Veronica Clarke stood beside the office door, watching Ian and his mother walk out as if they had come to make peace.
Mrs. Clarke, you realize there are complaints about you? Three this month! Thats no way to work!
She was in the matrons office, fists clenched, cheeks flaming, a lump stuck in her throat.
Im doing everything by the book, Margaret. That Mrs. Cratch nitpicks every tiny detail. Shes impossible, never satisfied.
Whether shes impossible or not, you must speak to patients properly. Youre a nurse, not
Not what? Veronica snapped sharper than she intended. Not a doormat that has to endure rudeness?
The matron exhaled, slipped off her spectacles and rubbed her bridge tiredly.
Veronica, I know youre in a rough patch. Divorces are hard. But work is still work. Take some leave, rest a bit. I dont know how else to protect you.
Veronica left the office, tears barely held back. A rough patch seemed to promise that a holiday would fix everything. It had been six months since Ian walked out, and the wound still festered. Each day felt like a trial: the job, the empty flat where her own footsteps echoed back at her.
In the oncall room Lucy waited, the only colleague Veronica could really confide in.
So, whats the news? Lucy asked kindly.
They offered me a break. They say my nerves are fraying.
Maybe you should actually go somewhere, get away.
Veronica shook her head.
Where would I go? Ians alimony is a handful of pennies, and his mother has slipped me some contracts. She says his income is tiny and the flat is in her name.
Youre a shrew, Lucy sighed. I told you not to sign those papers.
I thought we were a family. I never imagined he could act like this.
Veronica poured tea from a thermos, sank into a worn chair, hands trembling. She was exhaustedfrom the job, from the thoughts, from the endless ache in her chest.
Lucy, have I really changed? Am I becoming angry?
Lucy sat closer, a hand on Veronicas shoulder.
Youre just defending yourself. After twenty years with a man, he just up and left for a younger woman with no kids. Who wouldnt feel bitter?
I dont want to be angry, Veronica finally broke, tears streaming down her cheeks. I just want a normal life, without this pain.
That evening she trudged home on foot to save on transport. October was cold and drizzly; wet leaves stuck to her shoes, wind slipped under her coat collar. She stared at the ground, lost in thought.
When Ian left, it seemed like a nightmare you could never wake from. He would come home, hang his coat, ask what was for dinner. Shed tell him about her day, he about his. An ordinary, familiar life.
Instead, his mother, Nora Peters, arrived with papers and a frosty expression. She claimed Ian needed space, that Veronica had smothered him with care, that love was long gone. Veronica listened, barely recognizing the woman shed called Mum for years.
The flat is in my name, thats my property, Nora said, tapping the table. But I wont throw you out. Stay until you sort yourself.
Ive lived here twenty years, Veronica whispered. Ian and I renovated, bought furniture
Bought it with my money, Nora cut in. Remember, Ian is my son and Ill always be on his side.
Silence fell. Veronica packed, moved into a council flat on the outskirts: tiny, dim, shared kitchen that smelled of cats, a neighbour who sipped cheap whisky. It was her space now, something no one could strip away.
Approaching the building she saw a familiar black sedan parked by the entrance the one Ian had bought half a year ago. Her heart tightened. He must be nearby.
Climbing the stairs she heard voices. On the landing, Ian and Nora stood, Nora gesturing wildly, Ian nodding.
Veronica! Ian shouted, seeing her first. At last! Weve been waiting an hour.
She fumbled for her keys, but Nora stepped in front of the door.
Wait, we need to talk.
Theres nothing to talk about, Veronica tried to stay calm, though she trembled inside. Please let me through.
Come on, Vera, dont be like that, Ian stepped closer, looking older, tired, bags under his eyes, cheeks hollow. Were here to make up.
Veronica froze. Make up? after six months of silence, after the humiliations, after Noras eviction of her from the home shed poured her soul into.
Make up? she repeated slowly.
Yes, Ian finally sees his mistake, Nora cooed. That girl he left was just after his money. Hes remorseful, wants to return.
Return, Veronica echoed, as if hearing an echo.
Yes, home. Were a family, after all. Twenty years together, you cant just throw it all away.
Ian extended his hand, but Veronica stepped back.
Lets go inside, talk normally. Ill explain everything.
Explain? anger boiled inside her. What will you explain, Ian? How you slipped out in the night saying you loved someone else? Or how your mother kicked me out of the flat Id built a life in?
Veronica, dont start, Nora pressed her lips together. We come with good intentions.
