**Better to Be a Beloved Wife Than a Perfect Daughter**
«Lydia, choose: either me or your parents!» This time, my husband was firm and unyielding.
«Edmund, you know Id follow you to the ends of the earth. But dont shut them out. You call them ‘old’have some mercy.»
«I wont have anything to do with them! Visit them all you like if youre such a dutiful daughter,» Edmund shot me a reproachful look.
My first husband was a man whod served in Afghanistan. Simon seemed brave, unshakableand he was. A decorated major, a hardened soldier.
Our son, Oliver, was born. My parents adored their son-in-law, their grandson.
«Lydia, love, now your mother and I can rest easy. Simons a good man. Weve done right by you. Dont disappoint us,» my father never missed a chance to remind me how lucky I was.
But Simon paid Oliver no mind. Oliver would run to himonly for Simon to be off fishing, meeting army veterans, or «not in the mood.»
In time, Oliver stopped noticing his father, too.
Then it got worse. Simons moods blackened. Best to keep away when the darkness took him. I withdrew. Oliver was five when Simon, drunk as a lord, pulled on his uniform and threatened the boy with his service revolver. That was the end. I saw thenthe war had broken something in him. I couldnt risk our lives. We divorced.
My parents poured scorn on me.
«What kind of wife are you? A man like thatrarer than hens teeth! Youll regret this!»
As it turned out, I didnt. The years only proved me right. Simon became a closed chapter. He searched for a wife for years before marrying a deaf-mute woman.
My second husband came quickly. My work took me to villages, drafting contracts. In one, I met Edmund Whitmoretall, sharp, grinning. He struck me at once. We disagreed that day, so I had to return to his office. A pleasant acquaintance grew.
«Lydia, let me take you to dinner. Tomorrow, Ill drive you home myself.» He kissed my hand like a gentleman.
I nodded. Oliver was with my parentsI could relax.
One thing led to another.
A fierce love, hungry and bright.
Edmund was six years younger, divorced, with a seven-year-old daughter.
I knew my parents wouldnt approve. Too young, too cheerful»wet behind the ears.» But I didnt care. I loved him like no one else. Let the world talk.
«Mum, Dad, Im getting married. Edmund and I invite you to dinner.» The words were heavy.
They gaped.
«Lydia, are you mad? We thought youd patch things up with Simon. You have a child!»
«Forget Simonhe forgot Oliver. Thats final. Meet my fiancé tomorrow. And dont mention my ex. It wont go well.»
Edmund arrived with gifts and a proposal.
«After the wedding, Id like us all under one roof. Youre not getting any younger. Lydia and I will be thereshops, doctors, emergencies. What do you say?»
Dad scratched his head.
«Well suppose youre right. But where? Your flats small, Lydias got hersSimon left it to her.» He shot me a look. «What about you, son? Got a place?»
«Dreaming of a three-storey house. Ill build it, move us all in.» Edmund clicked his tongue, eyes gleaming, as if stitching us together with his gaze.
We married. A lavish affair. Edmund gave me a Mediterranean cruise. More to comeEurope, with Oliver and his daughter, Charlotte. His ex-wife happily sent her along.
Edmund treated Oliver like his own. But Charlotte? Cold as ice. Silent, glaring, whispering in her fathers ear.
Three years later, the house stoodthree floors, gardens, orchards, space for every whim. A perfect son-in-law, Edmund made sure my parents had all they neededkitchen and bedroom downstairs, no stairs to climb. Olivers room at the top»Let the boy run.» We took the middle. A summer kitchen, a three-car garage.
Later came Olivers motorbike at twenty, my anniversary car, Mums spa retreat, Dads fishing boat.
Yet my family took it all for granted, blind to Edmunds kindness. Snide remarks, constant nitpicking. He ignored it.
«Lydia, I want peace. Let them whisper. My conscience is clear. I provide, I respect them. What more? But I knowSimons their golden boy. I cant be him. You cant please everyone.»
We grew distant. My parents never grasped that love goes both waysnot just demands.
Time ticked on.
Oliver brought home a girl.
«This is Vera. Shes moving in.»
«Who is she? Your fiancée? Wife?» I stiffened.
Oliver took her hand, led her upstairs without a word.
Fine. Hes grown. Her parents can fret over her virtuenot me.
But Vera was no shrinking violet.
«Lydia, we want the second floor. Were having a baby. Talk to the old folks?» She lounged, smoking, sipping my coffee.
She called us by our first namesno titles. «Equality,» she sneered.
«Vera, know your place. This is my home. Respect Olivers grandparentsor leave.»
She yelled for Oliver.
«Oliver! Lydias throwing me outpregnant!»
He charged at me, shoved me hard. My head hit the table. Concussion. Hospital.
My boythe one I loved, raisedraised his hand to me. For her.
No baby, it turned out.
Edmund, furious, called the police. I refused to press charges. «I slipped,» I lied.
The bitterness festered. My son, trading me for some brat.
Home again, I forgave. Oliver knelt.
«Sorry, Mum. I wasnt myself.»
I kissed his head, wept. Hed learned.
Peace, I thought.
That night, Edmund spoke low.
«Did you know Vera was in our bed while you were gone?»
«What?»
«Woke upshe was there, drunk. Oliver mustve passed out. Told her to leave.»
«And?»
«Sent her packing.» He seemed honest.
Too much. Tell Oliver? Hed deny it. Confront Vera? Shed twist it. I waited.
My parents poisoned me against Edmund.
«Lydia, hes a tomcat! Kick him out!»
A lie, repeated, becomes truth. Our home soured. We fought. Edmund left.
A month passed.
A friend called.
«Lydia! Saw Edmund with some woman. You know?»
Fool! Leave a man like that alone, and vultures swoop.
I brought him back. The «woman» was Charlotte, twenty-five, still single, all career, no compromise.
Edmund had made up his mind.
«Choose, Lydia: me or your parents. Or well drift apart.»
I pitied themfrail, stumbling. But mention Edmund, and they sharpened, spewing venom. Hed never win them.
We moved. A three-bed fixer-upper in the village. Ten acres, but no sideways glances. No bending. Better dry bread in joy than honey in strife.
My parents raged.
«Youre no daughter! Left us to rot! Chasing your man like a bitch in heat! Veras threatening to dump us in a home! May your husband rot! Ruined our lives!»
Edmund and I live quiet, happy, in love. We wed in the village church.
