I watched the gray, drizzly autumn morning creep in through the curtains. Margaret Clarke groaned as the alarm blared, dragged herself out of the covers, threw on a housecoat and shuffled to the window. She pulled back the drapes; the bleak scene outsidelight rain, leafbare trees, a low overcast skymatched her mood perfectly.
Today marked the thirtieth wedding anniversary for her and me, James Harper. Shed stopped expecting any grand celebrations; over the years Id forgotten such dates entirely, and when I did remember it was only because of her subtle hints.
She boiled a kettle, poured herself a mug of tea, and sat at the kitchen table, her mind drifting back to our first anniversary five years after wed tied the knot. Back then Id surprised her with a massive bouquet of roses and tickets to the West End. After the play wed gone to a little bistro where Id raised a glass and spoken a heartfelt toast about love and fidelity. Shed believed then that our happiness would last forever.
A loud snore drifted from the bedroom. I could easily sleep until lunch; lately Id been getting home after midnight, smelling of tobacco and cheap gin. When Margaret asked where Id been, Id given vague answersstayed late with the lads, important meeting, you wouldnt understand anyway.
She sighed, turned to the stove and began making pancakes, hoping the familiar taste might jog my memory of the day. In our early years shed always claimed my pancakes were the best in the world.
Around ten, I shuffled into the kitchen, halfasleep, and headed straight for the fridge.
Good morning, Margaret said quietly. Ive made pancakes.
Ive got no time for your pancakes, I muttered, pouring a glass of kefir. Victor called, asked me to swing by and look at his car.
A lump rose in Margarets throat. Deep down she still clung to a sliver of hope for a miracle.
Do you remember what today is? she asked cautiously.
I froze for a moment, then shrugged. Its Tuesday, I think. What of it?
Nothing, she whispered, turning to the window to hide the tears that welled up.
I downed the kefir, slammed the empty glass into the sink and headed for the bathroom. Twenty minutes later I was out the front door.
Im off to Victors. Dont expect me for dinner, I called over my shoulder.
James, its thirty years since we said I do, Margaret blurted.
I halted in the doorway, scowling. And now what? You want a parade? Flowers? Ill buy them, thats all.
Its not about the flowers, she said softly. I just thought it might mean something to you too.
My schedules packed. Im not in the mood for sentiment, I snapped, slamming the door.
Margaret was left alone in the empty flat. She cleared the cold pancakes from the table and brewed another tea, haunted by memories of happier days now long past.
After lunch she decided to walk. The rain had stopped and a shy autumn sun peeked out. She strolled through the park, breathing the fresh air, reflecting on her life.
When she first met me, I was a cheerful, attentive lad working as a bus driver, dreaming of opening my own garage. We married quickly, six months after meeting. Our daughter Emily was born soon after. We lived modestly but together. I always made time for the family, even when exhausted from work.
Eventually my garage opened, money started flowing, we bought a flat, a car. Emily grew up, trained as a nurse, and moved to Leeds on her own.
But over the years our relationship grew cold. First I stayed late at work, then I started disappearing at night. Margaret endured it all, never raising a storm, believing it was temporary and that things would improve. Time passed, and nothing changed.
Lost in thought, she wandered into a small café, feeling melancholy, and ordered a hot chocolate. Inside it was warm and cosy. She took a seat by the window, observed the other patrons. An elderly couple at the next table ate cake slowly, chatting quietly. The man gently brushed crumbs from his partners lips; she smiled gratefully. The tenderness of that simple act made Margarets heart ache.
Why has everything with James gone wrong? she wondered, stirring her drink. When did we stop noticing each other?
That evening she returned home to a silent flat. She turned on the telly to stave off loneliness and began preparing dinner, still in the habit of feeding a husband who no longer appreciated it.
At nine oclock a knock sounded. On the landing stood our neighbour, Peter Thompson, with a bottle of red wine.
Emma, he said, smiling, sorry to drop by so late. I just wanted to wish you well. I recall you mentioned early November is your wedding anniversary.
Margaret was taken aback. Peter and I were merely cordial neighbours, exchanging a few words in the lift and helping each other with small chores. She couldnt remember ever mentioning the date to him.
Thanks, Peter, she replied, accepting the bottle, a faint smile playing on her lips. I didnt expect
I didnt want to be a nuisance, he continued apologetically. I know James is often away, so I thought Id remind you Anyway, Ill leave you to it. Happy anniversary.
When Peter left, Margaret stood holding the wine, stunned that a stranger remembered her milestone while my own husband hadnt even called.
Just before midnight James stumbled in, reeking of spirits, a bright lipstick mark on his shirt.
Where have you been? Margaret asked quietly.
What, now I have to account for everything? he snapped. Had drinks with the lads, celebrating whatever.
Whats that on your shirt?
Lipstick? he glanced at the stain, shrugged. Just a stray kiss from Victors daughter when she greeted me. Shes still a kid.
Victors daughter is twentyseven, Margaret replied evenly. She only wears burgundy lipstick. Thats a vivid red.
Enough with your jealousy, James growled. Maybe shes trying a new shade, I dont know. And why are you interrogating me?
