«Go back to your mother,» ordered the husband, shoving the suitcases out.
«Mum, stop calling him,» said Eleanor, setting her cup down with a sigh. «Peters at workhes in a meeting.»
«At work, is he?» Antonia pursed her lips. «I know all about these meetings. He was at one yesterday too, wasnt he? Staggered in at midnight reeking of whiskey.»
Eleanor rubbed her temples. Ever since she and Peter had moved in with her mother, every morning had started like this. It was meant to be temporaryjust a few months while their flat was being renovated. But the second month was nearly over, and there was no end in sight.
«Mum, please,» Eleanor said, forcing calm into her voice. «You promised not to interfere.»
«Im not interfering,» Antonia said, setting her phone aside. «Im just worried about you. You work like a dog while he gallivants about. What kind of man is that?»
«A decent one,» Eleanor snapped, standing. «And hes not gallivanting. It was an important client meetingI told you.»
Antonia snorted but didnt argue. Eleanor knew that lookher mother didnt believe a word of it.
«Im going to work,» Eleanor said, grabbing her bag. «Ill be back by eight.»
«Will you at least eat lunch?» Antonia called after her. «I made soup.»
«No time, Mum. Meeting at one, then a client.»
«Youre always starving yourself,» Antonia muttered. «No wonder youre not pregnant. What child wants a half-empty stomach?»
Eleanor exhaled. The subject of children was a sore one, but her mother brought it up with relentless regularity. Five years married and still no grandchildrenunforgivable.
«See you tonight,» Eleanor said, kissing her mothers cheek. «Peter promised hed come home earlywell have dinner together.»
«If he comes at all,» Antonia grumbled.
Eleanor stepped into the hall, leaned against the damp wallpaper that smelled of mildew and old catsthe scent of her childhood. Once, it had felt comforting. Now, it just grated.
In the car, she rang Peter.
«Pete, did Mum call you again?»
«Three times,» he said, exhaustion in his voice. «I ignored it.»
«Sorry. Shes just worried.»
«Worried?» Peter scoffed. «She monitors my every move. Last night, it was an interrogationwhere was I, who was I drinking with, why so late? Im not a teenager, Ellie!»
«I know,» she said, starting the engine. «Just bear with it. The builder said the bathroom will be done this weekjust the kitchen left. Well be home soon.»
Peter went quiet. When he spoke again, his voice was hollow.
«What if I dont want to go back?»
«What do you mean?» Eleanor frowned.
«Never mind. See you at work.»
The line went dead. Eleanor stared at her phone, dread coiling inside her. What had he meant? Didnt want to return to the flat? Or didnt want to return to *her*?
Work dragged endlessly. She couldnt focus. Twice, she fumbled numbers in the meeting. She forgot a key clause with a client. Peter never appearedhed gone to a site and wouldnt be back till evening.
She got home at nine, late from fixing her mistakes. The flat was quiet, just the muffled hum of the telly from the kitchen.
«Im home!» she called, toeing off her shoes.
No answer. Weirdusually, her mother rushed to interrogate her about the day. Eleanor walked in and froze.
Peter and Antonia sat at the table, the air between them crackling. Antonia glared at the TV, pointedly ignoring him. Peter spun a cold cup of tea between his hands.
«Whats going on?» Eleanor asked.
Peter looked up. His eyes were cold, distant.
«Ask your mother,» he said. «Shes been carving into me for half an hour.»
«Antonia, what happened?»
Her mother sniffed.
«Nothing. Just told your husband a few home truths. That hes not a proper man. Cant even keep his wife properlyliving off her mothers kindness.»
«Mum!» Eleanor gaped. «We *have* our own place!»
«Some place,» Antonia waved. «A shoebox in a concrete block. In my day, men built homes. And this one? Some sort of office lackey…»
«Im a *project lead*,» Peter hissed. «I earn enough. Were only here because of the *renovations*.»
«Five years and what have you got?» Antonia barrelled on. «No kids, no proper home. Your wife slaving away while you»
«Mum, *enough*!» Eleanor shouted. «We agreedno pressure, no baby talk!»
Antonias lips thinned.
«I only want whats best. Youre thirty-two, love. Times ticking.»
Eleanor slumped into a chair beside Peter, took his hand. He didnt pull awaybut he didnt squeeze back.
«Pete, Im sorry. She just worries.»
