I thought you were just here to tidy up Margaret smirked, rifling through my suitcases.
Are you even listening, Edward? Im talking to you, and youre glued to that phone!
I hear you, I hear you. What did you want?
Ethel clenched her fists. The detached tone, the cold indifference of the past months had finally cracked her. Edward stared at the screen, eyes never leaving it.
I wanted to discuss where well go on holiday. But, as always, you couldnt care less!
Ethel, Im exhausted. Can we talk tomorrow?
Tomorrow! Always tomorrow! What, does life stop today?
Edward finally tore his gaze away. He looked at his wife, irritation flickering across his face.
Why are you hanging on to this? Works piled up, my heads throbbing. No time for holidays now.
Theres always work for you! When was the last time I when did we actually talk? When did we go somewhere together?
Ethel, enough. Dont start
But the dam had burst. Years of resentment, unsaid words, the loneliness of an empty flat rushed forward.
Dont start? Do you even notice Im here? Am I just furniture to you? I cooked dinner, washed shirts, and you treat me like a rag?
Edward stood, shoved his phone into his pocket.
Im off to Simons. This place is a pressure cooker. All it produces are arguments.
Run! Ethel shouted after him. As always, youre quick to flee to a friend when the conversation gets uncomfortable!
The door slammed. Ethel was left alone in the middle of the room, hands trembling, a lump rising in her throat. She shuffled to the kitchen, splashed water on her face, sat at the table and rested her head on her hands.
What had become of their marriage? It used to be good. They laughed, made plans, dreamed together. Now they were strangers under the same roof. Edward was forever at work or with friends. She ran the house, cooked, cleaned, and no one seemed to need it.
Ethel grabbed her phone and texted her friend Lucy: Can I crash at yours?
Lucy replied instantly: Of course! Whats happened?
Will tell later. Leaving in half an hour.
But Ethel never got into the car. She sank into an armchair, thinking, and a sudden idea sparked why not drive to Aunt Margarets cottage in the Kent countryside?
They saw each other rarely, but their relationship was steady. Margaret lived alone in the large house her late husband had built. Edward hardly visited; he was always busy. Ethel had helped out a few times, and Margaret was grateful.
Ethel rose, marched to the bedroom, pulled an old travel trunk from the attic and began packing dresses, sweaters, jeans, a toiletry bag, books, a charger. She didnt know how long shed stay a week, maybe longer. She needed space, silence, a chance to breathe.
When Edward returned late that night, she was already asleep, though she was merely pretending. He slipped onto his side of the bed without touching her.
At dawn Ethel dressed, grabbed the trunk, slipped a note onto the kitchen table: Gone to Margarets. Ill help her around the house. Ill be back when Ive sorted things out. She left the flat.
The coach to the village took three hours. She watched fields and woods blur past the window, a nervous flutter in her chest mingling with an odd sense of relief. She had done something she hadnt stayed to gnaw at herself or start another fight. Shed simply left.
The village welcomed her with quiet and the scent of cut grass. Margarets cottage sat on the edge of a lane, the woods rising behind it. Ethel pushed the gate open and walked the path. On the porch Margaret was scrubbing potatoes in a large basin.
Ethel? she looked up, surprised. Where have you been?
Good afternoon, Margaret. Ive come to stay.
Margaret wiped her hands on an apron, rose. She was sturdy, broadshouldered, with a kind, round face and silver hair braided down her back.
Come in, come in! Edward with you?
No, Im alone.
Alone? Margaret glanced at the trunk. Staying long?
Might I stay a while? I wont be a bother.
Not at all, dear! Its a pleasure. Ill put the kettle on.
They moved through the cool hallway into a bright kitchen scented with dill and fresh bread. Jars of jam lined the windowsill, embroidered towels hung on the walls. Ethel set her trunk by the door as Margaret bustled about, cutting a cake and pulling out teacups.
Sit down, love. You must be tired from the road. How was the journey?
Fine, thank you.
And Edward? Still at work? Couldnt break away?
Ethel remained silent, unsure what to say. Margaret watched her intently.
You two having a row?
Yes, Ethel admitted quietly. Im exhausted, Margaret. I needed to get away for a while.
