You’re a wardenless orphan, whos going to look after you? the husband says, shooing me out of the house.
Wheres the money you gave me yesterday? David storms into the kitchen, his face flushed with anger.
Imogen turns from the stove where the mince pies sizzle. Drops of oil hiss on the hot pan.
What money? You never gave me anything.
Dont lie! Five thousand pounds for groceries! I left it on the nightstand in the bedroom!
David, I didnt take that money. Maybe you put it somewhere else, check again.
Ive already rummaged through everything! Its gone! You took it and spent it on your junk!
Imogen wipes her hands on the apron and switches off the hob. After four years of marriage shes grown used to these accusations, but each one still cuts deep.
David, I didnt take your cash. I have my own salary, why would I steal?
Salary? he scoffs. Your pocketmoney from the shop? Thats not a salary, its an allowance!
The front door opens and Margaret, Davids mother, steps in. Shes been living with them for six months after selling her flat. She says shes invested the money in her sons business, though David only works as a manager for a construction firm.
Whats all this noise? she asks, looking over the kitchen. Another argument?
Mum, she stole my money! Five thousand pounds!
I didnt steal anything, Imogen repeats quietly.
Margaret walks closer, eyeing her daughterinlaw from head to toe.
David didnt give me any cash yesterday. He handed it to me for safekeeping because you, dear, cant manage money. Youd waste it all.
Imogen feels a tightening in her chest. Again. Its as if theyre all conspiring against her.
Margaret, if you took the money, just say it. Why blame me?
Are you calling my mother a thief? David snaps.
I never said that. I just want to sort this out.
Theres nothing to sort, Margaret says, pulling a few banknotes from the pocket of her coat. Heres the money. I took it so you wouldnt spend it on rubbish. David, take it and buy yourself a decent shirt, rather than showing up to work in rags.
David stuffs the notes into his pocket without looking at Imogen.
Thanks, Mum. You always look out for me.
Imogen stands in silence, her resentment bubbling inside. Shes learned long ago not to show emotion; any display of feeling in this house only turns against her.
The pies are burning, Margaret notes. Everythings falling apart in your hands, dear.
Imogen returns to the stove. The pies are indeed blackening on one side. She flips them, breathing evenly, fighting the urge to break down. She just does her job.
Four years ago, things were different. David courted her charmingly, bringing flowers and taking her out to cafés. Imogen worked in the same supermarket she still works ata typical shop assistant with no qualifications or connections. She grew up in a childrens home, later moving into a council flat after leaving care. Life was hard but hers.
Then David appearedhandsome, confident, with a solid job. He noticed her when he came into the store for groceries, started chatting, joking, inviting her on dates. Imogen could hardly believe her luck. A man like him, and she, a girl from care with no family, no past.
Their wedding was modest. No relatives on Imogens side, just a flatmate from the council block. Davids side brought his mother, a few relatives and friends. Margaret watched the bride with thinly veiled disapproval, though she showed none. That was then.
After the ceremony Imogen moves into Davids twobedroom flat in a suburban estate. She keeps her job, manages the household, tries to be a good wife. Gradually, things shift.
First come the small criticisms: the soup is oversalted, the shirt isnt ironed, the money isnt allocated properly. Then the accusations: she spends too much, dresses poorly, is unintelligent, uneducated.
When Margaret moves in, the situation collapses. She assumes the role of the houses ruler, nitpicking every move Imogen makes, meddling in everything, turning her son against his wife. David always sides with his mother.
The dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Imogen says, setting the table.
Finally, David sits down, eyes glued to his phone. Im starving.
Margaret inspects the spread. The salads watery, theres barely any bread. Saving on food?
I bought exactly what we need for the week, based on the list you both made, Imogen replies.
Dont argue with your elders. Young people have no respect these days.
Dinner passes in tense silence. David chews mechanically, Margaret sighs repeatedly, showing her displeasure. Imogen barely touches her plate; she has no appetite.
