You Just Wanted to Control Me – So, changed your mind about the divorce? Crawling back already? Irina smirked, pressing the phone to her ear. Outside, the December sky was turning grey, and in the courtyard below, children were already shouting, sliding on their sleds. – Don’t hold your breath, Anton. I’m calling for something else. A pause hung on the other end. Irina pictured her husband frowning, trying to figure out why she’d called at all. Since she’d left three months ago, taking Sveta with her, they’d only spoken about practicalities. Divorce, splitting assets, child support. Dry, businesslike. No unnecessary words. – New Year’s is coming, – Irina said, keeping her tone cold and factual. – Sveta wants the Christmas tree. – So buy one. – She wants the same one. From last year. With the built-in lights. Remember? You put it in the garage. Anton was silent. Irina could hear him breathing, and the silence felt wrong. Calculated. She knew this trick of his – hold the pause until the other person gets nervous, fidgets, starts to justify themselves. Irina stayed silent in return. – I’ll give it to you, – Anton finally said. – On one condition. – What condition? – We spend New Year’s together. You, me, and Sveta. Like a family. Irina pulled the phone away and checked the screen. Made sure it really was Anton’s number, that she hadn’t misheard. – Not happening. – Then no tree. Irina hung up. Threw the phone on the sofa. Walked to the window and pressed her forehead to the cold glass, closing her eyes. Three months. Three months she’d been clawing her way out of this swamp. And now, over a plastic Christmas tree, he was trying to worm his way back into her life. No. Not this time… The café buzzed with customers. Irina sat across from Masha, her friend since school, warming her hands on a big mug of cappuccino. Outside, snow was falling, passersby wrapped in scarves, and somewhere in the background, soft jazz and holiday tunes played. – Forget about that tree, – Masha broke off a piece of strudel. – Buy a new one. Every supermarket’s full of them. Irina sighed. – The kid wants that one. Every night Sveta asks, “Mum, when will we put up our tree? The one that lights up by itself?” And she looks at me with those eyes… Masha shook her head sympathetically. – So you called Anton for this? – Had to swallow my pride. – Irina grimaced, as if she’d bitten a lemon. – Do you know how humiliating it is? Asking for something from a man you never want to see again? – I can imagine. – Masha reached across the table and covered Irina’s hand with hers. – He was always a piece of work. Remember your birthday… – When he made a scene because Dima from accounting hugged me? – Yeah. Yelled at you the whole way home. Irina sipped her coffee. The bitterness was oddly soothing. – You know, I put up with it for eight years. Eight years, Masha. Constant control, checking up on me. Where I went, who I talked to, why I didn’t reply to a message in three seconds. He counted every penny, questioned every purchase. “Why do you need that dress? Where are you going?” – And after all that, he still cheated, – Masha added quietly. Irina nodded. Her throat tightened for a moment, but she held it together. Not here. Not now. She’d cried enough in the first weeks after finding his messages. – The funniest thing, – Irina said, – is that he still thinks he’s the victim. “You didn’t appreciate me, so I looked for warmth elsewhere.” Can you believe it? Masha snorted. – Classic. All cheaters say that. You did the right thing leaving. Most women in your place… – Most would have stayed. For the child. For stability. To avoid admitting defeat. – Irina twisted a napkin in her fingers. – But I couldn’t anymore. I just couldn’t. The snow outside was falling harder. There was still time before New Year’s. And somewhere in a garage on the other side of Moscow stood a plastic tree with built-in lights – the only thing five-year-old Sveta had asked for. Irina watched the snow and thought about how a mother’s love means doing the impossible. Even talking to someone you wish would disappear from your life forever. Sveta sat on the living room rug, surrounded by crayons and paper. She was drawing a tree. A green triangle, a star on top, and yellow and orange dots all around. The lights. – Mum, when will our tree come?

You always tried to keep me under your thumb

So, changed your mind about the separation? Crawling back, are you?

Eleanor forced a wry smile, gripping the receiver. Beyond the window, a bleak December sky pressed down, and in the communal garden below, childrens laughter rang out as they slid across the frosty flagstones.

Dont flatter yourself, Charles. Ive called for something else.

A pause hung between them. Eleanor pictured her husbands furrowed brow as he tried to decipher her intent. Since shed left three months earlier, taking Emily with her, their conversations had been strictly business: solicitors, splitting the flat, child support. No pleasantries, no affection.

Christmas is nearly here, Eleanor said, her voice clipped and cold. Emily wants the tree.

Then buy one.

She wants the old one. The one from last year, with the fairy lights built in. You put it in the loft, remember?

Charles said nothing. Eleanor heard his breathing, the silence deliberate, stretched out to make her squirm. She knew the tacticlet the quiet drag on until the other person caved and started justifying themselves.