Margaret nodded, pouring tea.
I understand. Men can be cold one minute, hot the next. You have to know how to handle them.
I dont know how, Ethel said, gripping the warm cup. Maybe hes stopped loving me.
Nonsense! Margaret waved her hand. Edward loves you. Hes just buried in work, thats all. Rest here, gather strength. Youll see things smooth out.
Ethel nodded, though belief wavered. She didnt want to argue.
Margaret, where can I stay?
The spare room down the hall. Fresh sheets, just made.
Ethel carried her trunk to the small room with a single window overlooking the garden. A bed, a wardrobe, a little desk. She set the trunk on a chair and sat on the edge of the bed.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Edward: Read your note. Did you really go to Mums?
She typed back: Yes.
Why?
Had to.
When will you be back?
Dont know.
He didnt write again. She set the phone aside and lay back, staring at the ceiling. A strange mix of pain and relief washed over her.
That evening Margaret and Ethel dined together. Margaret talked about the garden, the neighbours, the leaky roof that needed a carpenter.
I told Edward to come help, but hes always busy.
He really does work a lot, Ethel remarked.
Yes, but what good is earning money if you miss life? He never visits his mother, never shows his wife any attention.
Ethel stared, surprised.
You know?
Im not blind, dear. I see you drooping, eyes sad. You think I dont get why youre here. Not to help me, but to find yourself.
Im sorry, Margaret. I didnt mean to deceive you.
No deceit, just silence. Its your right. Stay as long as you need. I enjoy your company, and you get a break.
Tears welled in Ethels eyes.
Thank you, youre very kind.
Oh, love, Margaret sighed. I went through the same with my husband. He was a difficult man, too. I thought Id lose my mind, but I adjusted. The key is not to keep everything inside. Talk, explain.
I tried. He never hears.
Then youre trying the wrong way. Men are like children; you have to be clever with them.
Ethel listened, though she doubted cleverness would heal the deeper wound.
The next morning Margaret woke her early.
Ethel, get up! Help me water the garden before the heat hits.
Ethel rose, washed her face, slipped on old jeans and a tee, and followed her motherinlaw outside. Margaret pointed out the tomato rows, handed her a watering can.
Here, water the roots. Over there the cucumbers need more.
The work was soothing. The sun beat down, the earth smelled rich, and Ethels thoughts settled.
After they finished, Margaret led her back inside.
Breakfast now. Ive made pancakes.
They sat at the table, forks dipping into pancakes with butter and jam. Margaret spoke of her youth, how she met her late husband, how they built the house together.
It was hard, but we did it side by side. Thats what matters being together. You and Edward seem to live apart.
Its true, Ethel admitted. I feel like a servant at home. I cook, clean, and theres no conversation.
Hes been like that since he was a boy, Margaret said thoughtfully. Always quiet, keeping everything inside. His father used to shout, Speak up, lad! but he just shut down.
What do you do with a man like that?
Love him, and endure, but also show him youre there, that you matter.
I dont know if I matter to him.
Margaret held her gaze a long moment.
You do, love. He just cant show it.
Ethel finished her tea, wanting to believe, though her heart clenched with doubt.
The day passed in chores tending the garden again, sorting apples in the cellar, stitching a tablecloth with Margaret. In the evening Margaret offered a spare knitting kit.
Sit if you like. Ive got extra needles.
Ethel sat, surprisingly comforted by the quiet rhythm of needle and thread, the tick of an old wall clock.
You know, Ethel, Im glad you came.
Really?
Absolutely. Its lonely alone. And I worry about Edward. Im scared youll drift even further apart.
Were already drifting, Ethel whispered.
Its not too late to turn back.
What if I dont want to?
Margaret looked up from her work.
Then its deeper than I thought.
Silence settled, and Ethel felt a battle inside a part of her wanted to quit, to divorce, to start anew; another part still hoped the broken pieces could be mended.
That night she dreamed of a long corridor ending in Edwards figure. She called his name, but he didnt hear. He turned and walked away. She woke in a cold sweat.
Outside the window darkness lingered. She lay staring at the ceiling, wondering if it was a sign to finally let go.
Morning found Margaret noticing the redness around Ethels eyes.