Good intentions? Veronica laughed, a harsh, bitter laugh that startled herself. Youre here because your son is alone, because the girl he ran after turned out smarter than me. She used him and tossed him aside, and now you expect me to take him back.
You dont understand, Ian tried, but she cut him off.
I understand perfectly. Six months ago you said I smothered you, that there was no love left, that you needed space. And you were right.
Veronica
No, let me finish. I truly smothered you. I ironed your shirts for thirtyfive years, cooked your favourite meals, tolerated your mothers endless meddling. I gave up my career because you wanted a housewife. I never had children, and I endured your mothers accusations that I was defective.
I never said those things, Ian paled.
You didnt say them, but you were silent while your mother hurled them at me. Silent while I wept.
Nora sighed loudly.
Enough, Veronica. Stop digging up the past. Ian is apologising. Isnt that enough?
Its not enough, Veronica met Noras gaze. In these six months I finally realised Ive been living for the first time in twenty years. Yes, its hard. Yes, Im in a council flat, moneys tight, but this is my life. No one can tell me its wrong.
Maybe we should go in? Ian looked toward the neighbours door, where footsteps sounded. We dont need strangers watching
Strangers? Veronica smirked. To you theyre strangers. To me theyre neighbours, and they treat me better than you and your mother ever did.
How dare you! Nora snapped. I was like a mother to you!
A mother doesnt throw you out onto the street, Veronica replied evenly. A mother doesnt take the roof from a woman who cared for her son for twenty years.
The flat is mine on paper!
On paper, yes. But on conscience
Conscience isnt relevant, Nora snapped. The law is the law.
Veronica nodded.
Youre right. The law is the law. So I ask for nothing: no flat, no money, no apologies. Just leave and never appear in my life again.
Wait, Veronica, Ian grabbed her wrist. Im truly sorry. I was a fool. That Christine
I dont care about Christine, what she did, why she left. Im over it, Ian. Completely.
But we spent years together! We had love!
We did, Veronica admitted. At least I loved. You you seemed to love convenience, habit.
She turned to the door, slid the key in, her hands steady now. A strange calm settled over her, the kind that had not visited for months.
Ian, tell her! Nora nudged her son. Dont just stand there like a statue!
Mum, wait
I didnt sit in traffic for two hours just so this stubborn woman could drive us out! Veronica, youll regret this! Men like my Ian are hard to find!
Veronica glanced at Noras painted face, her expensive coat, the way she commanded her son. Then at Ian, head lowered like a guilty schoolboy.
Youre right, Mrs. Peters, she said softly. Men like him are hard to find. Thats why Im not looking for any.
Youll regret it! Nora shouted. Who will you be at fortythree? Youre past your prime. Youll be alone!
Maybe, Veronica shrugged. But better alone than with those who dont value you.
She opened the door and stepped through, closing it behind her. She leaned against it, eyes shut, the muffled voices beyond fading into the hum of an elevator.
In her tiny room she kicked off her shoes, collapsed onto the bed. Silence wrapped her, but it no longer felt frightening. It felt like a weight finally lifted.
Her phone buzzed. Lucy.
Hey, hows it going? Handled Cratch?
Veronica smiled, typing back.
Handled it. And more.
She rose, walked to the window. Night had fallen; streetlights flickered, the city breathed its ordinary rhythm. Buses rumbled, people hurried. She was part of that flow nowno longer anyones wife or daughterinlaw, just Veronica.
Morning found her waking to a sunbeam through a thin curtain. The first thought was whether yesterday had been real or a dream. No, it was real: Ian and his mother had stood at her door, pleading for reconciliation, and she had turned them away.
She rose, did her exercises. The past six months shed started looking after herself: morning runs, a yoga class at the community centre, not to please anyone but to reclaim time.
At work Lucy immediately noticed a change.
Youre glowing, she said. What happened?
Igor I mean Ian showed up with his mother. They wanted to make up, Veronica replied.
And you? Lucy asked.
I sent them away, politely but firmly.
Lucy whistled, then hugged her.
Youre brilliant. Im proud of you.
I didnt sleep at all last night, thinking. I realised Id spent twenty years in the shadow of his wishes, his mothers, his choices. Id forgotten who Veronica is, what she loves, what she wants.
What do you want now? Lucy pressed.
Veronica hesitated.
Im not sure yet. But I definitely dont want to return to how things were. Its like breaking out of a cagescary at first, uncomfortable, then you realise you can fly.
Beautifully said, Lucy smiled. What if he comes back?
