She didnt argue. She just walked out.
It was a dreary, damp autumn morning in Manchester. Margaret Thompson was jolted awake by that shrill alarm clock and, with a groan, peeled herself out from under the blanket. She threw on a robe, shuffled to the window and pulled the curtains aside. The view was as bleak as her mood a fine drizzle, leafbare branches, a sky that looked like itd forgotten how to be blue.
Today marked the thirtieth wedding anniversary for her and Michael Thompson. She hadnt expected any grand gestures. In recent years Michael seemed to have lost all sense of important dates. When he did remember, it was only because shed hinted at it in the most subtle way possible.
She brewed a mug of tea, sat down at the kitchen table and, almost without thinking, recalled their first anniversary five years after the wedding. Back then Michael had turned up with a massive bouquet of roses and tickets to the theatre. After the play theyd gone to a little restaurant, where hed given a heartfelt toast about love and loyalty. It had felt like a promise that their happiness would last forever.
A loud snore drifted from the bedroom. Michael could easily sleep till lunchtime. Lately hed been coming home after midnight, smelling of tobacco and cheap gin. When she asked where hed been, hed give vague answers: stayed late with the lads, important meeting, you wouldnt understand anyway.
Margaret sighed, set the kettle down and started on breakfast. She decided to make pancakes maybe the smell would jog his memory. Hed always claimed hers were the best in the world when they were younger.
Around ten, the bleary Michael shuffled into the kitchen. He didnt bother saying hello, just headed straight for the fridge.
Morning, Margaret said softly. Ive made pancakes.
Ive got no time to mess about with your pancakes, he grumbled, pouring himself a glass of kefir. Victor called, wants me to pop over and have a look at his car.
A lump rose in her throat. Deep down she still hoped for a tiny miracle.
Do you even know what day it is? she asked gently.
Michael froze for a beat, then shrugged nonchalantly. Its Tuesday, I think. What about it?
Nothing, she whispered, turning toward the window to hide the tears that were gathering.
He downed the kefir, slammed the empty glass into the sink and trotted off to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he was back, grabbing his coat.
Im off to Victors. Dont wait up for dinner, he called as he headed for the door.
Mike, todays thirty years since we said I do, Margaret blurted out.
He stopped in the doorway, a scowl forming.
And now what? You want a parade? Flowers? Fine, Ill buy you some, no problem.
Its not about the flowers, she said quietly. I just thought it might mean something to you too.
Ive got enough on my plate, Margaret. No time for sentiment, he snapped, slamming the door behind him.
The flat was empty except for the lingering smell of tea. Margaret cleared the cold pancakes from the table, poured herself another cuppa and let memories of happier days swirl around her mind.
After lunch she decided to get out for a walk. The rain had stopped, and a shy autumn sun peeked out. She strolled through the park, breathing in the fresh air, letting her thoughts wander.
When shed first met Michael, hed been a cheerful, attentive lad who drove the city bus and dreamed of opening his own garage. Theyd married quickly, six months after theyd started dating. A daughter, Poppy, was born not long after. Money was tight, but they were a team he always found time for the family, even after long shifts.
Years later his garage finally took off. They bought a modest flat, a car, and Poppy grew up, moved to Leeds for work, and set up her own place.
But as the years slipped by, their relationship grew colder. First it was late nights at work, then evenings when he simply vanished. Margaret swallowed the hurt, never causing a scene. She told herself it was a phase, that things would improve. Yet nothing changed.
Lost in thought, she didnt notice the little café shed stumbled into. The rain had cleared, and she thought a hot chocolate might warm her up.
Inside it was cosy, a fire crackling in the corner. She claimed a window seat, ordered a thick hot chocolate and began watching the other patrons. At the next table, an elderly couple ate scones slowly, chatting in soft tones. The man gently brushed crumbs from the ladys lips with a napkin, and she gave him a grateful smile. That simple tenderness made Margarets heart ache again.
Why did things go so wrong with Michael? she wondered, stirring her drink. When did we stop seeing each other?
That evening she returned to the flat. It was quiet, almost empty. She turned on the telly to fend off the loneliness and started prepping dinner. Old habits die hard she still liked to make something for him, even if he never appreciated it.
Just before nine, the doorbell rang. Her neighbour, Peter Harris, stood there with a bottle of red wine.
Hey, Margaret, he said with a sheepish grin. Sorry to drop by so late. I heard you mentioned your anniversary was coming up in early November.
She was taken aback. Theyd always been friendly neighbours, exchanging a word or two in the lift, helping each other with small things. She couldnt recall ever mentioning the date to him.
Thanks, Peter, she replied, accepting the wine. I didnt expect anyone to remember.
No trouble, he said, a hint of apology in his voice. I know Michaels often away on trips, so I thought Id wish you both a happy one. Ill let you get back to it.
When he left, Margaret stood there, bottle in hand, feeling a strange mix of gratitude and bitterness. A stranger remembered her milestone, while the man shed lived with for three decades hadnt even bothered to call.
Almost midnight, Michael trudged in, reeking of alcohol and a bright red lipstick stain on his shirt.
Where have you been? Margaret asked quietly.
And now Ive got to answer for it? he snapped. Just out with the lads, having a laugh.
Whats that on your shirt?
Its nothing, he waved it off, glancing at the mark. Victors daughter squeezed me when she said hi. Shes still a kid, you know.