Margaret said nothing, retreated to the bedroom, locked the door and lay down. Sleep evaded her as thoughts of a marriage that had become a farce swirled. We lived more like indifferent neighbours than a couple.
The next morning, while James slept on the sofa, Margaret called Emily.
Hey love, hows everything? Hows little Sam?
Fine, Mum, Emily replied. Sams crawling everywhere now. Dad didnt call yesterday, forgot about your anniversary?
Exactly, Margaret said, a sad smile forming. Listen, I need to talk. Remember you asked me to come help with the baby?
Of course! Are you sure? Emily beamed. Come over, wed love to have you! Sam could use his grandmother.
Ill come, Margaret said firmly. But not just for a week like you suggested. I want to stay longer, maybe even move in permanently.
Mum, is something wrong? Emily asked, worried.
Nothing serious, Margaret reassured. Just tired. Well talk later. Ill be there in three days.
The conversation gave Margaret a strange relief. The decision that had been simmering for years finally took shape. She no longer wanted to live with a man who didnt respect or value her.
James woke around lunch, his head thudding. Margaret slipped a tablet and a glass of water onto the table.
Whats with the sour face? he asked, wincing. Still upset about yesterday? Sorry, I forgot the date. Who hasnt slipped up?
Im heading to Emilys, Margaret said calmly. Ill help with the baby.
When? he asked, disinterested.
Day after tomorrow.
For how long?
I dont know. Maybe forever.
James, about to swallow the pill, froze, eyes wide.
What do you meanforever?
Quite literally, Margaret answered, meeting his stare. Im leaving you, James.
Whats this about now? he forced a nervous laugh. Because of an anniversary? I could buy you a hundred bouquets if thats what you want.
Its not the anniversary, she shook her head. Weve been strangers for years. You live your life, I live mine. We keep pretending were a family.
Margaret, what are you talking about? Weve been together thirty years!
Thats exactly why Im leaving now, she said, a sad smile touching her lips. I wont let us waste another thirty years tormenting each other.
Whos torturing you? James retorted. Roof over our heads? Ive got that. Money? I bring that in. What else do you want?
She watched the angry, clueless man and thought how much hed changedperhaps not changed, just stopped pretending.
I need a lot, James, she said quietly. I need attention, care, respect. I need to feel loved and important, not just a housekeeper who washes shirts stained with strangers lipstick.
Here we go again, your complaints! James erupted. There was nothing!
It doesnt matter whether there was or not, Margaret replied, exhausted. What matters is were strangers now. You act as if I dont exist, and I cant live like that any longer.
Wait, he said, ruffling his hair. Youre really going? What about the flat? Our things?
I dont need much. Ill take only my belongings. The flat can stay yours. I care more about peace of mind.
Where will you go? To my daughters place? Does she need a motherinlaw around?
Emily invited me. Ill help with the baby, maybe find work there. The citys big, plenty of chances.
And me? Who will cook, wash, tidy?
Margaret gave a rueful smilethe answer was obvious.
Youre an adult, James. Youll manage. Or youll find someone younger and more attractive to put up with your antics.
For the next two days James seemed to doubt the seriousness of her plans, oscillating between feigned indifference and clumsy compliments, promising to change.
Lets forget all this, he pleaded one evening as she packed. Ill try, I swear. Well go to the theatre, fancy restaurants. How about a holiday by the sea next summer?
But Margaret had already decided. She packed the essentials into a suitcase, leaving the rest for later.
A taxi arrived in the morning. James lingered in the doorway, shifting nervously.
Maybe youll stay after all? he asked as she prepared to leave. Think about it. Thirty years isnt a joke. You cant just walk away.
Goodbye, James, she said quietly, brushing his shoulder lightly. Take care of yourself.
She didnt argue or linger. She simply walked out.
On the way to the station, she watched the familiar streets roll by, feeling for the first time in decades a sense of freedom. The future was unknown, but it no longer frightened her; instead she hoped something good lay ahead.
At the station Emily waited with little Sam. The baby reached for his grandmother the moment she arrived, and she cradled him, tears slipping down her cheeksnot from grief, but relief.
Mum, are you crying? Emily asked, startled. Did you and Dad fight?
No, love, Margaret replied, kissing the chubby cheek. We didnt fight. I just realised sometimes you have to know when to walk away.
Six months later Margaret landed a job at a nursery, rented a modest flat near Emily, and felt happier than she had in years.
James called a few times, begging her to return, but his voice held no real remorse, only a selfish wish to regain comfort.
One evening, on her way home from work, she passed an elderly couple strolling arminarmthe same pair shed seen in the café on her anniversary day. They chatted softly, moving at a relaxed pace. As they passed, the woman smiled at Margaret, and Margaret returned the smile.
Thats what real love looks like, she thought. Even after many years, you can still look at someone with tenderness, not irritation.
Back home she brewed a cup of tea, settled into an armchair, and opened a book. Outside a gentle spring rain fell, but inside she felt warm and at peace. She had no regrets about leaving. Sometimes you have to close one door to open another, and she was finally ready to walk through it.