Eleanor refused to fill the gap.

Ill hand it over, Charles said at last. On one condition.

Whats that?

We spend Christmas together. You, me, and Emily. Like a proper family.

Eleanor pulled the phone away, checking the screen to be sure it was really Charles. She hadnt misheard.

Thats not happening.

Then no tree.

She ended the call, tossing the mobile onto the sofa. She drifted to the window, pressing her forehead to the cold glass, eyes closed.

Three months. Three months clawing her way out of that mire. And now, over a plastic tree, he was trying to worm his way back in.

No. Not again.

The café buzzed with life. Eleanor sat across from Alice, her oldest friend, hands wrapped around a hot mug of tea. Outside, snowflakes tumbled, people hurried past in thick scarves, and somewhere in the background, soft jazz played, hinting at the holidays.

Forget the tree, Alice said, forking up a piece of Victoria sponge. Just get a new one. Theyre everywhere in December.

Eleanor sighed.

Its not the same. Emily keeps asking every night, Mum, when are we putting up our tree? The one with the twinkly lights? And she looks at me with those eyes

Alices expression softened, her head tilting in sympathy.

So you rang Charles just for that?

I had to swallow my pride. Eleanor grimaced, as if tasting something bitter. Its humiliating, begging for anything from a man Id rather never see again.

I know. Alice reached over, squeezing Eleanors hand. He was always impossible. Remember your birthday

When he kicked off because Ben from HR gave me a hug?

Exactly. He sulked the whole way home.

Eleanor sipped her tea, the astringency oddly soothing.

I put up with it for eight years, Alice. Eight years of constant scrutiny. Where I was, who I spoke to, why I didnt reply straight away. He tracked every pound, questioned every purchase. Why do you need that coat? Where are you going?

And after all that, he still cheated, Alice murmured.

Eleanor nodded, throat tight, but she held herself together. Not here. Not now. Shed shed enough tears in those first weeks after discovering his messages.

The worst part, Eleanor said, is he still acts like the victim. You never appreciated me, so I looked elsewhere for comfort. Can you believe it?

Alice gave a short, knowing laugh.

Classic. They always say that. You did the right thing leaving. Most wouldnt have the guts.

Most would stay. For the child. For the sake of stability. To avoid admitting its over. Eleanor twisted a napkin, rolling it into a tight spiral. But I couldnt. I just couldnt.

The snow outside thickened, swirling in the streetlights. Christmas was still a little way off. Somewhere, in a loft on the far side of London, sat a plastic tree with golden lightsthe only thing Emily wanted.

Eleanor gazed at the snow, realising a parents love meant doing the unthinkable. Even speaking to someone you wished would vanish forever.

Emily sat on the lounge rug, surrounded by coloured pencils and paper, sketching a tree. A green triangle, a star on top, yellow and orange dotslights.

Mum, when will our tree come home?

Eleanor knelt beside her, stroking her daughters hair. The fair strands smelled of strawberry shampoo and innocence.

Soon, sweetheart.

Will Daddy bring it?

Eleanor hesitated. She paused, searching for words a child could understand. How could she explain why her father wouldnt simply bring the tree, why grown-ups always made things so complicated?

Daddys busy, Eleanor replied softly, choosing her words with care. But the tree will be here, I promise.

Emily nodded, returning to her drawing, adding little presents with bows beneath the branches. Eleanor watched her, heart heavy, knowing shed do anything for this small girl. Even if it meant picking up the phone again.

That evening, after Emily had fallen asleep, Eleanor dialled Charless number. The ringing dragged on before he finally answered.

So, youve decided to call back.

His voice dripped with smugness, making Eleanors jaw clench.

The tree is for Emily. Not for me.

I know that.

Its Christmas, Charles. Cant you just

I could. But you know what I want. His tone was cold, almost rehearsed. Its not blackmail, Eleanor. Its just how things are. He paused, then let out a wounded sigh. You took my family. My daughter. The flat

That flat was my mothers! Eleanors voice wavered, but she steadied herself, glancing at the closed door to Emilys room. Youre the one who broke this family, not me. Shall I remind you who you were messaging?

Oh, here we go again

The tree, Charles. Just let Emily have her tree.

Ive told you what I want.

Youre spoiling your own childs Christmas for this.

No, Eleanor. You are. Because you wont give in for Emilys sake.

Eleanors grip on the phone tightened, knuckles white.

Do you hear yourself?Youre using a Christmas tree as leverage, trying to force your way back into my life. You want to dictate the terms, to make me bend.

Its not like that, Eleanor. Were still married. Emilys my daughter too.

You see her every other weekend, Charles. Thats the arrangement you agreed to.

