My life had fallen apart. No matter which way you looked at it. Well, except for one thingmy daughter. There were problems, of course, but nothing unbearable, nothing unsolvable. The rest, though…
“You’re spoiled rotten,” my grandmothermy own motherwould say constantly. “Look at Jenny down the road, fighting tooth and nail with her husband. Your father knocked me about more than once, and Ive worn the same dress for years…”
Shame and resentment twisted inside me. Her words always carried an unspoken accusationthat I couldnt even buy her a new dress. And with what money? Anthony had stopped giving me any. I scrimped and saved, cutting corners everywhere, but it was never enough. Mum claimed she was just making conversation, but she brought it up too often.
“Look at Diane next doorher daughter bought her new slippers and a lovely dressing gown from the market,” shed sigh.
“Mum, I dont have the money right now. Emilys at universityI want her to have nice things, to fit in with the others,” Id defend myself.
“Im not asking for anything,” shed shrug, then drift awayto put the kettle on, to fetch something from the fridge. Avoiding the conversation. I knew she was ashamed of me, her useless daughter.
“And look around you! Your mother-in-law doesnt eat you alive, does she? Always gives you generous birthday money,” Mum would press.
Oh, she didnt eat meshe devoured me in great, greedy bites. Whenever Anthony visited her, hed ignore me for a week afterward, staring at me like I was a slug in his saladdisgusted, as if I werent even human. And all because of her. She knew how to twist things. Some people praise in a way thats worse than an outright insult.
“Of course, Emmas so busyno time to properly iron your shirts or trousers.”
Or: “Youre such a handsome man, such a good man! Married beneath yourself and still so humble! At least Emily takes after you. Oh, what a tragedy if shed turned out like Emma!”
Drip, drip, dripword by word, until any man would straighten his invisible crown. And Anthony did, looking at me like a lord at a beggar. A benefactor at some ragged street waif.
“Look at Natalieher brute of a husband sleeps with anything in a skirt,” Mum continued her unsolicited therapy session.
“Well, Anthony does too,” I snapped, unable to hold back. “The whole office knowshe doesnt even bother hiding it!”
“You should endure it! So he strays once or twicehell come back eventually.”
“Hes taking his sweet time,” I sobbed, remembering lipstick stains on collars, strange hairs twisted around buttons, unfamiliar perfumes. Anthony didnt even pretend. Hed laugh. “Put up with it or leave. Take your half of the flat and start fresh. Whod want someone as dull and pitiful as you?”
Why did I stay? The humiliations, the weeks of silence, his disgusted glancesI was his unpaid maid, invisible. When I told him my wages werent enough, that Emily needed a phone, a laptop, that all the kids dressed well these days, hed smirk and tell me to find a better-paying job. He paid the mortgage and the carthat was enough.
One day, I snapped.
“Youre spending it all on your Tina! People talkI know about the gifts! Diamonds for her, scraps for us”
The slap came before I could finish. Not hard, but the shock of itlike Id stepped into a horror film. Any moment now, a knight would save me, or the credits would roll. But Anthony just stood there, lips pressed thin, eyes cold with fury.
Friends complained about their husbands”he hits me sometimes”but I never understood. Hitting a woman, a child, even a dogonly in self-defense, never just because I dared to speak. He pushed me to scream, to lose control, so he could play the victim. “Look at her, the hysteric.”
I stayed for one reason: I still loved him. Foolishly. With every year, that hope grew thinner, until I finally considered divorce.
Then chaos erupted. My mother-in-law, for once, took my side. “Its her or no one,” she told Anthony. I didnt believe herbut he listened. He came home with chrysanthemums, my favourite, said hed made a mistake, that he loved only me.
Love. The word barely left his lips. We both knew it was a lie, but I chose to believe. I curled my hair, painted my nails, borrowed money from Mum for new lingerie. I followed every stupid magazine tipbut none of it mattered. When youre unloved, it doesnt matter what you wear.
“At least youre married,” my single friend would sigh, ignoring my misery. “And your daughters wonderful!”
She jinxed it. Emily changed. She absorbed Anthonys contempt, his hatredignoring me for days, speaking through clenched teeth as if I pained her. She stopped confiding in me. I only learned about her boyfriend from gossiping neighbours.
“Cant wait to be a grandmother!” I chirped, while ice filled my veins. She was only in her second year! Was it really that serious?
When I tried to talk to her, she screamed. Called me a petty, clueless housewife who understood nothing of love. The vitriol poured out of her like sewage. I ran out, one thought in my mindwhere to drown myself. The river was too shallow, thank God.
Life isnt uniformly bad or good. I prayed for any spark of feeling, anything to pull me from this swamp of spite. And for once, my prayers were answered.
Emily scratched at the bathroom door while I soaked. We used to talk like thisme in the tub, her perched on the laundry basket. My heart ached, but I shoved the hope down. She probably wanted moneynew jeans, a dress.
She sat in silence for a long time.
“Emily are you pregnant?” My heart wanted to drown right there, but I forced a smile. “Its okaya bit early, but well manage. Your dad and I will help. Just hint to your grandparents about great-grandchildrentheyll race over fighting for cuddles.”
I babbled nonsense, studying her face. My babystill a child herself!
“Mum, shut up for a sec, yeah? Im not pregnant. Steven knows how to be careful. But youre not completely wrong.” She hesitated. “He held me tight the other day, whispered, Have our baby. And now I cant stop thinking about it I want to.”
My limbs locked up in the hot water. “Have our baby.” The words from my dreamone Id forgotten. A dream where
“Emma, meet Stevenhead of our programming team.”
Anthony was always charming in public, so I went to his work parties, knowing Tina would be there in new diamond earrings, waiting.
“Steven, nice to meet you.”
He shook my hand. His eyes were mismatchedone slightly largergiving him a lopsided, almost clownish look.
“Old injury,” he explained, catching my stare. “Did karate.”
Unfazed, he studied me back.
“Youre a beautiful woman, Emma.”
I froze. Forgotten how to take compliments, how to flirthow to live. I stammered, flustered.
“Need the loo?” He smiledkind, pitying.
I hated that. Nodded coldly and fled.
A cut, like in a filmthen we were outside. A bonfire. Steven lit it with one match, watching me through the flames. His gazeunreadable, intense.
Another cut. Dancing in a loud club. His lips at my ear: “Have our baby.” Laughing, I pretended not to hear. He pulled me onto the terrace, cold under the stars, and whispered it again, kissing my temple.
Another cut. My heart hammered. I refused. “I have a husband.”
“You think he cares about you? Everyone knows about his affair! Whats stopping you? Emilys grownshell understand. Marry me.”
“No!”
“Please, just think”
Another cut. A funeral. Steven in the coffinbeaten beyond recognition. Wrong place, wrong time. I didnt cry. I was already dead inside.
Another cut. The divorce. Anthony laughing as we split the flat. Emily married, moving to Canada. Mealone. My parents aging, needy. No grandchildren to hold. Just them. Then their deaths. Then mine.
I gasped, dizzy, sliding under the water. Choking, thrashing
“Mum!” Emily yanked me up. “Mum, Ill call an ambulance”
“No!” I hated doctors. “Im fine. Just remembered something.”
“What?” Her eyes lit uplike when she was little and we traded ghost stories.
“A dream. A bad one
