«Better a Beloved Wife Than a Dutiful 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 called them ‘old’ yourself. Have some mercy…»
«I want nothing to do with them! If youre such a devoted daughter, go visit them,» Edward shot me a reproachful look.
…My first marriage was to a man who had served in Afghanistan. Simon seemed brave, fearlessand he was. A decorated major, a seasoned soldier.
Our son, Oliver, was born. My parents adored their son-in-law and grandson.
«Now, Lydia, your mother and I can rest easy. Simon is a good man. Weve handed you to safe handsdont let us down,» Dad never missed a chance to remind me what a prize my husband was.
…Simon barely acknowledged Oliver. The boy would reach for his father, but Dad was always off fishing, meeting army veterans, or simply «not in the mood.»
Eventually, Oliver stopped noticing him too.
Things worsened. Simon spiraled into deep depression, and when that happened, it was best to stay away. I grew distant. Oliver was five when Simon, drunk out of his mind, put on his uniform and threatened our son with his service pistol. That was the final straw. I realized his mind had been shattered by war. I couldnt risk my sons lifeor mine. We divorced amicably.
When my parents found out, they unleashed their fury:
«A terrible wife you are! Where will you find another man like him? Youll regret this!»
As it turned out, I never did. Simon became just a closed chapter. He spent years searching for a wife before marrying a deaf woman.
…My second husband came quickly. My job required frequent travel to villages to finalize contracts. In one, I met a high-ranking officialEdward Pembroke. Handsome, well-dressed, charming. We clashed at first, so I had to return to his office a few times. A pleasant acquaintance blossomed.
«Lydia, join me for dinner. Ill drive you home tomorrowwherever you wish,» Edward kissed my hand gallantly.
I agreed. Oliver was staying with my parentsa rare chance to relax with a man I fancied.
One thing led to another.
Passion ignited between us, fierce and consuming. Edward was six years younger, divorced, with a seven-year-old daughter.
I knew my parents would disapprovetoo young, too carefree, «wet behind the ears.» But I didnt care. I loved Edward madly. Let the world talk.
«Mum, DadIm getting married. Edward and I invite you to dinner,» the words tasted bitter.
They gaped.
«Joking, Lydia? We thought youd patch things up with Simon! You have a child!»
«Forget Simonhe forgot Oliver long ago. End of discussion. Meet my fiancé tomorrow. Dont mention my ex. It wont help.»
Edward arrived bearing gifts and a proposition:
«After the wedding, Id like us to live togetherone big family. Youre getting older. Lydia and I will be hereshopping, doctors, emergencies. What do you think?»
Dad scratched his head.
«Well… I suppose youre right. But where? Were in a tiny flat. Lydia has her placeher ex left it to her.» He shot me a look. «And you, sonwhat about your home?»
«I dream of a three-story house. Ill build it, move everyone in,» Edward said, eyes gleaming.
…We had a joyous wedding. Edward whisked me away on a Mediterranean cruise. Wed tour Europe with Oliver and his daughter, Charlotte. His ex-wife happily let her travel with us.
Edward treated Oliver as his own. But Charlotte? She glared, whispered in her fathers ear, barely spoke to me.
…Three years later, we moved into our dream homea three-story house in Edwards village. Acres of garden, orchardseverything we wanted. My parents had a ground-floor suite, avoiding stairs. Olivers room was at the top»young legs can run.» Edward and I took the middle. A summer kitchen, a triple garageperfect.
…Later, Oliver got a motorbike for his 20th; I received a luxury car; Mum, a spa retreat; Dad, a fishing boat.
Yet my family took it all for granted, never appreciating Edwards generosity. Constant nitpicking, snide remarks. Edward brushed it off:
«Lydia, I want peace. Let them whisper. My conscience is clear. But I knowSimon was their golden boy. I cant compete with a ghost.»
We grew apart under their scorn.
…Oliver brought home a girl, announced:
«This is Vera. Shes moving in.»
«Who is she? Your fiancée? Wife?» I tensed.
Oliver dragged her upstairs without a word.
Finehes grown. Her parents can worry about her virtue, not me.
But Vera wasnt shy.
«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 first namesno titles.
«Respect your grandparents, or the doors open,» I snapped.
Vera shrieked:
«Oliver! Lydias throwing me outpregnant!»
Oliver shoved me. I fell, hit my head, wound up concussed in hospital. My own sonraised with lovestruck me. For her. Later, we learned there was no baby.
Edward, furious, called the police. I refused to press chargeslied, said I slipped.
But the betrayal festered.
…Home again, Oliver kneeled:
«Forgive me, Mum!»
I kissed his head, wept. Maybe peace would come.
That night, Edward confessed:
«Vera crawled into our bed while you were gone. Drunk, whispering nonsense. I kicked her out.»
Too much. If I told Oliver, hed deny it. Vera would twist it. I waited.
My parents poisoned me against Edward:
«Hes a womanizer! Dump him!»
The accusations wore me down. We fought. Edward left.
A friend called:
«Saw Edward with some woman!»
Fool! A man like himof course vultures circled.
I won him back. The «other woman» was Charlottestill single at 25, focused on her career.
Edward returned with an ultimatum:
«Choose: me or your parents. Or well split.»
My parents, frail yet venomous, spat insults about him. They never accepted him.
We movedbought a fixer-upper cottage. Ten acres, no prying eyes. Better a humble life in joy than luxury in misery.
My parents raged:
«Youre no daughter! Abandoned us! That tramp Vera threatens to dump us in a home!»
…Edward and I live quietly, happily. We wed in the village church. Let them curse. Love, at last, is enough.
