Your children from the first marriage wont live here the new wife said, her voice echoing like a distant church bell.
Andrew, weve already talked about this. I dont understand why you keep circling back. Those shabby cupboards ruin the whole view! she snapped.
Miriam stood in the centre of the kitchen, arms folded, her freshly painted nails catching the pale morning light as she flicked a hand toward the old, sturdy set of cabinets. Andrew let out a heavy sigh, set down his cooling tea, and stared at the ceiling as if it might answer him. The day had already slipped into a grey mist.
Marish, I told you. Ive got a big contract, but the payment wont arrive for two months. We cant just throw thirty thousand pounds at a new kitchen. This one still holds together. he replied, rubbing his temple.
Hold together she smiled thinly. Thats a phrase my grandmother used. She wasnt sturdy, she was oldfashioned. I want our home to feel cosy, beautiful. I want to invite friends without blushing at cracked corners. Is that too much?
He ran a hand through his hair. At fortyfive, after his first wifes death five years ago, he had been living alone with two children. He existed more than he lived: work, house, lessons, parentteacher meetingsan endless carousel with no exit. Then Miriam burst in, bright and electric, like fireworks in his monochrome life, reminding him he could be more than a single dad. He fell for her quickly, desperately, like a boy chasing a kite. Their modest wedding was a quiet affair; they signed the register, had a lunch with the closest relatives, and a month later Miriam was his lawful wife and the lady of their threebedroom flat.
I get it, he said, softening. I want you happy too. Lets wait a bit. Ill finish the project and well order everything you dream of: white, glossy, just as you wish.
Miriams shoulders relaxed. She stepped forward and slipped an arm around his neck, perfume mingling with a faint coffee scent.
Sorry, I didnt mean to press you. I just want to stitch our nest together, make everything new.
At that moment, his fourteenyearold daughter, Poppy, padded barefoot into the kitchen, her braid swaying like a silver river. She looked just like her late mother.
Morning, Dad. Have you seen my sketchbook?
Good morning, sunshine. I think it was on the coffee table in the lounge yesterday.
Poppy gave a quick, startled glance at Miriam, then whispered, Good morning, before turning pale.
Good morning, Miriam replied coldly, stepping back from Andrew. Youd better wash up and comb your hair before you come down for breakfast.
Poppy flushed a deep crimson, muttered an apology, and slipped away down the hallway. Andrew frowned.
Miriam, why? Shes just a child.
Exactly, Andrew. A child who needs order, otherwise shell grow into a mess. Im only trying to help.
Soon after, his seventeenyearold son, Kieran, appeared, looming over the fridge with a scowl.
Anything to eat? he growled.
Want some scrambled eggs? Andrew asked, trying to lighten the mood.
Sure.
Miriam drifted to the window, her posture a thin line of tension. The presence of his children seemed to weigh on her like an invisible fog. She never said it outright, but every gesture, every glance whispered it. Andrew hoped time would smooth the edges, that they might learn to live together, that his new family could be happy.
After breakfast he retreated to his workshopa small room hed turned into a carpentry haven. Andrew was a furniture restorer, his hands accustomed to the scent of fresh timber, varnish, and oil. He was currently coaxing an old rocking chair back to life, restoring the intricate carvings on its armrest. The work demanded his full attention, pulling his mind away from the heavy thoughts that lingered.
He loved Miriamher laugh, her energy, the way she looked at him. Yet each day he saw more clearly that her world and his were two separate constellations. She adored society parties, boutique exhibitions, pricey restaurants. He lived among wood shavings, school dramas, Poppys watercolor sketches on the walls, and quiet evenings with a book. He also treasured the memory of Anne, his first wife, whose photographsmiling with a bunch of wild daisiesstill sat on a shelf in the workshop. Sometimes it felt as if she were watching, silently asking, What are you doing, Andrew? Where are you leading your children?
Evening brought a new surprise. Boxes were stacked in the hallway.
Whats all this? he asked, eyes tracing the neat piles.
I thought we could clear out the clutter, Miriam chirped, emerging from the lounge. You have no idea how much junk has accumulated. Look, this dreadful vase, old magazines, and some childrens crafts.
Andrew lifted the lid of one box and found at the top a misshapen clay hedgehog that Poppy had molded in Year Five. He remembered how proud hed been then.
Miriam, thats not junk, he said as calmly as he could. Those are our memories.
Darling, memories belong in the heart, not gathering dust in corners. We agreed to start a new life, and a new life needs fresh space, free of the past.
She smiled, but a cold glint lingered in her eyes. He placed the hedgehog on a shelf and felt an invisible wall rise between them.
A week passed, and tension thickened. Miriams remarks grew sharper: Kierans music too loud, Poppys paint spills, dishes left unwashed. The children retreated, speaking little when she was near. Kieran started disappearing with friends, coming home late. Poppy locked herself in her room, drawing melancholy landscapes. Andrew was torn, trying to be a loving husband and a caring father.
One night he found Poppy in tears.
Whats wrong, love?
She handed him her sketchbook. One page held a portrait of her mother, vivid and haunting.
Beautiful, he said. You have real talent. Why are you crying?
Miriam said I shouldnt live in the past, that I could draw a portrait of her if I wanted to please you. As if I should forget Mum. Poppy whispered.
Andrews chest tightened with a silent fury. He decided he would speak to Miriam that night.
When the children were asleep, he slipped into their bedroom. Miriam sat before a mirror, smoothing a cream over her face.
We need to talk, he began without preamble.
Again? Andrew, Im exhausted. I had a hard day at the salon. she replied.