Victors daughter is twentyseven and only wears deep burgundy, Margaret replied calmly. And this isnt burgundy its scarlet.
Enough with the jealousy, Michael growled. Maybe shes wearing a new shade, who knows? And whats with the interrogation?
Margaret didnt argue. She slipped into the bedroom, locked the door and lay down. Sleep wouldnt come. Thoughts of a marriage that had become a farce rolled through her mind. They were more like housemates than a couple.
In the morning, while Michael was dozing on the sofa, Margaret called her daughter.
Hey, Poppy, love. Hows everything? Hows little Leo?
Everythings great, Mum, Poppy said. Leos crawling everywhere now. Dad didnt call yesterday, missed the anniversary, huh?
Exactly, Margaret sighed. Listen, I need to talk. Remember you asked me to come and help with the grandson?
Of course! Are you thinking of moving up? Poppys voice brightened. Wed love to have you here, and Leo would enjoy having his grandma around.
Ill come, Margaret said firmly. But not just for a week. Im thinking of staying longer, maybe even moving in for good.
Mum, whats happened? Poppy asked, concerned.
Nothing big, just a bit worn out. Well chat more later. Ill be there in three days.
After the call, a strange relief washed over her. The decision that had been simmering for years finally had a shape. She no longer wanted to live with a man who didnt respect or value her.
Michael woke up around lunchtime, his head pounding. Margaret placed a tablet and a glass of water beside him without a word.
Whats with the gloom? he snarled, wincing. Still sulking about yesterday? Sorry I forgot the date. Happens to the best of us.
Im heading to Poppys, Margaret said evenly. Ill help with the baby.
When? he asked, halfinterested.
The day after tomorrow.
For how long?
Im not sure. Maybe permanently.
Michaels eyes widened as he tried to swallow his tablet.
What do you mean permanently?
I mean Im leaving you, Michael.
What? Because of the anniversary? he laughed nervously. I could buy you a bouquet right now, if thatll fix it.
Its not about flowers, Margaret shook her head. Its that weve become strangers. You live your life, I live mine. We keep pretending were a family, but were not.
Margaret, what are you talking about? Weve been together thirty years!
Thats why Im leaving now, she said, a sad smile playing on her lips. I dont want us to waste another thirty years hating each other.
Whos hurting you? he shouted. Roof over our heads? Ive got that. Money? I bring that in. What else do you want?
She stared at the angry, clueless man shed once loved, wondering if hed really changed or merely stopped pretending.
I need a lot, Michael, she whispered. I need attention, care, respect. I want to feel loved and important, not just the person who washes your shirts when theyre stained with someone elses lipstick.
Typical you! Michael snapped. There was nothing there!
It doesnt matter whether there was or not, she replied, tired. What matters is that were strangers now. You act like I dont exist, and I cant keep living like that.
Wait, he said, raking his hair back. Youre really going? What about the flat? My stuff?
I dont need much. Ill take only my things. The flat can stay yours. I just need peace of mind.
Where will you go? Back to Poppys? Does she need a motherinlaw around?
Poppy invited me, Margaret said calmly. Ill help with Leo, maybe find a job nearby. The citys big, plenty of chances.
And me? Wholl cook, wash, clean?
She gave a small, rueful smile. Youre an adult, Michael. Youll manage. Or you could find someone younger and nicer to put up with your antics.
Over the next two days Michael kept acting as if nothing was happening, slipping in clumsy compliments and promises to change.
Lets forget all this, he said one evening as she packed. Ill be honest, Ill take you to the theatre, to nice restaurants. How about a holiday by the sea next summer?
But Margaret had already made up her mind. She packed her essentials into a suitcase, planning to grab the rest later if needed.
A taxi arrived in the morning. Michael stood in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.
Maybe youll stay after all? he asked as Margaret was about to walk out. Think about it. Thirty years isnt a joke. You cant just walk away.
Goodbye, Michael, she whispered, lightly touching his shoulder. Take care of yourself.
She didnt argue or try to explain further. She simply left.
On the way to the station, she watched the familiar streets glide past the taxi window, feeling a freedom she hadnt known for decades. The future was uncertain, but it didnt scare her. It felt like a fresh start, something good waiting ahead.
At the station, Poppy met her with little Leo in tow. The boy instantly reached for his granny, and she lifted him into her arms, tears slipping down her cheeks not from sadness, but from relief.
Mum, are you crying? Poppy asked, worried. Did you and dad fight?
No, love, Margaret said, kissing the chubby cheek of her grandson. We didnt fight. I just realised sometimes you have to know when to walk away.
Six months later, Margaret landed a job at a local nursery, rented a cosy flat not far from Poppys, and felt happier than she had in years.
Michael called a few times, asking her to come back. His voice was full of selfinterest, not genuine remorse.
One evening, walking home from work, Margaret passed a pair of elderly folks strolling arminarm the same couple shed seen in the café on her anniversary day. The woman smiled at her, and Margaret returned the grin.
Thats what real love looks like, she thought. Even after many years, you still see each other with tenderness, not irritation.
Back home, she brewed a cup of tea, settled into her favourite armchair and opened a book. Outside, a light spring rain fell, but inside she felt warm and at peace. She didnt regret her choice. Sometimes you have to close one door to open another, and thats exactly what shed done.