Afterward she washes the dishes while David and his mother lounge in the sitting room watching TV, their laughter filling the room. Imogen feels like a servant allowed to stay.
That night David goes to bed without even wishing her goodnight. Imogen lies awake, staring at the darkness. When did she become so unhappy? When did she stop being a beloved wife and become a burden?
Morning finds her up before anyone else, as usual. She prepares breakfast, packs Davids lunch, and watches him leave muttering something incomprehensible.
David, we need to talk, Margaret says when Imogen finishes her tea.
Im listening, Imogen replies.
The flat is cramped for three of us. Its getting tight.
I know, but we cant afford a bigger place right now.
Thats exactly why we thought it might be best if you found somewhere else to live for a while. Maybe a room to rent. You do have a salary, after all.
Thats my husbands flat. Im his wife.
Wife? Margaret smirks. What kind of wife? You cant have children, youre useless around the house, youre not pretty. David could do better.
David chose me, Imogen says softly.
He made a mistake. People make mistakes, but they must be corrected.
So youre suggesting I leave him?
Im suggesting you make his life easier. You dont have to divorce; just live apart for a while. Maybe thatll be better.
Imogen rises from the table, hands trembling, but she tries to stay composed.
Ill speak to David.
Talk, talk. Hell only agree if I do. Its my idea.
All day at work Imogen ponders the conversation. Does David really want her out? Do four years of marriage mean nothing?
That evening she returns home earlier than usual. David is already there, sitting with his mother, drinking tea.
David, I need to speak with you alone, she says.
Talk in front of Mum, she already knows everything, he replies.
This is about us.
He sighs, gets up, and heads to the bedroom. Imogen follows, closes the door behind them.
Your mother said you want me to go. Is that true? she asks.
David turns to the window. Its true. We need space. Mums here, Im uncomfortable, and youre just taking up room.
Im your wife!
A wife who hasnt given me a child in four years, a wife who makes pennies as a shop assistant. What use are you?
David, the doctors said the problem isnt me. You have
Silence! he snaps, a flash of rage in his eyes. Its your background from the care home! Who knows whats in your family line!
My parents died in a crash when I was three. Im a normal, healthy person!
Normal, he sneers. No family, no roots, nothing. I married you out of pity for an orphan, and now youre a burden.
Tears swell in Imogens throat, but she holds them back.
So you want a divorce?
I want you out. Just out for now. Then well see.
Where should I go?
I dont know. Back to a council flat? Rent a room? Thats your problem.
David, I love you. We can fix this, try again
Its too late, Imogen. Its decided. Pack your things.
When?
Tomorrow. You have the evening to gather what you need.
He leaves the room, leaving her alone. Imogen sits on the bed they shared for four years, the place where she once dreamed of children, a happy family, a future. Everything collapses in an instant.
She starts stuffing clothes into a bag, grabs documents, a few pounds she kept hidden, photos, books. How much of her life does she really have? Almost nothing.
Margaret peeks into the room. Smart girl. You get it. No need for scenes.
I dont want scenes, Imogen says, still packing, eyes down.
Exactly. Slip out quietly. David will find another, proper wife from a respectable family.
Imogen says nothing. What can she say? Her motherinlaw has always considered her unworthy of her son and has gotten her way.
In the morning Imogen dresses, grabs her bags. David is still asleep. Margaret sips tea in the kitchen.
Leaving?
Yes.
Leave the keys on the table.
Imogen places the keys down, walks to the hallway, pauses at the door, looks back at the flat that was her home for four years. She knows she will never return.
She descends the stairs, steps out onto the street. Early dawn, the city is quiet. Where does she go? Her council flat is now occupied, renting a place costs money she barely hasjust a few thousand pounds.
She heads to work, arriving early, sitting in the staffroom, trying to think of her next move.
The shop is warm and quiet. She sits on a crate, bags beside her, wanting to cry but the tears wont come. Only a hollow emptiness remains.
