I Want a Divorce,” She Whispered, Turning Away with a Heavy Heart.

22January Im seated at the kitchen table, the old kettle humming, and I cant stop the words from spilling out of me. I want a divorce, she whispered, looking away from my face. It was a bleak evening in London, and Poppys voice trembled as she turned her eyes from mine.

My complexion went ashen in an instant, a heavy silence hanging between us.

Im giving you back to the woman you truly love, she said, realizing that the most important woman in my life had always been my mother. Im tired of being the understudy.

A lump formed in my throat, my eyes grew wet. The pain and years of disappointment surged, choking the breath from my chest.

What are you talking about? Which other woman? I asked, stunned, staring at her in disbelief.

Weve talked about this so often. Since our wedding your mother has been draining us financially, emotionally and with her time. And you accept it all because her tea is stronger and her scones are fluffier. I cant bear it any longer, Poppy burst out.

Tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. She mourned the dreams she once held so clearlya promising fiancé, a respectable career, a life in central London that had always seemed a struggle for personal happiness.

Five years earlier she had timidly stepped into the grand sittingroom of our flat. The furniture, the crockery, the décoreverything looked expensive and fragile to a girl who had spent most of her life in shared houses and, until recently, a student hall.

How could I ever be lucky enough to find a man with his own flat? she had said with a wry smile, placing her hands on my shoulders.

Just wait until I leave my socks everywhere, then tell me how impressed you are, Id replied.

Our romance had blossomed quickly, demanding a sequel. At the time she was in her final year of journalism at Oxford, while I was five years older, working as a sales manager with a solid salary.

A year after we moved in together we married.

Soon we can turn the guest room into a nursery, Poppy once said, hugging me and hinting that she was ready for a child.

But a month later an unexpected addition arrived: my mother, Mrs. Bennett, stood on our doorstep with two suitcases. From her point of view she had an excellent relationship with her son.

Her upbringing, steeped in constant guilt and the demands of a selfmade man, had raised a son who felt indebted to her. She was proud that I had made something of myself and believed it was all thanks to her.

Every payday I paid off debts for the flat, the car and my own upbringing. Poppy watched from the sidelines, never wanting to upset our marriage, and only raised the subject cautiously now and then.

Where did you invest the money from selling the house? Poppy asked one afternoon while pouring tea, bringing up the matter gently. Mrs. Bennett had come from a small village near Cambridge, where she inherited a modest cottage with a garden.

Each year I offered to help her find a place in the city, but she refused to move. Suddenly she sold her cottagequickly, but for a low price.

Partly for my future holidays, partly to fund my new business, she explained.

Despite the hardships of her youth, Mrs. Bennett remained ambitious, active, and very domineering. People who dealt with her learned to tread carefully; she was known for biting back if you extended a friendly hand.

Recently shed discovered an online cosmetics firm. The contract required a substantial monthly purchase of products. She ploughed the proceeds from the house sale into that investment.

Ive decided it wont be a problem to stay here, she declared, stirring honey into her tea.

Of course, we love having guests! Poppy replied, hoping it was just a temporary arrangement. Ill ask my friend, shes an estate agent, and shell find us a better flat in a nice neighbourhood.

No need. Two flats are too much. Well save by staying with me, its fine, Mrs. Bennett retorted, positioning herself as the victim of circumstance.

I stared at Poppy, expecting her to understand. I had nothing against my mother, but sharing our home permanently was a heavy burden that made no sense. I shrugged and said, Do what you like.

My mothers ideaswhether macramé, candlemaking, soapcasting, diarybinding or photoalbum compilingalways got my backing. She saw a gold mine in me, funding all the supplies and paying for a comfortable life, while she herself never lifted a finger since becoming a housewife.

My childhood loyalty to my mother, thanking her for my upbringing, suppressed my own will. It manifested not only in disproportionate financial support but also in blind agreement with everything she said or did. It astonished me how an adult could be so easily swayed, acting no wiser than a child.

The guest room never became a nursery, and three years later little had changed. I was still in sales, and Poppy was now a journalist whose pieces appeared in the Family & Relationships section of a major newspaper. She illuminated happy and sad stories, analysing them psychologically, yet she could not bring clarity to our own home. Her voice was reduced to the background while Mrs. Bennett wielded the family scepter.