Why did you hurt Poppy? Why bring up the portrait?
Miriam turned, her expression flat, almost indifferent.
I just gave my opinion. I think its unhealthy for a teenager to cling to the past. She should move on, for her own good.
Her mother is dead! he raised his voice. She has the right to remember, to draw, to speak about her. Its part of her life!
And that part blocks a new life! Miriams voice rang. I came here to be your wife, not the keeper of a museum of your old family! Everywhere I lookphotos, recipes, her dishes! And now endless drawings! I cant take it any longer!
She leapt up, eyes flashing. Andrew stared at a stranger, not the woman he had fallen for. The oncelighthearted Miriam was now stern and selfish.
I want to be the lady of this house, she continued, breath ragged with anger. A real lady! I want to change everything, to do it my way! But your children stand in the way.
Andrew felt a cold chill settle over him.
What are you trying to say?
Miriam inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. She stepped close, meeting his gaze.
Andrew, I love you. I want to be with you. But I want a normal family. My own family. Not a shared flat with two gloomy teenagers who hate me.
She paused, then delivered the final blow.
Your children from your first marriage will not live here.
Silence fell, deafening. Andrew stared, words stuck in his throat, as if the floor itself were shifting beneath him.
What? he asked, though he heard every syllable.
You understand, she said, calmer now. They have a grandmother, Annes mother. They could stay with her, or we could rent them a flat once Kieran is of age. There are boarding houses, at the end of the day. Well help, well visit, but they must live elsewhere. I want this house to be oursjust ours.
She spoke as if discussing a new sofa, as if the children were merely old things to be cleared away.
Are you mad? Andrew croaked. Send my own kids to a granny? To a boarding school?
Whats wrong with that? she shrugged. Lots of people do it. Its the civilized way. Andrew, you must choose. Either we build our new life, or you keep living in the past with your children. Either me, or them.
She turned and lay on the bed, deliberately facing the wall. The ultimatum hung in the air; she waited for his answer.
Andrew left the bedroom, his legs stiff, and shuffled to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, but his shaking hands spilled half of it. He sat at the very table they had argued over that morning. Lord, he thought, what a trivial thing compared to what has just happened.
He felt like a traitorto Anne, whose memory he had promised to protect; to Kieran and Poppy, who had already endured loss; and now, as their father, he was forced to choose between them and a new woman.
He quietly opened the door to Poppys room. She slept, clutching a plush bear. On the nightstand lay the sketchbook and the portrait of her mother. He peeked into Kierans room. The boy slept with arms outstretched, a poster of his favourite band on the wall. This was their world, their fortress, the one he had built with his own hands, now poised to be torn down.
All night he lay awake, drifting like a ghost through the flat, staring at familiar objects. The chair he had repaired with Kieran. The shelf he and Poppy had assembled for her books. Annes battered recipe book, its pages curled at the edges, still smelling of apple pie. All of it was his real life, not the glossy picture Miriam wanted.
He remembered how Miriam had arrived, bright as a carnival, when he was broken and alone. He had been grateful, willing to overlook her selfishness, her coldness toward his children, her disregard for his past. He told himself they were minor, that things would smooth out. He had wanted happiness so desperately that he almost made the worst mistake of his life.
Morning found him calm. The decision emerged, simple and inevitable.
Miriam was already at the kitchen, sipping coffee, looking fresh and radiant as if yesterdays nightmare never existed.
Good morning, love, she sang. I hope youve thought it through.
Andrew poured himself coffee, sat opposite her.
Yes, he said evenly. Ive thought it through.
He locked eyes with her; there was no love left, no doubt, only a cold, empty void.
You can start packing your things, he whispered, firm.
Miriam froze, coffee cup trembling.
What? What did you say?
I said you should pack. Youre no longer welcome here.
Her mask cracked, revealing anger and bewilderment.
Youre kicking me out? Because of them? You choose them over me?
Its not them, Andrew corrected. Its my children. Ive never chosen between you two, because such a choice is impossible. Family isnt furniture you can discard. I apparently forgot that. Thank you for reminding me.
Youll regret this! she shrieked. Youll end up alone in your den with your memories and two little calves! No decent woman will ever live with you!
Perhaps, Andrew replied calmly. But Id rather be alone than betray the most precious thing I have.
He rose and went to his workshop, not wanting to hear any more. The door slammed behind him, rattling the dishes in the cupboard. Somewhere a crash echoed from the bedroomMiriam, furious, hurling her belongings into a suitcase.
Andrew sat at his bench, hands that built and repaired trembling slightly. He glanced at Annes photograph; her warm smile still reached him.
Half an hour later the house fell silent. The front door clicked shut as Miriam left.
He stepped into the hallway. A silk scarf shed tossed in haste lay on the floor. He picked it up, flung it into the bin. The flat settled into a deep, gentle hush, not the oppressive silence of loneliness but a peaceful stillness where everything found its place.
Sleepridden Kieran and Poppy emerged from their rooms, eyes wide with surprise at the empty corridor.
Wheres Miriam? Poppy asked.
Shes gone, Andrew answered simply.
The children exchanged looks; no joy, no spite, just a quiet, tentative relief and a question theyd feared to ask.
Andrew moved forward and embraced them both, tighter than he had in years.
She wont be coming back, he said, feeling Poppy press against him, Kierannow more adult, more guardedrest his hand on his shoulder. Now everything will be alright. I promise.
He didnt know what lay ahead for them. He knew only one thing: he was home, in his true home, with his true family. And no one would ever force him to choose again.
