Thirty years of marriage, and she managed only four words…
Colin, move over. I need to change the bedding.
He shuffled over on the bed with considerable effort, every movement making his numb leg twinge. Diane gave the sheet a sharp yank.
Youve been laid up here for six months now, she muttered, not meeting his eye. Still…
He stayed quiet, no longer troubled by her chronic complaining.
Do you know what I keep thinking? She snapped out a fresh sheet, smooth as a new banknote. Just die already. Youre in my way.
The air hung heavy. Colin felt something inside him tear. She hadnt even said it with angerjust a cold, bone-deep exhaustion and an honesty that froze you.
Did you… What did you say? he whispered.
You heard. Im tired. Im tired of this house, these pills, of you. Just die, and let me finally live.
Diane strode off, the slap of her battered slippers echoing on the laminate floor. Colin stared at the yellowed ceiling and the crack above his bed. That crack had appeared three years ago, after the neighbours upstairs flooded their flat. Back then, hed climbed the ladder himself, filled and painted it over. Now, the crack was spreading, like the lines across his own face, and all he could do was trace its crooked path with his eyes.
Her words were stuck in his throat, like a lump he couldnt swallowJust die already. Four words that erased thirty-two years of marriage, three grown-up children, thousands of evenings spent together, countless arguments and reconciliations. He tried to swallow but his mouth was dry as a vicars sermon. With his right handthe only one that still vaguely workedhe reached for his glass of water.
The stroke came in February, right after hed been lugging bags of concrete on a building site. Felt this odd heaviness in his head, as if someone had dropped a sand-filled helmet on him. Then his left leg buckled, and he toppled straight onto the freezing ground, smack into the stack of cement. Foreman Steve rang 999. The young doctor at the hospital, all scrubbed up and exhausted, told Diane, Its lucky you got him in quickly. But the left side took a real knocking. Recovery is going to take some time.
Six months. Six months of a different kind of suffering in the familypsychological, he realised a bit late. At first, it was little outbursts: Youve put your stick in the wrong place, again! How many times are you going to spill that drink, Colin? You called me in here for that? Then came the wall of cold distance. Diane barely met his eyes. Shed look away when she had to help him to the loo. Today, shed finally snapped.
Colin closed his eyes and remembered being thirty. Broad shoulders, tanned arms that could hoist a bag of cement as if it were cotton wool. Back then, Diane looked at him like he was a rock star. He built their house himself, brick by careful brick. Shed bring up his sandwiches, all neatly wrapped in a tea towel, and theyd sit on the unfinished steps talking about the future. Were going to have a big family, she used to say. And youll build us a happy life.
And so he did. Three bedrooms, a kitchen, a conservatory. Raised three kids. Their son, James, works up in Aberdeen now, on the rigs. Their youngest, Lucy, got married and moved to Cornwall. Only their eldest, Emily, still lived in Manchester, ringing once a week to ask the obligatory, Howre you, Dad?
Colin! Dianes voice sang out from the kitchen. Have you taken your pills?
Not yet, he called back.
Well, do it! Or am I coming in there again?
He reached for the plastic pill organiser. Eight tablets a day. Blue ones for blood pressure, white ones for thinning the blood, yellow for the heart. He popped them into his palm and washed them down. Swallowing was slow goingthe left side of his face still slack, and water slid out of the corner of his mouth. He wiped his chin. Put his head back on the pillow.
Just die already. Those words spun around his head like a stuck record. Maybe she was right? Maybe he was an obstacle. He tried to remember the last time hed seen her smile. A month ago? More? She went about the house like a robot: cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, sorting medicine. But her eyes were flat, like the fish you see in Sainsburys cold counter.
He remembered last night, catching her on the phone with her mate Linda.
Oh, you know, Diane was saying, feet up in the kitchen. Work, house, him… Linda, Im just exhausted. You dont know how relentless it is, looking after someone ill. Every single days the same. I get in from work, feet like cement blocks after a twelve-hour shift at the hospital, and then this… No, Im not complaining. Sometimes I just want it all to be done.
