**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 out my parents. You called them old folk yourself. Have some mercy»
«I want nothing to do with them! If youre such a devoted daughter, go visit them yourself,» Edmund shot me a reproachful look.
My first husband had served in Afghanistan. Simon seemed brave and fearlessand he was. A decorated major, a hardened soldier.
Our son, Oliver, was born. My parents adored their son-in-law and grandson.
«Now, Lydia love, your mother and I can rest easy. Simons a dependable man. Weve handed you to safe handsdont disappoint us,» Dad never missed a chance to remind me how fortunate I was.
Simon paid Oliver little mind. The boy would reach for his father, but Dad was always off fishing, meeting army mates, or in no mood to play.
In time, Oliver stopped noticing him too.
It got worse. Simon fell into deep depression, and God help anyone who approached him then. I began to pull away. Oliver was five when Simon, blind drunk, put on his uniform and threatened our boy with his service pistol. That was the last straw. I realised the war had left his mind in tatters. I wouldnt risk my sons lifeor mine. We divorced amicably.
My parents poured scorn on me:
«Ungrateful wife! Where will you find another like him? Not in a month of Sundays! Youll regret this!»
But I never did. Simon became a closed chapter. He searched for years before marrying a deaf woman.
My second husband came quickly. My job took me across villages, drafting contracts. In one, I met Edmund Pembrokea high-ranking official. Charming, well-built, with an easy smile, he stole my heart. We disagreed at first, so I returned to his office twice more. A pleasant friendship bloomed.
«Lydia, join me for dinner. Ill drive you home tomorrowwherever you wish,» Edmund kissed my hand gallantly.
I nodded. Oliver was with my parentsa rare chance to relax with a man I fancied.
Then things spiralled.
Love flared, fuelled by passion. Edmund was six years younger, divorced, with a seven-year-old daughter.
I knew my parents would disapprove. Too young, too playful»wet behind the ears.» But I didnt care. I loved him madly. Let the world talk.
«Mum, Dad, Im remarrying. Edmund invites you to dinner,» I forced the words out.
They gaped.
«Joking, Lydia? We thought youd patch things up with Simon. Youve a child together!»
«Forget Simonhe forgot Oliver. Full stop. Meet my fiancé tomorrow. Dont mention my ex. It wont help.» I braced for fireworks.
Edmund arrived with gifts and a proposal:
«After the wedding, lets live as one family. Youre not getting youngerwell be there to help. The shops, the chemist, emergencies… Thoughts?»
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?»
«Dreaming of a three-storey house. Ill build it, move us all in,» Edmund said airily, as if stitching us together with his gaze.
We had a lively wedding. Edmund treated us to a Mediterranean cruise. One day, wed tour Europe with Oliver and his daughter, Claire. His ex-wife happily sent her along.
Edmund embraced Oliver as his own. But Claire and I never clicked. Shed glare, stay silent, whispering in her fathers ear.
…Three years later, we moved into our new homea three-storey house in Edmunds village. Land enough for gardens, orchards… whatever we fancied. Hed been a model son-in-law. The ground floor had a kitchen and bedroom for my parentsno stairs to climb. Olivers room was up top («Young legs can run»). Edmund and I took the middle floor. Out back: a summer kitchen, a three-car garage.
…Later came Olivers motorbike at twenty, my anniversary car, Mums spa holiday, Dads fishing boat.
Yet my family took it all for granted, blind to Edmunds kindness. I heard their jibes, their snide remarks. He ignored it:
«Lydia, I want peace. Let them whisper. My conscience is clear. I provide, I respect them. What more? Ah, but their golden boys Simon. Well, I cant work miracles. Give them the moon, theyll ask for the stars.»
We drifted apart, my parents never grasping that love goes both ways.
Time ticked on
Oliver brought home a girl, announcing:
«This is Vera. Shes moving into my room.»
«Who is she? Your fiancée? Wife?» I frowned.
Oliver dragged her upstairs without a word.
Fine. Hes grown. Let her parents fret over her virtuenot me. Boys dont get pregnant.
But Vera was no shrinking violet. Soon, she made sure we worried.
«Lydia, we want the second floor. Were having a baby. Talk to the old folk?» Vera lounged, smoking, sipping my coffee.
She used our first namesno «Mr.» or «Mrs.»
«Equality, darling. No outdated formalities.»
«Vera, rein it in. This is my home. Respect Olivers grandparents. If its not to your taste, the doors open…»
She yelled for Oliver:
«Did you hear? Lydias throwing out a pregnant woman!»
Oliver shoved me hard. I fell, hit my head on the table, and woke in hospital with concussion. Lying there, I weptmy boy, my darling, had raised a hand to me. For that… hussy. (Later, we learned there was no baby.)
Edmund, furious, called the police. But I refused to press chargessaid Id slipped.
Bitterness festered. Hed traded me for some brazen tart.
Once healed, I let it go. Families quarrel. Water under the bridge. At home, Oliver knelt:
«Forgive me, Mum! I wasnt myself.»
I kissed his head, crying. Hed seen sense.
Peace, I thought. How wrong.
That night, Edmund said:
«Did you know Vera was in our bed while you were away?»
My jaw dropped.
«What?»
«I woke to her drunk eyes beside me. Theyd been partyingOliver was dead asleep. I asked what she wanted. She just… purred at me.»
«And?»
«I kicked her out.» He seemed truthful.
Too much. Tell Oliver? Hed blame me. Confront Vera? Shed lie. I waitedtime would tell.
My parents stirred trouble:
«Lydia, your husbands a rake! You leave town, hes in bed with some tart. Ditch him!»
Hear lies enough, you believe them. Life became unbearable. Why couldnt they rest? Too comfortable? Edmund and I bickered constantly. Finally, he left.
A month passed. Then a friend called:
«Lydia! Saw Edmund with a stranger today. You know her?»
Fool! Leave a man like that alone, and vultures swoop.
I reeled him back. Turns out, hed been walking with Clairestill single at twenty-five, married to her career.
During our separation, hed decided:
«Choose, Lydia: me or your parents. Or well drift apart.»
I pitied Mum and Dadfrail, stumbling. Yet mention Edmund, and theyd rally, spewing venom. Hed never thawed their hearts.
So we moved. Bought a three-bed fixer-upper in the village. Ten acres, no prying eyes. No compromises. Better a crust in peace than a feast in strife.
My parents rang, cursing:
«Youre no daughter! Abandoned us! Chasing your man like a bitch in heat! Veras threatening care homes…»
May your husband rot! Ruined our lives!…
Edmund and I live quietly, joyfully, in love. We wed in the village church.
