“Your family isnt our concern,” declared her husband as he packed his suitcase.
“Lillian, did you send them money again?” Edward stood in the bedroom doorway, a bank receipt in hand, his face tight with displeasure.
“Mum needed medicine, and her pension barely covers anything,” Lillian replied softly, her hands trembling slightly as she ironed his crisp white shirt with steady strokes.
“How much longer must this go on? Every month, its something newmedicine for your mother, repairs for your sister, tuition for your nephew!” Edward flung the receipt onto the dresser. “We can scarcely make ends meet ourselves, yet you support half your family!”
Setting the iron down, Lillian turned to him, her eyes brimming but her voice steady.
“Ed, shes my mother. She raised me alone after Dad left. She worked two jobs so I could finish university. How can I not help her now?”
“Helping is one thing, but *this*” he jabbed at the receipt, “this is too much. Five hundred pounds in a month! We couldve taken a proper holiday with that, instead of spending every weekend at your relatives cottage!”
Silently, Lillian hung the shirt. Three years of marriage, and the same argument every time. At first, Edward had been understanding, even kind toward her family. But something had shifted.
She remembered last winter, when her mother had been hospitalised. The doctors said she needed an operationsix months on the waiting list, or £3,000 privately. Lillian had sold her jewellery, taken out a loan. Edward had raged when he found out.
“You didnt even consult me! Am I not your husband? Or does my opinion mean nothing?”
“She could have died,” was all Lillian had whispered.
“Your family isnt our concern,” hed said then, too, packing a bag. “If you choose them over me, go live with them.”
Hed left for a week, returning only when shed nearly given up hope. Hed apologised, said he understoodher mother meant everything to herbut begged her not to spend such sums without his consent.
“Lillian, are you listening?” Edwards voice snapped her back to the present.
“I am,” she nodded. “What do you want from me?”
“I want you to realise*we* are the family. Husband and wife. Not you, your mother, sister, and that whole crowd. I have dreams tooa new car, a house in the countryside. Yet our money vanishes to God knows where.”
She sat on the bed, hands folded. Edward was handsome, successfula manager at a respected firm. When theyd met, hed seemed like a prince: flowers, fine restaurants, sweet words. Most of all, hed seemed to accept her, obligations and all.
“You used to say family was sacred. Remember?” she asked quietly.
“I did. I meant *our* family. Not this” He waved a hand dismissively.
The phone rang. Her sister, Margaret.
“Hello?” Lillian answered, eyeing Edward.
“Lil, its awful,” Margarets voice shook. “Johnnys crashed the car. Hes fine, but the cars totalledand it was on finance. No car, still the debt.”
“Good Lord,” Lillian paled. “Is he truly unhurt?”
“Bruised, but heartbroken. Talking of joining the Army, says hes a failure.”
“Margaret, dont panic. Well sort it. Hes alivethats what matters.”
“Lil, could you lend us something? Just to cover part of it?”
Edwards stare burned into her. She turned to the window.
“Lets talk tomorrow, all right? I cant think straight now.”
She hung up, met Edwards icy glare.
“Dont you dare,” he said flatly. “I mean it, Lillian.”
“Hes my nephew. I held him as a baby when Margaret was at work.”
“I dont care. Im done. Every week, its someoneteeth, roof, tuition. When do *we* matter?”
She watched children playing outside, their laughter faint through the glass. Once, life had been simplebefore her mother aged, before Margarets divorce, before love became a ledger.
“Remember our first visit to Mums?” she asked, not turning. “She cooked all dayroast beef, trifle. You said her potatoes were the best youd ever had.”
“Lillian, dont change the subject.”
“Im not. Im remembering. She was so happy Id found a good man. Said, ‘Lillian, he looks at you like youre made of starlight. Treasure each other.’ When we left, she gave us jamthat strawberry one you loved.”
“That was years ago,” he muttered.
“Three. Is that so long?”
He avoided her gaze.
“Whats changed, Ed? Why are you so different?”
“Im not. Ive just realised were being used. Your mother, sisterthey know youll never say no.”
“*Used?*” Her chest tightened. “Mum raised me alone for twenty years. Worked herself to the bone. When I had pneumonia at uni, she took unpaid leave, sat by my bed for weeks. Is that *using* me?”
“Lillian”
“And Margaret? When her husband left her with two babies, who helped? *Me.* Mum too. We minded the children, paid bills, kept her from breaking. Was that *using*?”
He said nothing. She picked up the receipt.
“Five hundred pounds,” she said quietly. “Mums heart scan£100 privately instead of waiting months. Medicine£200. Margarets groceries£200, because her youngest was ill, and she lost a weeks wages.”
“Enough,” Edward sighed. “It always ends with me the villain. But maybe I just want a normal life? A life for *us*?”
“Dont we have one?”
“No!” he burst out. “Every weekend at your mothers. Every holiday with your family. Half my salary gone. When do *we* live?”
She gripped her knees. It was true. But how could she abandon them?
“I cant leave Mum,” she whispered. “Shes alone, ill. She has no one but us.”
“And you have a husband. Or had.”
The words struck like a verdict. Edward yanked shirts from the wardrobe, stuffed them into his case.
“Youre leaving?”
“Thinking on it. Im tired of being a stranger in my own marriage.”
“We could compromise”
“Compromise?” He laughed bitterly. “Help them *every other* crisis? Visit *half* the weekends? The problem remains.”
“Then what do you want?”
“A life of our own. Were young. We could have children, a home. Instead, we fund other peoples lives.”
“*Other people?*” Her voice broke. “Theyre my *family*, Ed.”
“Not mine. Your family isnt our concern,” he repeated, hefting his case.
She stared out the window, hollow with grief. She loved himbut how could she betray those whod loved her first?
“Mum asked when were visiting,” she said to the glass. “She misses us. She thinks youre goodsays shes grateful you let me help her.”
He paused, then snapped the case shut.
“Good men are rare,” Lillian continued. “Mum always said family means standing together. Maybe shes wrong. Maybe times have changed.”
“They have,” he agreed. “And people.”
He opened the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To my parents. To think. You should tooabout what really matters.”
“Ed, wait”
“Whats left to say? You wont change. Neither will I.”
The door clicked shut. The cars engine growled, then faded.
Her phone buzzedMargaret: *”Lil, how are you? Johnnys beside himself. Maybe well visit tomorrow?”*
Lillian didnt reply. She boiled the kettle, sat in the silent kitchen as dusk fell.
Her mothers waiting smile. Margarets struggles. Johnnys fear. Edwards ultimatum.
Her heart split clean in twoeach half pulling her somewhere she couldnt refuse.
The kettle whistled. Another message arrivedher mother this time: *”Lillian, darling, I miss you. Call me?”*
She dialled.
“Mum? How are you feeling?”