Colin lay there, listening, his fists clenched. For it all to be done. That meant him, presumablyif he was gone, life could return to normal.
The doorbell rang. Diane let in a deep, familiar voice: Alright, Di? Hows it going? Colin any better?
Same as always, Dave. Come on in.
Dave appeared at Colins doorwaytall, silver-bearded and wearing a battered leather jacket. He drove lorries and only dropped by between jobs.
Hows it going, old man? he said, plonking himself down on a chair.
Oh, you know, Colin tried to smile, but it came out lopsided. Surviving.
Getting better?
Im trying, but its slow work.
Dave glanced down at his enormous hands. Pity flickered in his eyes, right next to an obvious urge to bolt out of the suffocating room, thick with the smell of medicine and resignation.
You know, mate, perhaps you should consider a rehabilitation centre? Theyve got specialists, massages, all sorts of
No money, Colin said bluntly.
Maybe the NHS
The waiting lists a year long.
Diane came in with a tray of tea and plopped the cups down. Dont go giving him hope, Dave, she said sharply. Hes here. Thats that.
Dave blinked at her, then looked at Colin, and in that look was a flash of understanding: all was not right in this little home.
Right then, Dave stood, draining his tea. Im off for another run. Ill pop back soon.
As soon as he was gone, Diane was back.
Why do you have to complain to him? she asked coldly.
I wasnt complaining.
Dont try and paint me as the villain.
Im not doing anything.
Exactly. You do nothing. You just lie here.
She left. Colin turned his head and stared out. Outside, cars zipped by, people bustled. Life was happening out there, without him. He was trapped here, stuck in a failing body and the constant verbal jabs that were turning crueler every day.
That evening, Diane set a plate of beans and a dry chop in front of him without a word. He ate slowly, right-handed, dropping crumbs everywhere. She stood in the doorway, staring. Contempt? Weariness? Something worse?
Diane, he croaked.
What?
What you said earlier. Did you mean it?
She sighed, suddenly deflated. Colin, I dont know. Im just desperately tired.
I try not to trouble you.
You do, though. Youre here, and thats trouble enough.
She gathered up the plate and left. Colin was alone again. Their marital crisis, festering for years, was spilling out. He remembered their old rows. Hed have a few pints on a Friday; shed nag. He could be sharp; shed cry then go silent for days. But that was normal marriage. This, though, was something else. Emotional abusehed heard the term on TV, but it felt awfully close.
That night, a sharp pain seized his leg. The useless left one suddenly spasmed. He moaned and struggled to reach it, but couldnt. Diane slept on the sofa in the next room nowa change made since his stroke.
Di! he called. Diane! Help!
The sofa squeaked, and she appeared, hair wild and face grim.
What is it now? she grumbled.
My leg. Cramp. Help, please.
She stomped over and kneaded his calf, hands cold and business-like.
Happy now?
Yesthank you.
Right. No more. Let me sleep.
She was gone. Lying there, tears leaked out. Fifty-nine years old, and he was sobbing like a child. From pain, anger, humiliation.
The next day, the social care lady cameMrs Jenkins, round and cheery, about sixty. She visited each week, ticked some boxes.
How are we today, Mr Smith? she chirped. Feeling alright?
Fine, he lied.
And your mood?
Fine, too.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
You know, if you ever fancy a chat with someone, theres a servicefree of charge.
No need, he looked away. Im perfectly fine.
Diane stood by with a taut smile until Mrs Jenkins left; then her face went cold.
Why tell her anything? We dont need social services poking around.
I wasnt going to.
Good.