She understood the risk: a single child of a single mother marrying a man whose mother would claim all his time and moneya danger only resolvable by focusing on oneself.

In my mothers mind, entitlement mixed with the belief that I owed her everything. Only I could have seen the problem, but I remained blind.

Our flat was now littered with bottles and jars from the cosmetics company. Mrs. Bennetts business never generated the expected income; it became a hollow pastime funded by me. Whenever I raised the issue, I heard only, Mum knows what shes doing, from me, and, Patience, the tree will grow, from Mrs. Bennett. The tree never grew for three years, while expenses kept climbing.

When she suggested that I should also invest in the family venture, I finally realised that drastic action was required.

The final straw came on New Years Eve 2023. After a long time we managed a date night on the ice rink, then retreated to a small café.

With cheeks flushed, Poppy leaned in, Edward, are you happy?

Of course, I replied, taking her hand. How could I be, with you beside me?

I want a child, she whispered, drawing closer.

Right now? I smiled, kissing her hand.

We agreed that it was time to bring a miracle into the world. Twentyfour hours later Mrs. Bennett barged into our bedroom as I walked in from work.

You cannot have a child now! she shouted.

Shocked by her audacity, I didnt respond immediately.

Our mortgage isnt paid off, the car is still under finance, she snarled.

Im tired of living under your shadow, Mum, I finally said, confronting her for the first time. Youve always wanted the best for me, even if you ask for a little help. Im the only one I can rely on because Ive raised, clothed and taught myself to be independent.

You owe him nothing, I added, turning to Poppy, you chose to have a child for yourselves, not for his money. You can only hope for his help out of love, not duty.

Mrs. Bennett seemed to grasp my words, yet she clung to her comfortable lifestyle, muttering, Edward will see Im right. I feared she might be correct, given how dependent I was on her opinion.

No obstacle could stop me from wanting a baby with Poppy, but for me, her interference was a massive hurdle. I held onto the hope that I might finally see reason.

Later that night it became clear that I was lost, even to myself. Yesterday Id been enthusiastic about a child; today I argued, Maybe its not the right time, why rush? Were not ready, we cant provide everything. I knew we could not go on like this.

I want a divorce, I said, the words that should have settled everything. It was a conscious decision because our family life had reached a deadend.

Your face went pale.

Im giving you back to the woman you truly love. Im done being the second choice, I heard myself say, echoing her earlier words.

I could no longer ignore the consuming hurt of the injustice shed endured. How many times had I tried to discuss this since my mother moved in, only to have you turn a deaf ear, denying reality? Conversations led nowhere, tears filled my eyes.

What are you talking about? Which other woman? you asked, bewildered, staring at me.

Since we married you keep saying, Mum, Mum Her soup is sourer and her scones fluffier. She controls all our finances. I cant take it any longer, I replied.

You tried to comprehend how we arrived here, wondering when you lost control, or perhaps never had it. When you finally fell silent, you sat beside me on the bed and gazed at my tearstreaked face.

Is it really just about Mum living with us? you asked.

How can you not see? She has taken you completely. Youre no longer your own man. Without my salary wed be scraping. She forbade me from getting pregnant, fearing shed lose her generous income stream. Shes a good woman, but she must recognise boundaries shes overstepping, and you keep erasing those limits with your total compliance. You suffer, as do I and our future child. Your debts are paid, Edward, live for yourself, not for your mother.

The conversation was painful for us both, but you promised a chance, swearing to sort things out with your mother and to put our future first.

The first steps were hard: refusing the large monthly sums she demanded for her empty business, then telling her she could no longer stay with us.

A month later I chose wallpaper for the nursery. Our relationship with Mum improved now that she no longer lived under our roof; she still visited now and then, but the change was evident. She struggled with my altered behaviour, yet eventually accepted that she could no longer lean on me for everything.

Without my support, she could not keep buying from the cosmetics firm and was effectively pushed out. She eventually found a regular job and learned to rely on herself.

A year after that, we welcomed a child. Now Mum, surprisingly, helps Edward and Poppy with joy. The whole family spends time together, and were all happy.

Looking back, I realise that allowing someone else to dominate your life, even out of love, robs you of the chance to shape your own destiny. I learned that setting firm boundaries, however painful, is essential to protect the ones you truly love. This lesson will stay with me forever.