**Better a Beloved Wife Than a Perfect Daughter**
«Lydia, choose: either me or your parents!» This time, my husband was firm and unyielding.
«Edward, you know Id follow you to the ends of the earth. But dont shut out my parents. You said yourselftheyre elderly. Have some mercy.»
«I want nothing to do with them! But if you must visit, go ahead, since youre such a dutiful daughter,» Edward said with a reproachful look.
My first husband had served in Afghanistan. Simon seemed brave, fearlessand he was. A decorated major, a seasoned soldier.
Our son, Oliver, was born. My parents doted on their son-in-law and grandson.
«Now, Lydia love, your mother and I can rest easy. Simons a good man. Weve handed you to safe handsdont disappoint us,» Dad never missed a chance to remind me what a prize my husband was.
Simon paid Oliver little mind. The boy would reach for his father, but Simon was always off fishing, meeting army mates, or simply not in the mood. In time, Oliver stopped noticing his dad altogether.
Then things got worse. Simon sank into black depressions. Approach him then, and youd regret it. I began pulling away. Oliver was five when Simon, blind drunk, put on his uniform and threatened our boy with his service revolver. That was the final straw. I realised war had left his mind in tatters. I wouldnt gamble with my sons lifeor mine. We divorced amicably.
When my parents found out, they unleashed their fury:
«Shame on you! Where will you find another like him? Youll regret this!»
I never did. Simon became a closed chapter. Years later, he married a deaf-mute woman.
My second husband came along swiftly. My job took me to villages, drafting contracts. In one, I met senior managementEdward Prescott. Handsome, fit, charminghe stole my heart at once. We disagreed on business that day, so I returned to his office twice more. A pleasant acquaintance blossomed.
«Lydia, Id like to take you to dinner. Ill drive you home tomorrowwherever you wish.» Edward kissed my hand gallantly.
I agreed. Oliver was with my parentswhy not enjoy company I fancied?
One thing led to another
Passion ignited, fierce and mutual. Edward was six years younger, divorced, with a seven-year-old daughter.
I knew my parents wouldnt approve. Too young, too jollyan «untested lad» to them. But I didnt care. I loved Edward like no one before.
«Mum, DadIm remarrying. Edward and I invite you to dinner.» The words stuck in my throat.
They gaped.
«Youre joking, Lydia? We thought youd patch things up with Simon. Youve a child together!»
«Forget Simonhe forgot Oliver. Thats final. Meet my fiancé tomorrow. Dont mention my ex. It wont go well.»
Edward arrived bearing gifts and a proposal:
«After the wedding, lets live togetherone big family. Youre not getting younger. Lydia and I will be thereshopping, doctors, emergencies. What dyou say?»
Dad scratched his head.
«Well suppose youre right. But where? Weve a tiny flat. Lydias got her placeSimon left it to her.» He shot me a look. «What about you, son? Got a roof?»
«I dream of a three-storey house. Ill build itmove us all in.» Edward smiled, as if binding us together with that glance.
We married in a joyous ceremony. Edward whisked me on a Mediterranean cruise. Wed tour Europe with Oliver and his daughter, Emily. His ex-wife gladly let us take her on trips.
Edward treated Oliver as his own. But Emily and I never warmed to each other. Shed glare, whisper in her fathers ear, never speak to me.
Three years later, we moved into our new homethree floors, set in Edwards village. Land enough for gardens, orchardswhatever we fancied. Edward had designed it for my parents: kitchen and bedroom downstairs to spare their knees; Olivers room up top»Let the lad run.» We took the middle floor. Out back stood a summer kitchen, a three-car garage.
Later came gifts: a motorbike for Olivers twenty-first; a car for my fiftieth; a spa break for Mum; a fishing boat for Dad.
Yet my family took Edwards kindness for granted. I heard their jibes, their spite. Edward shrugged it off:
«Lydia, I want peace. Let them whisper. Ive a clear conscienceI provide, I respect them. What more? Ah, but their golden boys Simon. I cant be him. Theyd have me split in four and still complain.»
So we drifted apart. My parents never grasped that loves a two-way street, not a bulldozer shoving one way.
Time ticked on
Oliver brought home a girl.
«This is Ruby. Shes moving into my room.»
«Who is she? Your fiancée? Wife?» I frowned.
He dragged her upstairs without a word.
Fine. Hes grown. Let her parents fret over her virtuenot me.
But Ruby was no shrinking violet.
«Lydia, we want the second floor. Im pregnant. Tell the old folks to shift.» She lounged, smoking, sipping my coffee.
She used our first namesno «Mr.» or «Mrs.»
«Equality, love. No outdated titles.»
«Ruby, pipe down. This is my house. Respect Olivers grandparentsor the doors open.»
She shrieked:
«Oliver! Lydias throwing me outpregnant!»
He stormed in, shoved me. My head hit the table. I woke in hospital, concussed, weeping. My boymy darlinghad struck me! For that creature. (Turned out, she wasnt pregnant.)
Edward, livid, called the police. I refused to press chargesclaimed Id slipped.
The betrayal festered. Hed traded me for that harpy.
Once healed, I forgave. Families quarrel. Oliver knelt:
«Forgive me, Mum! I wasnt myself.»
I kissed his head, cried. Hed seen sense.
Peace reignedor so I thought.
That night, Edward murmured:
«Did you know Ruby slipped into our bed while you were ill?»
«What?»
«Woke to her drunk eyes on me. Oliver was out cold. I sent her packing.»
«And?»
«Thats all.» He seemed truthful.
Outrageous! But what to do? Tell Oliverhed rage. Confront Rubyshed lie. I waited. Time would tell.
My parents poisoned me against Edward:
«Lydia, hes a philanderer! Ditch him!»
Repeat a lie enough, it sticks. Life grew unbearable. Why couldnt they leave us be? Fed up with comfort? Edward and I bickered endlessly. Finally, he left.
A month passed. Then a friend called:
«Lydia! Saw Edward with some woman. You know?»
Fool! Leave a man like that alone, and vultures swoop. I wooed him back.
Turns out, it was Emilytwenty-five, career-driven, still single.
During his absence, Edward had decided:
«Choose, Lydia: me or your parents. Else, well drift apart.»
I pitied Mum and Dadfrail, stumbling. Yet mention Edward, and theyd rally, spewing venom. Hed never thawed their hearts.
So we moved. Bought a fixer-upper cottage on ten acres. No sideways glances. No compromises. Better dry bread with joy than honey with strife.
My parents ring, cursing:
«Youre no daughter! Left us to rot! Chased your man like a bitch in heat! Rubys shipping us to a home!»
May your husband rot! Ruined our lives!…
But Edward and I? We live quiet, happy, in love. We wed in the village church.