The days slid by, merging together. Colin retreated into himself. Stopped bothering with telly or radio. Just lay there, thinking about his lifehis youth, full of energy and plans, the early marriage days when Diane loved him, the birth of all the kids. James, just like him, tough and cheeky; Emily, clever and sensible; Lucy, their giggling baby. He remembered piggybacks, lessons on hammering nails, school runs. Now? Now the kids had their own lives. James called on birthdays: Alright, Dad? Keep your chin up. Lucy sent cash for his prescription and never visited. Only Emily rang with real concern, asking after his health and how Mum was coping.
If only she knew. If only she knew that Diane killed him a little every day with her words. Feeling unwanted gnawed at him more than any illness. At night, he wondered how to become her freedomthere were enough pills to make that happen. Or maybe, just skip the tablets and meals and slip away quietly.
One evening, Diane came in late. He listened to her giggling on the phone in the hallway, voice softer and lighter than hed heard in months.
No, Ill definitely be there. Saturdays finehell be on his own, and nothing will happen to him.
Who was she talking to? Where was she off to?
She entered his room, and he feigned sleep. From the kitchen, he could hear her humming. She hadnt done that in ages.
On Saturday, Diane dressed upa blue frock he barely rememberedand dabbed on her perfume.
Im off to Lindas for her birthday, she said. Back late. Theres food in the fridgeyou can heat it, yes?
Ill manage, he replied.
Dont burn down the house.
She left. The house felt eerily quiet for the first time in months. All he could hear was the clock ticking, cars outside, the floor creaking as he shuffled to check the kitchen.
The fridge was bare but for a jar of pickles and a shrivelled bit of ham. Shed lied. No food. Shed left him alone, hungry, without a backward glance. Or maybe, shed just stopped caring.
He went back to bed. His stomach grumbled, but asking Dave to bring food would only humiliate him further. Diane returned at midnight, noisy and tipsy, bumping into every piece of furniture.
Youre up? she said, at his door.
Yes.”
I was with Linda. Brilliant night, lots of laughs.
She giggled, a little too much.
Colin, do you know what I realised there? Im not old yet. Theres life in me still. A real life.
Im glad, he said, turning to the wall.
Dont be cross. Its not my fault youre like this. I deserve some happiness too.
She stank of cheap wine and someone elses cigarettes as she left. Colin closed his eyes. That support for families malarkey they wittered on about on telly wasnt for people like them. No one was going to help. Thered be no rescue.
Another week rolled past. Diane was out more and morelate at work, off with friends. Colin stopped asking. He just lay there, waiting. For death, a miracle, or simply an end.
Then one morning, Emily phoned.
Hi, Dad! Howre you?
Im alright, love.
Im coming down tomorrow. Booked a week off. Need to see you.
Colins heart sank. She didnt need to see this.
Honestly, you dont have to. Youre busy…
Nonsense, Dad. I miss you. Does Mum know?
Not yet.
Ill ring her. See you tomorrow!
The day Emily arrived, the house was a flurryDiane was cleaning, cooking, fussing as if for a grand performance. Colin watched her, staying silent.
When Emily gets here, Diane said, eyes on the floor, lets not say anything, alright? She doesnt need more worries.
I wont say a word, he replied gently.
Thats right. Were a normal familygot it?
Emily breezed in, tall and grown up, her dark hair in a ponytail. She hugged him, fiercelytoo fierce, really.
Dad, youre so thin!
Just not much appetite, thats all.
You need proper food if youre going to get stronger.
Dinner saw Diane beaming, all chat and jokes. Emily told stories about work, her husband, their next holiday. Colin nodded and smiled when he remembered to. He felt like a prop in someone elses theatre.
Afterwards, Emily offered to take the bins out, then came into his room.
Fancy sitting in the garden, Dad? Night air will do us good.
They sat outside, the garden smelling of grass and late-blooming lilac. Emily perched next to him on the bench.
Dad, she said quietly, tell me the truth. How are you, really?
Im fine, Em.
No, youre not. You look… beaten. And Mums different. Whats going on?
He hesitated. His daughter, his flesh and blood. She was staring at him, anxious, and for the first time he couldnt shoulder the pain alone.
