From a young age, watching my parents, I wished to live as they did and have a happy family of my own. My mother and father could have been models for stories about healthy relationships; neither ever spoke harshly, they always supported one another, and not once did they quarrel. Both worked and earned well, so they were able to put aside a bit for the future.
With such a fine example before me, I chose the best possible husband. Now I am thirty years old, with a five-year-old son. We live with my husband outside London, so I only visit my parents on the weekends.
One Saturday morning, my husband was called away to his work, so my son and I made the journey ourselves to my parents house.
As we approached, I was taken aback to hear, through the open window, a heated argument between my parents. My father was shouting that he was leaving Mother.
I asked my son to play with the cats outside while I went into the kitchen, where my mother sat in tears.
I calmed her and sent my son in to comfort her, then went to speak with my father, unable to believe such a thing could ever take place.
He replied curtly and came straight to the point, telling me he was tired of always being pleasant for our sakes, that he had grown weary of tending to our needs, and now, in his old age, wished to live solely for himself.
Half an hour later, Mother had gathered herself and said,
If youve resolved to leave, then pack your things and find somewhere else to live. I wont give up this house to you.
Father accepted her words calmly and quietly; he didnt want a division of assets, so he began renting a small one-bedroom flat and tried to live life on his terms.
Truthfully, it was a disaster; Father was hopeless in the kitchen, funds were scarce, and he failed to find a companion.
I couldnt understand Fathers behaviour, but I kept silent.
We always celebrated my sons birthday at my parents home, and even my husbands parents would join us. That year was no different, so a week before, I decided to visit Father. His small flat was in disarray, not to mention the overcooked pasta or endless sandwiches he ate at nearly every meal.
Dad, looking at all this, I just cant understand why you left Mum. What was wrong?
You know, darling, I suppose I dont really know myself. I regretted it the very same day, but in that moment I was confused, perhapswell, something like that
Then why didnt you apologise then, or at least now? She misses you, tooIm sure the two of you could put things right.
When we arrived at Mums house for the occasion, Father brought her favourite white tulips. Mother struggled to hide her grin when she saw him, and when she heard he regretted his choice and wanted to come back, she bloomed with delight and told him to bring all his belongings home the very next day.
Once Father returned, my parents, like young lovers, went for walks in the park, visited cafes, took trips, and could hardly bear to be apart even for an hour. Evidently, they simply needed time apart to realise how truly they loved each other.
As I approached my house, I was shocked to hear my parents arguing—my father was yelling that he was leaving my mother.