Rough night?
Not great.
Margaret poured her a cup of lemon balm tea.
Can I ask you something?
Of course.
Did you ever regret marrying Edwards father?
Margaret paused.
I did, especially when he drank too much or stayed silent for weeks. I thought Id run away, but love and the children kept me. We grew together, found a common language.
I dont want to just get used to it, Ethel exhaled. I want to be loved, valued.
Thats right, Margaret nodded. You shouldnt endure forever if its truly bad. But sometimes its worth trying one more honest talk, no yelling, no blame.
Im scared its too late.
Not as long as you both breathe.
A week slipped by. Ethel settled into the rhythm of village life garden at dawn, breakfast, afternoon chores, evenings of stitching or chat. Edward called once a day, asking how she was, when hed return. She answered evasively, unsure herself.
One evening, while they sat on the porch, Aunt Vera dropped by.
Oh, visitors! Whos that at the door, Margaret?
My daughterinlaw, Ethel.
Ah! Wheres Edward?
Hes at work, as always.
Right, the good husband whos always busy.
Ethel stayed silent, letting Veras teasing float away. When Vera left, Margaret gave Ethel a sly smile.
Good, let her think what she will. Shell spread the gossip that the daughterinlaw fled.
I didnt flee, Ethel replied. I just needed a pause.
I know, love.
A few days later Ethel opened her trunk, pulling out wrinkled dresses and shirts to iron. Margaret entered from the garden, eyeing the pile.
I thought you were just here to tidy up, she said, chuckling. Looks like youve stocked up for winter.
Ethel froze, a dress in her hands.
Im sorry, Margaret. I dont want to overstay your hospitality.
Nonsense! Im joking. Stay as long as you like. But tell me, are you planning to stay forever or head back home?
Ethel sank onto a chair.
I dont know. Its peaceful here, but the thought of returning makes me sad.
So youre not ready yet,
Margaret nodded. Thats fine. Time will tell.
She sat opposite Ethel.
Let me be frank, Edward is my son and I love him, but I see how hes failed you. If you choose to leave, Ill understand. If you stay, try to help him become better. Teach him to value you.
And if he wont learn?
Then you truly must go. Dont waste your life on someone who cant see your worth.
Ethel absorbed the advice, gratitude warming her.
Later, Edward called.
Ethel, stop this. Come home.
No.
How can you say that? Im your husband!
Im the wife you ignore, the woman you dont hear.
He was silent.
Think about it,
Ill think,
She hung up, hands shaking but a steadiness settling in her bones. She finally voiced the hurt that had built up.
Margaret stood in the doorway, pleased.
Good. Let him think.
Days passed, and Ethel began to imagine a permanent stay, helping Margaret, working the garden, living a quiet life.
Then one morning a car rolled up the drive. Edward stepped out, walked to the porch. Margaret opened the door.
Mum, hello.
Hello, love. Come in.
He entered, saw Ethel at the stove, and halted.
Hi.
Hi, Ethel whispered, spoon in hand.
Margaret slipped away to the garden.
Why are you here? Ethel asked.
For you.
I dont want to go back.
Why?
Nothings changed.
Edward moved closer.
It has changed. I realized Im losing you and I dont want that.
Words, Ethel smiled bitterly. Youll say them nicely and then everything will return to the way it was.
No, this time its different. Youre the most important thing to me. Im sorry I hid behind work and forgot home.
How can I trust you?
Give me a chance. Ill prove it.
Ethel looked into the eyes she had once fallen for. There was pain, remorse, and a glimmer of hope.
One chance, she said softly. But if you slip back into old ways, Ill leave for good.
I wont. I promise.
Margaret returned from the garden, smiling at them.
Looks like you two are making up,
Trying, Mum, Edward hugged her mother. Thanks for taking her in.
No thanks needed, dear. Shes a good wife. Look after her.
I will.
They drove back to London that evening. Ethel whispered goodbye to Margaret, hugging her tightly.
Thank you for everything.
Come back, but next time bring your husband with you.
I will, I promise.
On the way home,As the car disappeared down the lane, Ethel felt a fragile peace settle over her, knowing that whatever came next, she would finally be seen and heard.