«Worries?» He laughed bitterly. «She thinks Im worthless. Always has.»
Eleanor said nothing. What could she say? Her mother *had* opposed the marriage. *»No prospects,»* shed said. *»No money, no connections. Five years youngerstill wet behind the ears.»*
«Go to bed,» Antonia muttered, standing. «Ive got my blood pressure check tomorrow. No need to keep me up with your rowing.»
She shuffled off, slamming her door. Alone, Peter and Eleanor sat in silence.
«Sorry,» she said again.
«For what?» He looked at her, weary. «That your mother despises me? Or that you never stand up to her?»
«I *do*!»
«No, Ellie. You nod, you placate, then tell me to *bear with it*. Five years of bearing. Maybe Ive had enough.»
He stood, chair scraping.
«Where are you going?»
«To bed. Early start.»
She watched him walk off to their cramped roomher old childhood space, barely fitting a double bed. Clenching her fists, she glared at her mothers door. She wanted to storm in, scream, unleash all the pent-up frustration. But she couldnt. Never could.
Peter left before dawnshe didnt even hear him go. Antonia sat at the table with tea and pills.
«Your prince charming run off?» she said instead of *good morning*.
«Mum, stop,» Eleanor sighed. «Hes my *husband*. I love him. You have to respect that.»
«Respects earned,» Antonia snapped. «Your dad was a *real* man. Could fix anything. But this one? Leaky tapcalls a plumber. Needs a shelf hungasks the neighbour. Useless.»
Eleanor chewed her toast mechanically. Arguing was pointless. Her mother saw the world in black and whiteright and wrong. Unshakable.
Peter wasnt at workgone to another site. They exchanged terse messages about tasks, nothing about last night. She stayed late, hoping Antonia would be asleep when she got back.
But the flat was lit up, voices shouting from the kitchen. She hurried in.
Peter and Antonia stood squared off. Her mothers face was scarlet; Peter eerily calm, jaw clenched.
«Whats happening?» Eleanor asked.
«Your *husband*,» Antonia jabbed a finger, «is moving out. Found a flat. Leaving tomorrow.»
Eleanor paled.
«Pete, is this true?»
«Yeah,» he nodded. «Decent place near work. Moving tomorrow.»
«What about *me*?»
«Your choice,» he said, holding her gaze. «Come with me, or stay. But if you stay, its for good. I wont live like this anymore, Ellie.»
Antonia scoffed.
«See? Abandoning you! What did I say? Useless man!»
«Mum!» Eleanor whirled on her. «*Stop it*!»
Antonia blinked, unaccustomed to her daughters sharpness.
«Im still your mother,» she said, quieter. «I see whats what. Let him go. Youre *my* daughterhes nobody.»
«Pete,» Eleanor turned. «Lets talk»
«Nothing to say,» he cut in. «Im leaving. With or without youyour call.»
He walked out. Eleanor moved to follow, but Antonia grabbed her wrist.
«Dont grovel, love. Let him go. Find someone better.»
Eleanor yanked free.
«I dont *want* anyone else! I *love* him!»
«Stop shouting,» Antonia winced. «Loves for fairy tales. Life needs a *steady* man. Yours is a spineless»
Eleanor stared at her mother and suddenly *knew*nothing would change. Ever. This woman would *always* believe she knew best. Would meddle, criticise, suffocate. And Peter was rightthis wasnt living.
«Im going with him,» she said firmly. «Tomorrow.»
Antonias hands fluttered.
«*Mad*! Youve lost it! Here, youve got *everything*a roof, food, care. And there? Some rented hovel with a man wholl toss you aside!»
«Better a *hovel* with someone I love than a gilded cage.»
Antonia paled.
«So my homes a *cage*? Im your *jailer*? I *gave* you everything! Raised you alone!»
«And never let me forget it,» Eleanor whispered. «You wont *let go*, Mum. Wont let me live.»
«What *life*?» Antonia sneered. «Five yearsno kids, no home. Just work!»
«We *didnt* have kids because we wanted stability,» Eleanor said. «Now… now Im just *scared*. Scared youd do to them what you do to uscontrol, criticise, *smother*.»
«I only want whats *best*!»
«I *know*. But your *best* is choking me.»
Eleanor left her mother gaping, walked to their room. Peter sat on the bed, staring blankly.
