulously. She reached for her jewellery box gifts from her parents or friends, nothing from him and placed it in the bag.
“Where are you going to go? Back to your mums in York?”
She zipped the second bag shut, checked her handbag passport, bank card, keys to her mums flat, which she always carried just in case.
“Catherine, at least say something! You cant just leave me. I love you!”
She fixed him with a long, silent stare, slung the bags over her shoulder, and walked out.
–
Next morning, Catherine queued outside the registry office, clutching the completed divorce petition. Rain speckled the windows, grey clouds hung low, but inside, she felt a strange calm. The decision was made.
The first call came at half past two in the morning. Cat sprang upright on Lenas settee, halfway between sleep and confusion.
“We need to talk!” James’ breath was ragged; his words jumbled. “I get it now, Ill change. Please give me a chance.”
She declined the call. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again.
“Catherine, I cant live without you. Youre everything to me.”
By dawn, forty-three messages had arrived. All long, desperate, filled with tearful declarations, promises, threats.
“If you dont come back, I dont know what Ill do.”
“Mum says youre just being fussy.”
“Ill wait for you forever.”
By the next week, hed started lurking outside her office. When Catherine left for lunch, shed see his familiar figure at the sandwich van across the road. When she headed to the Tube after work, he waited on the opposite pavement.
“Just passing by,” James would smile when she confronted him. “Wanted to see you.”
One evening, the doorbell rang in Lenas flat. Catherine, expecting the pizza delivery, opened up without checking the spyhole.
James stood on the step, clutching a bouquet of red roses.
“One chance,” he whispered. “Thats all I ask.”
Catherine closed the door in his face. He lingered for two hours until neighbours threatened to call the police.
She learned to live with it, as one learns to live with chronic pain. She stopped reading his messages, ignored calls from unknown numbers, stopped looking over her shoulder in the street. Switched jobs to remote work for a different company, moved to a quiet suburb where James would never appear by chance.
The divorce went through after three months. Catherine emerged from the courthouse, official papers in hand, and burst into tears on the steps not from grief, but relief.
The first months of freedom were terrifyingly empty. Shed grown so used to checking each decision with someone, even if that someone would always do things his way. Now she could buy any yoghurt she wanted at Tesco, without worrying about whether Mrs Richardson approved. She could watch any film she liked, no more lectures on “what a proper woman should enjoy.” She could breathe.
She signed up for an English literature course a long-held dream, dismissed by James as “a waste of money.” She began going to sunrise yoga in the park, before London truly woke up. Took a weekend trip to Brighton alone, wandering the lanes and indulging in fudge.
After six months, the calls ceased. The texts dried up. Catherine braced for a relapse for another two months, then finally realised it was safe to relax. She joined a marketing agency a vibrant office, young team, challenging projects. Life began to take shape.
–
She met Andrew at a company party, thanks to her colleague Martha.
“This is our lead developer,” Martha introduced the tall guy with wire-frame glasses. “Andrew, meet Catherine from marketing.”
He shook her hand firm but gentle and smiled simply, without any attempt to impress.
“You dodged the karaoke too?” he asked, nodding towards the finance director butchering “Bohemian Rhapsody” on the stage.
“Trying to preserve my nerves,” Catherine replied.
They talked for hours about books, travel, the peculiar twists of fate. Andrew listened more than he spoke, asked questions, waited for answers, never interrupted or tried to tell her how she should live. When he learned she was divorced, he only nodded and got on with the conversation.
Half a year later, they moved in together, choosing a flat in Soho small, bright, high ceilings, overlooking a quiet courtyard.
“Are you sure you like this place?” Catherine asked as they surveyed it before signing the lease. “Shall we look at a few more?”
“Do you like it?” Andrew turned to her.
“I do. I really do.”
“Then lets take it.”
Such little things having your opinion taken into account mattered far more than dramatic declarations about love.
He proposed on the rooftop of their building, as the sunset painted the London sky in pink and gold. He produced a tiny box, flicked it open inside was a diamond ring.
“Im no good at speeches,” Andrew confessed. “But I want to wake up next to you every morning. If youre willing to tolerate my snoring and love for bad instant coffee.”
Catherine laughed through tears and nodded.
–
That May evening began quietly. Andrew was working late a burning deadline, a stubborn bug. Catherine was preparing pasta, humming along to BBC Radio, when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent, demanding.
She checked the spyhole and recoiled.
James stood in the corridor. Pale, dark circles under eyes, shirt creased. Two years two years of silence and here he was.
“Catherine, open up!” His fist hammered the door. “I know youre in there! We need to talk!”
She grabbed her phone and dialled Andrew. Engaged.
“We love each other!” James roared through the door. “You cant be with someone else! Thats wrong!”
The door shook he was trying to break in with his full weight. Catherine pressed her back to the door, bracing her feet.
“Go away!” she shouted. “Ill call the police!”
“Youre my wife!” His voice cracked, high and hysterical. “You were mine and you always will be! Two years I waited for you to come to your senses! Two years!”
“Were divorced! Its over!”
“Its not over!” He shoved the door again; she barely held it. “Ive changed! Mum says you just dont appreciate real happiness! Just open up, lets talk!”
In the spyhole she saw his face twisted, obsessed. No trace remained of the man she once shared a bed with.
Catherine dialled 999.
“James! One button, and the police will be here. Leave now. This is your chance.”
He froze. Silence hung in the air. Then, suddenly, he turned and stomped off down the stairs. The front door slammed below.
Catherine slumped against the wall, ears ringing. It was half an hour before she got up and phoned Andrew.
Her statement to the police was taken the next day. The local officer an older man with a bristling moustache recorded all the details, listened thoughtfully, and nodded.
“Well look into it. Ill have a word.”
What he told James, Catherine never learned. But after that, her ex never appeared again. Not a message, not a missed call, not a glimpse on the street.
–
The wedding was held in early June, in a small countryside restaurant just twenty guests, close friends. No fuss, no relatives from the grooms side demanding traditions.
Catherine stood beside Andrew, her simple white dress fluttering, squeezing his warm hands in hers. Outside, birch trees rustled; the scent of blossom and fresh-cut grass drifted in.
“Do you take” the celebrant began.
“I do,” Catherine interrupted, and everyone laughed.
Andrew slid the ring onto her finger slim, gold, with an inscription inside. Three words: “Forever with you.”
Catherine lifted her gaze to the man who would be her husband. Not a mummys boy, not a possessed pursuer. Just a man who knew how to listen, respect, and love. Ahead lay a life where her choice finally mattered.
