The dream unfolded like a faded photograph left too long in the sun. “You’re not his wife anymore,” murmured the mother-in-law as she lifted the frame from the wall.
“Sophie, darling, help Nana find her keys I simply can’t remember where I put them!” Edith’s voice trembled with the weight of unspoken words.
Sophie glanced up from her phone, watching her grandmother flit anxiously about the hall, fingers clutching the doorframe.
“But Nana, they’re right there in your hand,” the girl laughed.
“Oh, goodness me! My mind’s gone to mush,” Edith chuckled, though the sound was brittle. “Sophie, where’s your mother?”
“Took Henry to nursery. Said she’d be back soon.” The girl returned to her screen, and Edith drifted into the sitting room, pausing before the gallery of memories. Her gaze lingered on the silver-framed wedding portrait Olivia radiant in white, Daniel stiff in his morning suit. Eight years it had hung there.
She lifted it from the wall, turning the frame in her hands before carrying it to her room like a secret.
“Nana, why’d you take the photo down?” Sophie called.
“Only dusting, dear,” Edith lied, her voice catching.
Seated on the bed, she studied the image how hopeful they’d been. How changed everything was now. A door slammed; Olivia had returned. Edith hid the frame and went to the kitchen.
“Edith, you wouldn’t believe Henry today absolute menace,” Olivia shrugged off her coat. “Where’s our wedding photo? I know it was there this morning.”
“What photo?” Edith turned from the kettle, all innocence.
“The one in the sitting room. Did you take it?”
Edith set the kettle down and faced her. Olivia stood rigid, arms crossed.
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s time you faced the truth, Olivia. You’re not his wife anymore.”
Olivia paled, sinking onto a stool.
“What are you saying?”
“Eight years, dear. Eight! Yet you still behave like a bride. Your wedding dress hangs in the wardrobe I saw it yesterday when putting laundry away. You polish that photo daily, as if staring will turn back time.”
Olivia clenched her fists.
“I don’t understand.”
“Daniel rang this morning. Said we needed to talk. All of us.”
“About what?”
Edith took Olivia’s hands. “You’re like a daughter to me, you know that. The children adore you. But Daniel… he’s only thirty-two. Did you truly think he’d live like a monk forever?”
Olivia wrenched free.
“We’re married! We have children! What do you mean, not his wife?”
“On paper, perhaps. When did he last come home to you? Not to see the children to you?”
“He works so much”
“Oh, Olivia.” Edith shook her head. “I saw him last week near the new shopping centre. With a woman young, pretty. Laughing arm-in-arm. When he noticed me, he turned scarlet, babbled about colleagues. But a man in love has a certain look about him.”
Olivia moved to the window where rain streaked the glass like tears.
“So I should just step aside?”
“Ask yourself honestly are you happy?”
“The children”
“And how do you explain their father visiting once a month? Sleeping in the guest room? You two barely speak!”
Edith embraced her. “Sophie understands more than you think. Asked me yesterday why you and Daniel don’t hug like Emily’s parents do.”
“I don’t know what to do,” Olivia whispered.
“I do. I’ve lived long enough to know love can’t be faked. You’re good people, just not for each other.”
Four-year-old Henry burst in then, rosy-cheeked and breathless.
“Mummy! Nana Edith says Daddy’s coming today! Is he? Is he staying forever?”
Olivia lifted him, meeting Edith’s averted gaze.
“I don’t know, sweetheart. Daddy will explain.”
As he scampered off, Edith sighed. “Children live on hope. But hope deferred is crueller than truth.”
Olivia buried her face in her hands.
“Eight years ago, I thought we’d be happy forever. Remember how Daniel courted me? Flowers every day, reciting poetry.”
“I remember. He worshipped you.”
“What changed?”
“Life isn’t a fairy tale, dear. He married a bright young student and found himself with a weary housekeeper. Children came, money grew tight, he worked longer hours. You stopped greeting him with kisses and started with shopping lists.”
“But I tried!” Olivia sobbed. “I kept the house, raised the children, cared for you when you were ill!”
“You were a splendid homemaker but forgot to be his lover. Men need more than managers, Olivia.”
The kettle whistled like a distant train.
“Do I even love him still?” Olivia wondered aloud. When had she last asked about his day instead of his paycheck?
“Perhaps he’s found someone who makes him happy,” she conceded.
“He has. Her name’s Charlotte. Works at his firm. Divorced, no children. Daniel confessed when I confronted him.”
“So it’s decided?”
“He’s torn, Olivia. Fears losing the children, hurting you. But he can’t go on like this a stranger in his own home.”
Children’s laughter floated from the playroom, and Olivia smiled despite herself.
“I’ve become more housekeeper than wife,” she admitted.
“Then ask yourself is it too late to change?”
Olivia studied her reflection tired eyes, frayed jumper.
“I’ll visit the salon today. When Daniel comes, we’ll talk properly.”
Edith nodded. “The photo stays in my room for now. If things mend, it returns. If not… well, it was time.”
That evening, Olivia emerged transformed hair styled, wearing a long-forgotten dress, a hint of lipstick. The children gasped.
“Mummy, you look like a princess!” Henry breathed.
Daniel froze in the doorway when he saw her.
“You… you look beautiful.”
After dinner, when the children had gone to bed, they sat together in the kitchen.
“Your mother said you wanted to talk,” Olivia began.
Daniel ran a hand through his hair. “Olivia, I… it’s complicated.”
“I know about Charlotte.”
He flinched. “You do?”
“No scenes, no recriminations. Just tell me do you want to end our marriage?”
“God, Olivia, I don’t know! I’m so tangled up. The children, you, this house… but I’ve remembered what happiness feels like.”
“Can you be happy with me?”
He took her hand. “Let’s try. Not pretending the past didn’t happen, but building something new.”
“And Charlotte?”
“I’ll end it. Give us a proper chance.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “Then we’ll try.”
Morning light found Edith replacing the wedding photo. Olivia appeared in the doorway, cradling tea.
“Putting it back?”
“For now,” Edith said softly. “Some stories aren’t finished yet.”
The photograph hung slightly crooked, as if uncertain of its place.