He wont. I saw his face. He expected me to throw myself at him, thank him for his return. When that didnt happen, he was lost. People like that cant fight for anything.
The next day Veronica went to the matrons office.
Margaret, about the leave. I think I really need a week off.
Of course, Veronica. Well arrange it for next week. Any plans?
Im thinking of visiting my sister in the countryside. Its been ages.
Her sister, Gail, lived in a hamlet three hundred miles away, a thatched cottage with a garden of roses and apples, a ginger cat purring on the windowsill, geraniums on the sill.
Gail threw her arms wide.
Veronica, my dear, come in, come in!
The house smelled of fresh bake and autumn fruit.
Youve lost weight, Gail noted, pouring tea. And you look a shade paler.
Im just changed, Veronica said shortly.
Thank heavens! Gail clapped her hands. I always said that Ian was no good for you. Hes just a mothers drudge.
Veronica laughed, remembering Gails bluntness.
The funny thing is, yesterday they came to make up. That girl he left for, she must have finally shown him the light.
And you sent them away?
Exactly.
Gail nodded approvingly.
Right then, live for yourself. Youre still young, beautiful. Lifes ahead.
Im fortythree, Gail. Isnt that the end?
When do you think life ends? My neighbour is fiftyeight and just got married last year to a widower. Shes thriving.
Veronica spent ten days with Gail, wandering forests, gathering mushrooms, helping with chores. Gail never pried into the past, never gave advice, just was there.
One evening on the porch, tea sweetened with honey, the sun slipping behind the hills, turning the sky pink, Gail asked,
Veronica, ever thought of moving here permanently?
Here? Why?
Its quieter. My house is big enough, theres work at the local clinic. Pays lower than the city, but you wont have the stress.
Veronica stared at the rolling fields, the hush, the absence of every reminder of Ian.
I dont know. It would mean leaving everything behind.
What would you be leaving? The council flat? The job where they never value you? The city where every corner might hold a ghost of your ex?
Veronica said nothing, but the thought lingered.
Back in the city the fatigue returned: grey sky, sootstained streets, crowds rushing. The council flat greeted her with a whiff of mould and a shouting neighbour. Work was unchanged: the same Mrs. Cratch complaining, the same Margaret sighing. Lucy welcomed her return but noticed Veronicas distant gaze.
Whats on your mind? Lucy asked over lunch.
Gail suggested I move out here.
And youll go?
Im not sure. Part of me feels its fleeing, the other part thinks it might be exactly what I need: a fresh start, a new place.
Lucy was silent.
Veronica, Ill support whatever you choose. Just think it through. Village life is different. There are its own rules, its own rhythm. You wont regret it?
Maybe I will. But staying here, Im sure Ill regret it.
The decision came one evening as Veronica walked home from work and saw Ian leaning against a shop window, arm around a young woman who wasnt the one hed left her for. They laughed, chatting.
She froze. Six months had passed since the stairwell showdown, and now he was already with someone new. She hadnt expected him to be perpetually grieving.
Ian caught her eye, looked startled. The woman asked him something, he answered without taking his gaze off Veronica, then they walked on without a word to her.
Veronica stood in the middle of the street and burst into laughter, absurd and free, ignoring the bewildered looks of passersby. She laughed because she finally understood: she didnt need this life, these people, these memories, this pain.
The next day she handed in her resignation.
Are you serious? Lucy stared, disbelief flashing.
Absolutely. Im off to Gails. Starting a new life.
What about the flat? The stuff?
I have very few things. Ill take what I need, give away the rest or toss it.
Lucy hugged her.
Ill miss you. Promise youll call.
I promise.
Packing took a week. Two suitcases and a bag held everything Veronica owned.
She walked the city one last time, entered the park where she and Ian had once strolled, lingered by the building theyd never truly called home.
On the bus she watched the familiar streets recede, the city staying behind, the unknown ahead. Fear was gone. For the first time in years she felt no terror.
At the coach station Gail waited.
Arrived for good? she asked.
For good, Veronica nodded.
And for the first time in a long while she truly smiled, without bitterness, without hurt.
Life in the village was hard, but Veronica never regretted her choice. She found work at the local health centre, rented a cosy cottage near Gails. Evenings were spent on the porch, sipping tea, chatting about everything and nothing.
Sometimes she recalled the day shed flung Ian and his mother out the door, the tremor in her hands as she shut it, the terror of being alone. Now she knew that moment had been the seed of her real life, a life where she finally became the heroine of her own story.