Love, I think I really am in the way, he admitted softly, staring at the dusk.
Emily stiffened.
What do you mean? In the way of whom?
Your mum. Everyone. I just lie here and ruin things.
Did Mum say that to you?
He didnt answer. Emily grabbed his hand.
Tell me, Dad. Whats this about?
So, he told her. Stumbling over the words, he described her mothers icy words, the disdain, the loneliness, the feeling of being a burden no one wanted. The nights hed thought about ending it all, the shame and humiliation.
Emilys tears dripped steadily.
Dad, she whispered, Why didnt you call me?
I didnt want to be a bother. Youve got your own life.
Youre my father! This is my life, too.
She wiped her cheeks, resolved.
Thats enough. Ill speak to Mum. We cant go on like this.
Dont fight over me, Em.
Its not about you. Its about her. Dad, what shes doing is… its betrayal. I dont know how to manage betrayal in a marriage. But you cant just take it silently. Abuse is never normal.
Colin looked at his daughter. There was fire in her eyes. And, somewhere in the black void where his pain lived, he felt a spark of something elsenot hope, not exactly. Just the realisation that maybe, just maybe, he wasnt alone. That maybe someone still saw him as a man, rather than excess baggage.
I dont know, love, he said, voice quiet. I really dont know what to do.
Well figure it out. Together. Tomorrow, well talk it through. For now, you get some rest.
He made his way back inside with his stick. At the door, he looked backEmily was curled on the bench, hugging her knees, staring into the night. For the first time in six months, hed let his pain out into the world.
What next? A row with Diane? A split? Change? Or would Em leave, and things go back to silence and that cracking ceiling?
He got into bed and shut his eyes. Just die already still echoed in his head, but now, so too did Youre my father. Maybe, as long as her voice was there, there was still some reason to persevere. Not for himself, but for the possibility of mattering to someone again.
He couldnt sleep, hearing snippets of his wife and daughters tense, muted exchange in the kitchen, then silence. In the morning, Diane came in, puffy-eyed and shaken.
Colin, she started, voice trembling, Emily told me what you said. About… those things.
He stared at the ceiling.
I never meant it like that. Im at my wits end. You cant imaginework, house, you. Im like a hamster on a wheel. You just lie there and
I try, every single day, he interrupted softly.
You cant even pour your own water! I do everything for you!
Do you think I wanted this, Diane? Do you think this is what Id choose?
She wiped her face.
No, of course. I know. But Im burnt out, Colin. All washed out inside. Burnout from being a carerits real. Its like theres nothing leftno love, no sympathy, nothing.
He searched her face for anger, but found pain instead. She was suffering too, in her way.
Maybe we both need help, he said. Not just meboth of us.
And pay for a therapist? With what?
There are free services. Mrs Jenkins mentioned them.
She says a lot, that one.
Diane turned away, but stopped at the door.
You know whats scariest? she said, not looking back. That sometimes, I do wish it would end. Then I hate myself for thinking it. But its there.
She left. Colin realised their relationship with illness had become a vicious circle of blame and pain. She resented his helplessness; he resented her harshness. In truth, they were both drowning, and no one was reaching in to pull them out.
Emily stayed three days. She got him a consultant appointment, sorted some physiotherapy in an NHS clinic. She found a support group online for carers and arranged, with James help, to pay for a visiting carer a couple of times a week.
Before leaving, she called a family meeting.
Mum, Dad, Emily said squarely. This is not right. You both need help.
Help with what? Diane retorted. Hes ill. Thats not changing.
But you can change how you handle it. Mum, you cant do this alone. James is sorting money for a carer, just so you get time off.
A stranger in the house?
Better that than what youve become. Dad, youve got to keep at the rehabnot let yourself fade out.
Ill try, Colin agreed.
And talk. Really talk. Not hurl blamejust say how you feel. There are free family counsellors. Please, just try.