«Im coming with you,» she said, sitting beside him. «Im sorry I didnt see how hard this was.»
Peter pulled her close.
«I love you,» he murmured. «But I cant stay. Shes driving me mad.»
«Me too,» Eleanor admitted. «I just… I only just realised.»
They lay in silence, listening to Antonia stomping around the flat, slamming cupboards, flicking the TV on and off.
Morning came. Peter was already gone. Antonia sat at the table, untouched tea before her.
«Gone already, your charmer?»
«*Mum*,» Eleanor said wearily.
«Respects for those who *deserve* it,» Antonia snapped. «Your dad*he* was a man. Fixed anything. Yours? Cant even»
Eleanor tuned her out.
Work was a blur. Peter texted the new flats address, sent photosa bright two-bed with a big kitchen. But Eleanor felt no joy. Only fear.
She went home early to pack before Peter arrived. Found her suitcases already waiting in the hall.
«Mum?» she called. «You home?»
Antonia stepped out, eyes red.
«Packed your things. If you forgot anything, fetch it later.»
«Why?» Eleanor whispered.
«What else could I do?» Antonia shrugged. «Youve made your choice. No point dragging it out.»
Eleanor stepped closer.
«Mum, Im not leaving *forever*. Well visit»
«*Go back to your mother*,» Peters voice cut in. He stood in the doorway, glaring.
«Pete, what?»
«Go back,» he repeated coldly. «If shes packed your bags, its decided.»
«*Nothings* decided! Mum was just helping»
«*Helping*?» Peter laughed. «Shes *throwing you out*. Packed your things, left them by the door. Thats *eviction*.»
«No, you dont understand»
Antonia burst into tears, dramatic, face in hands. Eleanor rushed to her.
«Mum, *stop*! Im not *leaving* you!»
«Go to him,» Antonia wailed. «Leave me. I *see* now. You dont *need* me.»
Eleanor held her, shot Peter a desperate look. He stood rigid, face unreadable.
«Choose, Ellie,» he said softly. «Come with me, or stay. But if you stay, its *final*. I wont play these games anymore.»
«*What* games?»
«Shes manipulating you,» Peter said. «Always has. And you *let* her. You always will, under *her* roof.»
Antonia lifted her tear-streaked face.
«See, love? *See* what he is? Wants to *take* you. Steal you from your *mother*.»
Eleanor looked between themthe two people she loved most, waiting for her to pick. And for the first time, she *couldnt*.
«II need time,» she stammered.
«There *is* no time,» Peter said. «Ive paid the rent. We go now, or I go *alone*for good.»
«Dont *bully* her in *my* house!» Antonia snapped. «Shes *my* daughter! *Mine*! Not *yours*!»
«Shes my *wife*,» Peter said icily. «Ill fight for my *family*.»
Eleanor stepped back, inhaled sharply. One clear thought pierced the fogthis would *never* end. If she stayed, her mother would always rule her life. If she left, Peter would never accept Antonia.
«Im staying,» she whispered.
Peter flinched like shed struck him.
«*What*?»
«Im staying, Pete. Mums alone. She *needs* me. We canwe can wait till the renovations»
Antonia smirked at Peter.
«There. A daughter *always* chooses her mother.»
«*Go back to your mother*,» Peter spat, shoving the suitcases onto the landing. «Live with her, if she matters more. But dont expect *me* to wait.»
He turned, vanished down the stairs. Eleanor lurched after him, but Antonia yanked her back.
«Let him go. Hell cool off. Or he wontgood riddance. *We* dont need him.»
Eleanor stared at the shut door, her world crumbling. The choice was made. Right or wrongonly time would tell.
Two weeks later, divorce papers arrived. Eleanor signed without reading. Antonia said nothing, just pursed her lips.
The renovations finished a month later. The flat stood emptyEleanor couldnt bear to go back. She rented it out instead.
Found a new jobfar from Peters office. Started going to films, the theatre. Sometimes even with Antonia, whod softened oddly, grown careful. Maybe afraid of losing her for good.
Some nights, Eleanor cried, missing Peter. Wonderedwhat if shed chosen differently? Gone with him? Would they have been happy?
But life doesnt deal in *what-ifs*. The path was chosen. And Eleanor walked it, day by day, learning to live without him. Learning not to blame her mother, or Peter, or herself.
What lay aheadonly time would tell.
