**Diary Entry 12th October**
“Your mother doesnt live here anymore,” James said as he met me at the door, my suitcase still in hand.
Charlotte froze on the threshold, fingers tightening around the handle. A draught whistled through the hallwaythe front door wide open, the light still on in her mothers room.
“What do you mean, *doesnt live here*?” Her voice wavered. “I was only away three days for work. Where could she have gone?”
James shrugged and stepped aside, letting her in. He was unnervingly calm, almost indifferent.
“I took her to Aunt Margarets. She agreed to look after your mum for a while.”
“A *while*?” Charlotte kicked off her heels. “What sort of *while*? And why did you decide this without me?”
“Because I couldnt take it anymore,” he said, holding her gaze. “Three years, Charlotte. Three years of hell. Ive had enough.”
She stormed into the kitchen, dropped her bag on the table. Her hands shookexhaustion, shock, anger simmering beneath. She yanked open the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, gulped it down.
“So let me get this straight. You threw my mother out while I was gone?”
“I didnt throw her out. I moved her. Respectfully, with all her things.” He leaned against the doorframe. “You know its the right decision. Shes your mother, but our marriage comes first.”
Charlotte shook her head. Funny how life could flip in an instant. That morning, shed left London certain everything at home would be the same. Now, it was all different.
“I need to call Mum,” she said, pulling out her phone.
“Its too late,” James countered. “Nearly midnight. Talk tomorrow.”
“Im going to Aunt Margarets.”
“Youre not.” His voice was firm. “Youre dead on your feet. Well sleep, then talk in the morning.”
Charlotte dialled her mothers numberswitched off. Tried Aunt Margaretsno answer. James watched silently as she gave up, slamming the phone down.
“What did you *say* to her?”
“The truth. That we cant live like this anymore. That our marriage is cracking. That one of us had to goher or me.”
“You gave her an *ultimatum*?”
“Shouldnt I have?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Charlotte, weve talked about this a hundred times. I cant do it anymore. I want *us* backjust you and me. No more rows, no more guilt.”
She sank into a chair, covering her face. Yes, theyd talked. But she never thought hed actually *do* it. Shed assumed things would just work themselves out.
“How did she take it?” she whispered.
“Better than I expected. Said she saw it coming. Packed in an hour. Didnt even cry.”
Charlotte let out a bitter laugh. That sounded like Mumproud, unyielding, a woman whod weathered life alone. She wouldnt make a scene, even if her heart was breaking.
“I need to see her.”
“Tomorrow,” James repeated. “Right nowshower, then bed. Youre barely standing.”
She obeyed. Under the scalding water, she tried to make sense of it. Mum had lived with them since her stroke. The doctors said she needed care. Leaving her alone was unthinkable, so Charlotte had brought her homeno hesitation, because it was the *right thing*.
James hadnt objected at first. Duty was duty. But months passed, and Margarets health improved slowly. She grew sharp, critical. Silent for days, then lashing outespecially at James.
“Not a proper man,” shed mutter when he left for work. “Cant even fix a shelf, cant provide properly. Youll regret staying with him.”
Charlotte defended him. Explained that times had changed, that James was a software engineer, that they had a good lifeflat, car, holidays.
“Your grandfather wouldve *never*”
“*Mum*.”
James had bitten his tongue, but the tension grew. He worked late, skipped dinners, hid in their room. Their marriageonce warm, easybecame a shared tenancy. Conversations dwindled to logistics: whod do the shopping, whod collect the dry cleaning.
And now, this. Hed decided for her while she was away. Mum was gone. A choice made without her.
She slipped into bed. James pretended to read, but she saw the tension in his shoulders.
“I get why you did it,” she said. “But you shouldnt have gone behind my back.”
“I waited three years for you to decide,” he said, setting the book aside. “Three years of suggestionshiring a carer, finding a nice retirement flat. We can afford it. But you wouldnt listen.”
“Because shes my *mother*,” Charlotte snapped. “She raised me alone, worked two jobs so I could go to a good school, take piano lessons. I cant just *hand her off*!”
“And what am I?” James asked quietly. “A stranger?”
She didnt answer. The room was silent except for the ticking clock. He turned off the lamp, his back to her. She stared at the ceiling, heart pounding.
The morning call came from Aunt Margaret. Everything was fine, Mum was settling in, no need to visit today.
“Dont come,” she said. “Your mother needs time to adjust.”
Charlotte didnt believe it. Mum *always* wanted her thereevery day, every hour. Even a trip to Tesco prompted a call: *Where are you? When will you be back?*
“Im coming anyway,” Charlotte said, hanging up.
