“Pick Up the Pieces in Your Own Garden”
“Youre such a fool, Emily, an absolute fool! Your Simon will leave you with nothingno home, no security! Hasnt he caused you enough grief over the years?” Mum never minced words when it came to my husband.
“Mum, Simon and I have been together for 37 years, and all this time, youve done nothing but scare me about him! Please, just stay out of it!” I snapped into the phone for what felt like the hundredth time.
I avoided seeing Mum as much as possible. Every conversation circled back to the same pointhow my husband was a scoundrel, a rogue. I was tired of defending him, though, deep down, I knew there was some truth to her words.
…Once, in my younger days, Id left Simon in a moment of anger. Wed had a terrible row, and I ended up in hospital with a concussion. Our five-year-old son, Oliver, had been staying with Mum while I recovered. I thought it was the enddivorce, single motherhood, the lot. When I was discharged, I went straight to Mums.
She sighed heavily and said, “Tell me I was wrong. That mans a monster! Stay here. Dad and I will help you raise Oliver.”
“Ill think about it,” I replied, exhausted, unsure of what to do.
“Theres nothing to think about! That brute could hurt Oliver too! I wont let you go back!” It felt like shed lock us away if she could.
Mum had hated Simon from the start. Shed even hidden my dowry, sneering, “Let your perfect husband dress and feed you.”
…A week later, Simon came to apologise. Mum slammed the door in his face, hurling insults. I only found out laterId been out walking with Oliver at the time.
After a month of reflection, I decided to go back. Every marriage has its rough patches. As they say, husband and wife may quarrel, but they share the same bed. Besides, I loved Simonalways had, always would. Id never been with another man.
I planned my return carefully. Winter was comingwhat better excuse to fetch our warm clothes? So, without telling Mum, I took Oliver and went home.
Simon was overjoyed. The family was whole again. Mum was furious.
…Truthfully, Mum and I had never fought before. She was kind, caring, wonderful. But there was a skeleton in her closeta dusty little secret.
When I was fourteen, I found her diary buried among old magazines in the attic. Id been looking for a globe for geography class. The moment I opened it, I wished I hadnt.
…I learned Id been sent to a childrens home right after birth, despite having plenty of relatives. My father had refused to acknowledge me, telling Mum, “How do I know you didnt get pregnant by someone else?” The man who raised me wasnt my real father. Mum wrote about desperate times, how shed planned to bring me home eventually.
…Shed lived in a village where gossip spread like wildfire. It took my aunts interventionshaming the whole familybefore I was brought back, a year later.
That evening, I confronted Mum with the diary. She didnt even glance at itjust tore it to shreds. But the damage was done.
From that moment, a wall grew between us. I felt betrayed. Anger festered inside me like tar. The invisible threads between mother and daughter had snapped for good.
I swore then that my children would be raised by their real parentsno stepfathers, no stepmothers.
Simon, sensing Mums hatred, suggested having another child. “She wont take you away with two,” he said. I agreed.
Our little George was born. Mum still raged, “Oh, Emily, that tyrants tied you down with George now! Youre such a fool to trust him! Hes cheating left and right. Mark my words, youll regret it!”
She wasnt wrong. Simon had a wandering eye. He was handsome, charmingwomen clung to him like wet leaves. I shed plenty of tears.
The day I ended up in hospital, wed fought over one of his indiscretions. Some brazen girl had turned up at our house, certain Id be at work. But Id left early with a headache.
I walked in on them half-dressed in our bedroom, drinking champagne. The girl bolted, shoving me aside in her rush to escape. I fell, hit my head, and woke up concussed. Simon behavedfor a while.
There were others, of coursecolleagues, old flames, strangers. You cant cage the wind. Still, I was grateful hed never fathered children outside our marriage. That wouldve been a true disaster.
Years later, history repeated itself. Our Oliver got tangled up with another woman and had a daughterwhile still married. Hed learned too well from his father.
Ill never understand what Mum wants. Once your child is grown, your job is done. Be there, visit, love your grandchildrenbut dont meddle. Let them live their own lives, make their own mistakes.
As my nan used to say, “Tend to your own garden.”
Mum and I havent spoken in three years. We sulk in silence while she tells anyone wholl listen that Simon isnt fit to lace my shoes.
But Mummaybe I deserve exactly the man I have.
I wouldnt want any other.