Imogen? You look pale, Veronica, the store manager, appears in the doorway. Shes in her fifties, strict but fair.
Just didnt sleep, Imogen says.
Veronica squints at the bags. Whats happened?
Nothing, all good.
Dont lie. Ive known you four years; I can tell when youre lying. Tell me.
And Imogen tells her everythingher husband, her motherinlaw, being thrown out. Veronica listens, nodding occasionally.
Those bastards, Veronica says when Imogen finishes. Sorry for the language, but thats how I feel.
I dont know what to do.
I have a daughter who moved to another town; her room is empty. Stay with me for a while, sort things out.
I cant its too much
You can. And stop calling me VeronicaMrs. Im just Veronica. Gather your things; after your shift well go to my flat.
Ill pay you, I promise.
Itll be fine. First thing is to get you on your feet.
Tears finally spill down Imogens cheeks. Someone is on her side, offering help without asking for anything.
That evening they drive to Veronicas modest twobedroom flat on the edge of town. Its simple but cosy. The spare room, once used by her daughter, has a narrow bed, a desk, a wardrobe.
Make yourself at home. The beds clean, I changed the sheets yesterday. If you need anything, just ask.
Thank you so much. I dont even know how to thank you.
Dont mention it. We all go through rough patches. I was helped once, now Im helping you.
Imogen arranges her belongings, sits on the bed. Its cramped, modest, but its hersno one humiliates or drives her out.
The next day David texts about the divorce. Imogen accepts his terms, asking for nothing, just wanting to close that chapter quickly.
Three months pass. Imogen settles into the new routinework, the small flat, occasional coffee with Veronica and other shop mates. Life is quiet, free of arguments, accusations, humiliations.
One afternoon a man in his forties walks into the shop, tall, glasses, a kind face. He picks out groceries and asks Imogen for advice. He returns a few days later, and again.
Do you always help customers so attentively? he asks.
I try my best. Its part of the job.
Your work is one thing, but you also help people from the heart. Thats rare.
His name is Michael, a teacher at a nearby school. Hes recently divorced, lives alone. They chat more, and he invites her for tea.
Im not sure, Imogen admits, blushing. Ive just divorced.
Exactly. Lets just talk, no strings attached.
They meet at a café, laugh, share stories. Michael doesnt pry about her past, just listens.
You know, I feel at ease with you, he says at the end of their meeting. Its been a long time since Ive felt that.
So do I, Imogen replies.
Their meetings become more frequent. Michael walks her home, calls to check in, never presses, just offers steady companionship. Imogen feels something thawing inside, a renewed desire to live, to enjoy.
One day she bumps into David on the street. Hes with Lucy, a young woman clearly pregnant.
Whats up, Imogen? Hows life? he says with a smirk.
Fine, happy, she replies.
Dont tell me youre still living in a council flat.
At least no one treats me like trash there.
Lucy tugs his sleeve. Dave, lets go. No point talking to her.
They walk away. Imogen watches them go, feeling strangely indifferent. The hurt has faded into apathy.
That evening she meets Michael in the park, strolling and chatting.
I ran into my ex today, she tells him.
And?
Im okay. No feelings left.
Thats good. It means youve let go.
They sit on a bench; Michael takes her hand.
Imogen, you should know this: I dont care that you grew up in care, that you have no parents. What matters is who you are. Youre a good personkind, honest, strong.
Strong? she laughs. I dont feel strong.
You are. You survived betrayal, being thrown out, a divorce, and you rebuilt your life. Thats strength.
She looks into his eyes, finding warmth and sincerity that David never gave.
Thank you, she whispers.
Its my thanks for having you in my life.
They watch the sunset together. Life goes onsometimes harsh, sometimes unfair, but it continues. Theres room for happiness, even if its small and fragile, but its real.
David was wrong. Imogen does have people who will stand up for her. Veronica, Mary the manager, Tara, and now Michaelpeople who value her for who she is, not for connections or money.
She has no parents, no siblings, but she now has a chosen family. Thats enough.
