**BETTER TO BE A BELOVED WIFE THAN A PERFECT DAUGHTER**
«Lydia, choose: either me or your parents!» This time, my husband was firm, unyielding.
«Edmund, you know Id follow you to the ends of the earth. But dont shut out my parents. You called them *old*have some mercy.»
«I wont have anything to do with them! But if youre such a devoted daughter, visit them yourself,» Edmund snapped, his gaze sharp with reproach.
My first marriage was to a man whod served in the Falklands. Simon seemed fearless, unshakablea decorated major, a hardened soldier.
Our son, Oliver, was born. My parents adored their son-in-law, their grandson.
«Now, Lydia love, your mother and I can rest easy. Simons a good man. Youre in safe handsdont disappoint us,» my father would say, never missing a chance to praise my husband.
Simon barely noticed Oliver. The boy would reach for him, but his father was always offfishing, meeting his regiment, or simply in no mood.
In time, Oliver stopped reaching altogether.
Then it got worse. Simons depressions were black and bottomless. Approach him then, and youd regret it. I began to pull away.
Oliver was five when Simon, drunk as a lord, strapped on his old uniform and threatened our son with his service revolver. That was the end. I saw thenhis mind was broken. The war had followed him home. I wouldnt gamble with Olivers life, or mine. We divorced by mutual consent.
My parents poured scorn on me:
«What kind of wife are you? A man like Simonrarer than hens teeth! Youll live to regret this.»
(For the record, I never did. Simon became a closed chapter. He spent years searching for a wife, then married a deaf-mute woman.)
My second husband appeared quickly. My work took me through villages, drafting contracts. In one, I met the high and mightyEdmund Whitmore. Handsome, sharp, always smiling. We clashed over terms, so I returned to his office twice more. A pleasant acquaintance bloomed.
«Lydia, let me take you to dinner. Ill drive you home myself,» he said, pressing a kiss to my hand.
Oliver was with my parentswhy not? One thing led to another
A firestorm of love, fuelled by reckless passion.
Edmund was six years younger, divorced, with a seven-year-old daughter.
I knew my parents would disapprove. Too young, too brashgreen as grass. But I didnt care. I loved him fiercely.
«Dad, MumIm remarrying. Edmund 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. You have a child!»
«Forget Simonhe forgot Oliver. Tomorrow, youll meet my fiancé. Dont mention my ex. It wont go well.»
Edmund arrived bearing gifts and a proposition:
«After the wedding, we should live togethera proper family. Youre not getting younger, and well be there to help. Chemist runs, doctors visits What do you say?»
My father scratched his head.
«Well suppose youve a point. But where? Were in a tiny flat. Lydias got her placeher ex left it to her.» He shot me a look. «And you, sonwhats your situation?»
«I dream of a three-storey house. Ill build it, move us all in,» Edmund said, eyes alight.
We married in a whirlwind. Honeymoon on the Mediterranean. Wed tour all of Europe, take Oliver and Edmunds daughter, Emily. His ex-wife happily sent her along.
Edmund embraced Oliver as his own. But Emily? She eyed me like a stray cat, whispering in her fathers ear whenever we met.
Three years later, the house stood tallthree floors, sprawling gardens, orchards. My parents had the ground floorkitchen, bedroom, no stairs. Olivers room was at the top («Young legs can manage»). Ours in the middle. A summer kitchen out back, a triple garage.
In time, Oliver got a motorbike for his twentieth; I a foreign car for my fiftieth; Mum a spa retreat; Dad a fishing boat.
Yet they took it all for granted, sneering at Edmunds generosity. My husband shrugged it off:
«Lydia, I want peace. Let them whisper. Ive done right by them. But I knowtheir golden boy is Simon. Well, I wont split myself in four to please them.»
We grew distant under one roof. My parents never grasped that love isnt a one-way street.
Time ticked on
Oliver brought home a girl.
«This is Vera. Shes moving in.»
«Who *is* she? Your fiancée? Wife?» I bristled.
Wordless, Oliver dragged her upstairs.
Fine. Hes grown. Let *her* parents fret over her virtue.
But Vera was no shrinking violet.
«Lydia, we want the second floor. Were having a baby. Talk to the old folks,» she drawled, legs crossed, sipping *my* coffee.
She called us by our first names»Titles are outdated.»
«Vera, while Im mistress here, youll show respect. If youre unhappy, the doors open.»
She screeched for Oliver: «Did you hear? Lydias throwing me out*pregnant*!»
Oliver shoved me hard. My head struck the table edge. I woke in hospital, concussion ringing, weeping into a thin pillow.
My boymy darlingraised a hand to me. For *her*. (Later, we learned there was no baby.)
Edmund, furious, called the police. I refused to charge my son. «I slipped,» I lied.
Bitterness festered. Hed traded me for that brazen scrap.
Home again, Oliver knelt:
«Forgive me, Mum. I wasnt myself.»
I kissed his crown, wept. Hed seen sense.
Peace at last? No.
That night, Edmund murmured:
«Did you know Vera was in our bed while you were gone?»
My stomach lurched.
«She woke medrunk, staring. Oliver was dead asleep. I sent her packing.»
What now? Tell Oliverhed deny it. Confront Verashed twist it. I waited.
My parents poisoned the well:
«Lydia, your husbands a tomcat! Dump him!»
A lie repeated grows teeth. We bickered endlessly. Finally, Edmund left.
A month passed. Then a friend called:
«Lydia! Saw Edmund with some woman. You know?»
Fool! Leave a man like that alone, and vultures circle.
I reeled him back. The «other woman» was Emilytwenty-five, wedded to her career.
Edmunds ultimatum:
«Choose, Lydia: me or your parents. Or well fracture for good.»
My heart ached for Mum and Dadfrail, stumblingyet they *hated* Edmund, spat venom whenever he was near.
We left. Bought a fixer-upper on ten acres. No sideways glances. No bending.
My parents wailed down the phone:
«Youre no daughter! Left us to rot! That hussy Vera threatens a nursing home! May your husbands legs wither! Hes ruined us!»
Edmund and I live quietly now. Happy. In love. We wed again, in a village chapel.