After she left, quiet returned. Diane was distracted, less snappy. Colin went to therapytwice a week, Dave dropped him off. There, he met othersa woman post-heart-attack, a young lad in a chair, a man missing a legall fighting to get back life, each in their own weary silence.
Within a month, Mrs Harris, a carer in her fifties, started popping in. She helped with baths, made Allan lunch, set out his pills. On carer days, Diane was out all day and came back less tense. Once, she even said, You know, I went to the hairdresser today. First time in ages. Had a coffee and read a magazine. Felt human again.
Thats good, Colin replied.
They spoke little, carefully, trying out a new way of being. The hostility had ebbed, but left behind only emptiness. Too many wounds, too much said.
One night, burdened, Colin asked: Diane, do you regret saying what you did? About wanting me to die?
She paused. I do. I never meant it aloud. But it was there, insideI hate that it came out.
I get it.
Do you?
Yes. I know Ive become a burden. I know how hard this is. You want your life back, and Ive stolen it.
Diane sat beside him. You didnt steal it. The stroke did. Im angryat fate, not you. But youre here, so you get the brunt.
What now?
I honestly dont know. Maybe well just figure it out.”
What if we can’t?”
She looked at him, weary, but honest. Then maybe we make choices. Actually make them.
She left. For the first time, Colin understoodhe had a choice, too. Not just to wait for death or eviction, but to act. He could move in with Emily, go for sheltered housing, try living alone if his recovery held, or even stay, but insist on respect. He was more than just a patient, after all.
A few more weeks, and he improved again. His left arm began to work enough for spoons and shirts. His leg was almost moving. He started reading the paper, watching the news, letting the world back in. The feeling of uselessness hadnt vanished, but it no longer drowned him.
Diane started going to a support group. The first week, she came home with a red face, but softer somehow.
There were other womenall as tired as me. Im not the only one. It turns out, feeling like I do doesnt make me a monster.
Youre not a monster, Colin told her, simply. Youre human.
They looked at each other. Thirty years togetherchildren, a housecouldnt just be rubbished.
One evening, Dave joined Colin in the garden. They sipped tea and watched the city lights shimmer.
You know, youre different, pal, Dave said.
How?
I dont know. Livelier. You actually look like youre here, rather than halfway out.
Colin grinned, Maybe I am waking up a bit.
Ever thought of leaving? I mean, leaving Diane?
I did.
And?
Not for me. I want to see if theres anything to save. Or if not, at least finish with some dignity.
Stubborn as ever.
Not stubborn. Just dont want her just die already to be the last word between us.
Evenings came and went. Colin wasnt fixated on dying. For once, he wanted to liveillness, pain and all. To live like a man with choices, not just as a burden.
That night, Diane asked, What did you talk about with Dave?
Oh, you knowlife.
Colin, do you…do you really think we can try again? Start over?
He met her gaze. She looked exhausted, but maybejust maybethere was a sliver of hope, or at least fear of ending up alone.
I dont know if we can. I dont know if itll work. But I want to try before giving up.
And if it doesnt?
Then at least well know we gave it a go.
She nodded, wiped her eyes. Alright. Well try.
Colin lay awake that night. Overhead, the crack was just a crack, after allmaybe one day hed fix it, or maybe not. For now, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was alive, still breathing, still here.
Dianes wordsthose sharp, deadly wordsremained, as a scar might. But hed learned to live with scars. Not forgive, not always forget, but go forward despite them. Perhaps thats all dignity isrefusing to give in, even when every part of you says, “Just pack it in.”
He closed his eyes. Tomorrow was another daypills, appointments, lunch with Mrs Harris, perhaps a few words with Diane. It would be life, difficult and unglamorous and real, not merely a slow shuffle towards nothing.
And somewhere, softly, another inner voice: not Dianes just die, and not even Emilys youre my Dad, but his own: Im still here. I still matter. I can still choose.
It wasnt joy, or triumph, or fame. But it was enough of a reason to keep going. Sometimes, thats quite enough.