Thats only because you left!

Eleanor slammed the phone down, her hands trembling. She sat at the kitchen table, staring at the faded pattern in the tablecloth, the ache behind her eyes growing sharper. Three months spent piecing together a new existence, and every conversation with Charles threatened to drag her back into the mire shed fought so hard to escape.

No more. She wouldnt let him hold that power again.

The days blurred together.

Each morning, Emily asked about the tree. Charless texts piled up: Why are you being so stubborn?, Think of Emily, Im waiting for your answer.

On the third evening, Eleanor listened to Emilys chatter about nursery, her friend Sophie, the present she hoped Father Christmas would bring. And, always, the tree.

When Emily was finally asleep, Eleanor sat in the kitchen, staring at the wall, her thoughts circling endlessly. Charles wanted to come for Christmas. She couldnt allow it. But Emily wanted that tree. The very same one. And Charles knew it.

Then, suddenly, a solution flickered.

She fetched her laptop, opened the classifieds. She found last years photosEmily beaming in front of the glowing tree, golden lights sparkling. She posted an advert: Wanted: this exact tree with built-in fairy lights. Urgent.

Her phone buzzed within half an hour. The first reply.

Two days of searching. Five phone calls. One trip to a market in Camden, where a cheerful vendor tried to sell her a battered fir. And finallyWimbledon. A kindly woman in her fifties, selling the very same tree.

My sons off to universitywants a real one now, the woman said, helping Eleanor load the box into a taxi. Let this one bring someone else some joy.

Eleanor paid, rode home, and lugged the box up the stairs.

That evening, when Emily returned from nursery, the tree stood in the lounge. The very samewell, almost. Lush green, soft artificial needles, and most importantly, lights that shimmered gold, as if tiny fireflies lived inside the branches.

Emily froze in the doorway, then squealed with delight.

Our tree! Mummy, its our tree!

She flung her arms around it, pressing her cheek to the plastic boughs. Eleanor watched from the doorway, her smile so wide it hurt.

For the next two hours, they decorated together. Baubles, tinsel, a star for the top. Emily directed, Eleanor followed. When they finished, they switched off the lights and sat on the sofa, watching the golden glow dance across the walls.

The magic of Christmas was restored.

A Saturday morning dawned, sharp with frost. Eleanors mother collected Emily early, promising a trip to the park and pancakes after skating.

Eleanor savoured the quiet. She brewed tea, wrapped herself in a blanket, and let a film play in the background. Outside, snowflakes drifted, blanketing the city in white.

A knock at the door.

Eleanor frowned. She wasnt expecting anyone. She peered through the spyhole, and her heart skipped.

Charles. Holding a large box.

She opened the door, leaving the chain on.

What do you want?

Charles smiled, that old smile shed once loved and now despised.

Ive brought the tree. He hefted the box. Since you wouldnt come for it, I thought Id deliver it myself. All you have to do is agree to my terms.

Eleanor stared at himat the smug tilt of his mouth, the certainty in his eyes. He was so sure hed won, that she was cornered, that she had no choice.

You know what, Charles? Eleanors voice was calm, almost gentle. Weve already put up the tree.

His smile faltered.

What?

The tree. The same one, with the lights. I found it online. Emilys over the moon. She opened the door a fraction wider, letting him glimpse the lounge, where the tree glimmered in the corner. Id show you, but youre not coming in.

Charles stood there, still clutching the box, his face slowly reddening.

You you did this on purpose, he stammered, voice tight.

Eleanors gaze didnt waver. I did what any parent would do, Charles. I made sure Emilys Christmas wasnt something to be bargained with. No strings, no conditions.

He shifted his weight, the box sagging in his arms, his confidence draining away. Youre twisting things. Thats not what this is about.

She shook her head, voice steady as granite. Its always been about control with you. You set the rules, you hold the cards. But thats finished. I wont let you use Emilys happiness as a pawn.

Charless jaw clenched, his eyes darting past her, searching for a foothold. Eleanor, just listen

She cut him off, her tone unyielding. Dont turn up at Christmas. If you do, Ill send you packing, no matter the hour. And if you want to see Emily, you ring first. You stick to the arrangement. No more surprises.

The door closed with a quiet finality. Eleanor leaned against it, letting the silence settle, her breath coming slow and deep. She looked over at the lounge, where the trees golden lights shimmered, casting gentle patterns across the walls. That was Charless last attempt to pull the strings, and it had failed.

She moved to the window, peering down as Charles shoved the box into his car, his movements jerky and frustrated. A faint smile touched her lips. The divorce would be final before the years end. Never again would she let Charles poison her world, or Emilys. This Christmas would be theirspeaceful, bright, and untouched by his shadow.