The point is youve achieved nothing, the man declared, his voice cutting the thin morning hush in the kitchen like a razor. He stood in the centre of the room, his fingers twisting the knot of his most expensive tie, eyes on me as if I were a mindless servant.
The shirt! The white one! Couldnt you have guessed? he snarled.
I did not answer. I slipped him a hanger with a perfectly pressed, snowwhite shirt. He snatched it as though I were stealing his precious time. Roderick Wades temper was a storm of bile and passive aggression; in those moments he turned into a lump of yellow venom.
He raged at me, at the only person in his world he believed would never fight back. That new lad is a flashinthepanjust a boy and already a chief executive. They say his surname is Vance. My hand froze on the handle of the coffee pot, the name hanging in the air. Vancemy first husbands surname, my sons surname.
Youll never understand, Roderick spat, staring at his reflection in the mirrored cupboard doors. Youre just a housewife, stuck in your cosy swamp. You never wanted to achieve anything. He adjusted his tie, a smug curl of his lips aimed not at me but at the successful man in the glass that he had polished for years.
A different morning drifted into view, long ago. I, swollen with tears, cradling little Andrew in my arms, and my first husband, Peter, muttering helplessly that he had nothing to offer, that he could not provide for us.
In that rented studio flat with a leaky tap, I swore that my son would have everything. I worked two, sometimes three jobs. When Andrew was at nursery, then at school, I fell asleep over his worksheets, later over university notes. I sold the only thing I ownedmy mothers cottageso he could take the internship at the Silicon Roundabout.
He was my flagship project, my most precious startup. They say hes the son of some poor engineer, Roderick continued, tasting the gossip like a gourmand. From the mud to the manor. Those are usually the most detached.
He recalled a night at a corporate party, drunk, when he had publicly humiliated my exhusband. Peter had arrived with a halfbaked idea; Roderick called him a dreamer with empty pockets and laughed loudly. He loved those moments; they fed his swollen ego.
Hand me the shoe brush. And the cream. Quickly. I obeyed, my hands steady, an absolute silence humming inside me.
Roderick did not know his new boss was not just any Vance. He did not realise that the boy was a cofounder of the tech firm his holding company had just bought for a fortune, making him the director of an entire division. Nor did he know that this flashinthepan remembered the woman who had made his mother weep into her pillow.
He left, slamming the door in his usual fashion. I stood by the window, watching his car disappear. That day Roderick thought he was walking to the most important meeting of his life, unaware he was heading to his own scaffold.
That evening the doors burst open as if kicked in with a foot. Roderick stormed into the hallway, his face a bruised crimson, his tie fluttering like a freed shiver. I hate this! he hissed, flinging his briefcase into a corner. Can you believe this little brat allows himself such liberties?!
I emerged from the kitchen, watching him drift down the corridor like a tiger in a cage. He spoke to me as if I were a fresh graduate on placement! With the head of a key department! He tore my quarterly report apart, point by point, every figure! He asked if Id bought a diploma at the market!
In his words I saw not humiliation but a cold professionalism. It was my son, Andrew. He always dug into details, leaving nothing unnoticed.
And you know what he said last? Roderick halted, panic flashing in his eyes. Mr. Wade, Im genuinely surprised you still hold that position with those numbers. I hope this is a regrettable misunderstanding and you wont disappoint me further. That was a threatdirected at me!
He expected sympathy, advice, support. I stayed silent, watching the broken, angry man, feeling nothing at all. Nothing.
Why are you silent? he exploded. Do you not care? Do you not care that the man who feeds you, clothes you, provides for you steps in the mud?
Then a brilliant idea, born of pure terror, ignited in his mind. His eyes flared with a mad fire. I know what to do! Ill fix everything. Ill show Vance Im not just a cog. Ill invite him to dinner. To our house.
I met his gaze. Yes, yes! In an informal setting people reveal themselves. Hell see my home, my status. And you he shot a predatory look at me. Youll try to show that I have a solid backhand, a perfect wife and an ideal household. Thats your only chance to be even a little useful.
He thought the plan clever, a way to use me as a pretty backdrop. Then something clicked inside me. I saw the whole picture, the perfect storm he had conjured with his own hands, and realised it was my chance.
Fine, I said calmly, the trap unnoticed. Ill arrange the dinner.
The doorbell rang precisely at seven, a clear chime like a signal. Roderick, who had been pacing the flat for half an hour, sprang to the hall, a counterfeit smile frozen on his face.
