“Pick Up the Pieces in Your Own Backyard”
“Youre a right fool, Emily, no two ways about it! That good-for-nothing Simon will leave you high and dry! Hasnt he put you through enough already?” Mum never minced words when it came to my husband.
“Mum, Simon and I have been married for 37 years, and youve spent every one of them warning me off him! Please, just stay out of it!” I snapped into the phonenot for the first time.
I avoided visiting as much as possible because I knew the conversation would always circle back to what a scoundrel Simon was. Id long given up arguing, even though there was a grain of truth in her words.
Years ago, when we were younger and stupider, Id left Simonmy own fault, really. We had a five-year-old son, Andrew, at the time. Wed rowed something awful, and I ended up in hospital with a concussion. Thought that was itdivorce, single motherhood. After discharge, I went to Mums, since shed been looking after Andrew while I was laid up.
She sighed heavily and declared, “Prove me wrong, then! That mans a brute! Stay here. Your dad and I will help you raise Andrew.”
“Ill think about it,” I said wearily, though I had no idea what to do.
“No thinking needed! That monster might do worse to Andrew next time! I wont let you go back!” She might as well have barred the door with an iron bolt.
Mum had hated Simon from the start. Shed even hidden my dowry, sneering, “Let your precious fiancé clothe and feed you then.”
A week later, Simon turned up with his tail between his legs. Mum slammed the door in his face before he could say a word. I only found out latershe never mentioned hed come.
After a month of stewing, I decided to go back. Families row, but they stick together. Besides, I loved Simon. Always had.
I hatched a planfetching our winter clothes was as good an excuse as any. So, behind Mums back, I took Andrew and went home.
Simon was over the moon. The family was whole again. Mum, of course, was furious.
Truth be told, Mum and I never really clashedshe was kind, devoted, a wonderful woman. But there was a skeleton in her closet.
When I was fourteen, I found her old diary buried in the attic while hunting for a globe for schoolwork. A stack of magazines tumbled, and there it wasa pretty notebook. Curiosity got the better of me.
God, I wish Id never read it.
Turns out, after I was born, I was sent straight to a childrens homedespite all our relatives. My father had refused to claim me, sneering, “How do I know who got you into this state?” The man I called Dad wasnt my real father. Mum wrote that times were hard, that shed bring me home soon.
Back then, shed lived in a village where everyone knew everyones business. A baby out of wedlock? Scandal. It took a year before my aunt shamed the family into taking me back.
That evening, I confronted Mum. She didnt even glance at the diaryjust tore it to shreds. But the damage was done.
From then on, an invisible wall rose between us. I felt betrayed. The bond was broken.
I swore then that my children would only ever know their real parentsno stepfathers or stepmothers.
Simon, sensing Mums hatred, suggested another babysurely she wouldnt drag two children away. I didnt argue.
Paul was born. Mum still raged. “Oh, Emily, that tyrants tied you down with another! And youre daft enough to believe him! That dog strays left and right. Mark my wordsyoull regret it.”
She wasnt wrong. Simon had his flaws. Plenty of tears were shed. But he was handsome, charmingwomen clung to him like wet leaves.
The day I landed in hospital, wed fought over one of his flings. Shed waltzed into our house, certain I was at work. Id left early with a headache.
Walked in to see what no wife wants to see.
There they were, half-dressed in our bedroom, champagne in hand. The girl bolted, shoving me asideI fell, hit my head, concussion again. Simon lay low for a while, but old habits die hard.
There were coworkers, old schoolmates, strangersyou couldnt pin the wind in your fist. Still, I thanked God he never fathered another child. That wouldve been a mess.
Fast forwardmy Andrew went and got tangled with another woman. A daughter out of wedlock, while his own wife and child waited at home. Kids learn from their parents mistakes, dont they?
Ill never understand what Mum wants. Once your childs married, your jobs done. Help if asked, visit, spoil the grandkidsbut dont meddle.
Let adults make their own mistakes. Its their life.
As my gran used to say, “Pick up the pieces in your own backyard.”
This age-old clash? Itll never end. People keep stepping on the same rakes.
Mum and I havent spoken in three years. She tells anyone wholl listen that Simon isnt fit to lick my boots.
But maybejust maybeIve got the husband I deserve.
I wouldnt want another.