James sipped his coffee, pretending not to eavesdrop. The kitchen was eerily quietno clattering pans, no comments about weak tea or dusty floors.
“I took the day off,” he said finally. “We need to talk. Properly.”
She nodded. They *did* need to talk.
“Ill see Mum first,” she said. “Then well figure this out.”
Aunt Margaret lived in a crumbling walk-up in Croydon. Four flights, no lift. Charlotte wincedMum struggled with stairs since the stroke.
The door swung open. Margaretplump, dyed-red hairushered her inside. The flat was cramped, the kitchen barely fitting a table.
Mum sat by the window, spine straight. She didnt turn.
“Mum.”
“You came,” she said flatly. “I thought James would forbid it.”
“How could you think that?”
“What *should* I think?” Mum finally looked at her. Calm face, but her eyes shone. “Your husbands made his position clear. I always said he was weak. Turns out hes a tyrant.”
Charlotte sighed. Black or whiteno in-between.
“Hes not a tyrant. Weve all been struggling.”
“*Struggling?*” Mum scoffed. “You think this was easy for me? Being ill, dependent, hearing how Im *in the way*? You think I didnt notice his sighs when I walked in?”
“*Mum*”
“Dont pity me.” She cut her off. “I didnt raise you for that. You chose himlive with him. Ill manage.”
Margaret tactfully left. Charlotte studied her mothergrey-haired but still striking, shoulders squared. Unbending, always.
“I could rent you a flat near us,” she offered. “Or hire a carer.”
“No need. Ill stay here awhile. Then go back to my own place.”
“But the doctors”
“Doctors talk rubbish,” Mum said firmly. “Ill exercise, mind my blood pressure. Relearn how to live.”
Her tone was steel, but Charlotte saw the tremor in her hands. She was terrifiedtruly alone for the first time in years.
“Ill visit every day.”
“Dont. Youve a lifehusband, job. Weekends are fine.”
That tone. Mum wouldnt budge. Prideher greatest flaw, and her strength.
An hour later, as Charlotte left, Mum grabbed her wrist.
“I only ever wanted you happy,” she said softly. “Maybe James is right. Maybe youll be better off without me.”
Charlotte hugged her, breathing in the familiar scentlavender, like childhood, like safety.
“I love you. Ill always be here.”
Mum pulled away, face stiff again.
“Go. Dont keep your husband waiting.”
Outside, Charlotte inhaled deeply, guilt gnawing at her. James was rightthis *was* best. But her heart ached thinking of Mum feeling discarded.
At home, James had laid out lunchher favourite shepherds pie. They sat opposite each other, like old times.
“How is she?”
“Stoic,” Charlotte said. “Pretending its fine.”
James nodded. He knew Margaretiron-willed, never showing weakness.
“I know youre angry,” he said. “But there was no other way. We were destroying each other. Your mum was miserable with me. I was miserable with her. And you were torn apart trying to please us both.”
Charlotte stayed quiet. He wasnt wrong.
“Heres my offer,” he went on. “Well rent her a nice flatsomewhere modern, with a lift. Hire a carer to cook, clean, shop. Get her a panic button in case she falls. You visit as often as you like. But she lives *separately*.”
“And if she gets worse?”
“Then we reassess. Maybe assisted living later. But not yet.”
Charlotte studied himtired but resolute. Hed endured three years for *her*. Three years of disrespect, and he hadnt left.
“Okay,” she whispered. “But *never* decide for me again.”
James smiledthe first real one in ages.
“Never.”
They ate in silence, but it was comfortable now. Something had clicked back into place.
Later, Mum surprised her by agreeing to the planon her terms, of course. Shed pick the flat, interview the carer. No compromises.
That evening, they curled up on the sofa, watching an old film theyd once loved. James arm around her, her head on his chest. Simple. Familiar. Long forgotten.
“You know,” he said suddenly, “I thought Id lose you. That youd choose her over me.”
Charlotte lifted her head.
“And I was afraid Id come home one day to find *you* gone.”
“Never,” he murmured, pulling her closer. “*Never*.”
They kissed like they used todesperate, hungry. Then talked for hours, spilling every buried fear and regret.
Somewhere past midnight, Charlotte remembered James words from the night before: *Your mother doesnt live here anymore*. At the time, theyd sounded like an ending.
Now, she wondered if they were a beginning. A new life for all three of themone where theyd finally learn to love without suffocating, to care without controlling.
She fell asleep against him, no nightmares for once. Just dreams of a wide, sunlit shore. Not a sunseta sunrise.
**Lesson learned:** Love isnt about possession. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do is let goeven when every instinct screams to hold on.