I followed, preparing all his favourite dishes, crafting the illusion of the perfect picture he so coveted. The perfect trap.
The door opened. Andrew stood on the threshold, tall, in an immaculate suit, looking older than his twentysix years. His gaze was steady, confident. He extended his hand to Roderick.
Andrew Vance. Thank you for the invitation.
Roderick gestured grandly, gripping the hand that was far firmer than his own. Roderick Wade! Delighted! Come in, make yourself at home!
Andrew stepped in, his eyes finding mine. He did not smile, only staredlong, serious. In that stare lay our entire shared history.
This is my wife, Elsie, Roderick announced, puffing his chest. My rock, my hope.
Were acquainted, Andrew replied evenly, never breaking eye contact.
Roderick froze. His smile trembled. Acquainted? From where?
The evening unfolded with Roderick trying to regain control, bragging about his successes, peppering the conversation with illtimed jokes. Andrew listened politely, but detached. The atmosphere at the table grew thick, sticky like tar. Roderick tipped glass after glass, feeling his plan slip.
Then he decided to strike at the most painful pointme.
Andrew Vance, youre so young yet already at the summit. Its because you have the right bearings. As for my Elsie shes had bad luck. He sneered. Her first husband was lets say a dreamer, he continued, an engineer with not a penny in his pocket. He lived on dreams and could not feed a family. So Elsie found happiness with me, because she achieved nothing herself.
The same old line, the final drop, spoken in the presence of my son, the son of that very engineerdreamer.
Enough.
I lifted my head. Youre right, Roderick. I truly have achieved nothing. No career, no millions. I paused, watching his face shift. I had only one project. One single thing. My son.
I turned to Andrew. I poured everything into himmy whole life, all my strength, all my faithso he would grow and never let men like you trample himself or those he loves.
I looked back at the man. His features elongated, animal terror flashing in his eyes. At last it seemed to sink in.
So meet him, Roderick. This is Andrew Vance. Son of that same engineerdreamer. My most successful project.
The rooms air could be cut with a knife. Rodericks smile melted, his arrogance evaporating.
Andrew stood. Mr. Wade, his voice was calm, metallic in its steadiness, thank you for dinner. It was instructive.
My father really was a dreamer, I said. He dreamed of a world where professionalism outranked flattery. A shame there was no room for that in your department.
Andrew Vance I I didnt know its a misunderstanding! he protested. Youre an incompetent manager, thats a fact. That youve belittled my mother for years is another fact. I expect my resignation letter on my desk tomorrow at nine. Dont make me audit your projects. Youll find something there.
Roderick sighed, looking at me with a pleading glance. I rose as well.
Go, Roderick. My go sounded less like a shout, more like a punctuation mark.
He croaked, trying to justify himself. Elsie you cant this house
The only thing you gave me was this house. And now its mine, I replied evenly. Pack what fits in one suitcase.
At last he understood. The game was over. He turned and left. The closing of the door was like a period at the end of an overlong sentence.
I stood in the middle of the lounge. Andrew approached, taking my hand. Mum, how are you?
I looked at himmy greatest achievement. Now everythings in order.
Had I really achieved nothing? Perhaps I never became a CEO or amassed a fortune, but I raised a man. That turned out to be enough to reclaim my life.
Six months later, the first thing I did after his departure was remodel. I ripped down heavy wallpapers, hauled out bulky furniture that shouted status. The house stopped being a showcase of someone elses success; it became mine.
I opened a small flower shop with a workshop. Id always loved plants, though Roderick dismissed it as a hobby for simpletons. It turned out my hobby could bring both joy and a modest income.
It was Saturday when Andrew stopped by. Dad called, he said, sent his regards. Hes just secured a huge grant for his waterpurification system. Hes heading to Tech City. He said you were rightdreaming does help.
I smiled. We had long forgiven each others old wounds.
And mum, you know what I thought? Andrew said seriously. That Roderick was right about something.
I raised an eyebrow. What?
You really did achieve nothing, in the sense he measured success. But you did far more. You kept yourself. You raised me. Thats not a project, mum. Thats life. And youve lived it well.
I looked at my grown son, the pain of his childhood now gone, replaced by steady strength. What will you do now? he asked.
Enroll in language classes, I replied, surprised at how easy the words felt.
He nodded, his eyes warm with pride. Nothing more was needed.
Had I achieved nothing? Perhaps. I simply began to livefor myself. And that was the greatest achievement of all.
