My Husband Invited His Ex-Wife and Kids to Our Holiday Celebration—So I Packed My Bags and Spent New Year’s at My Best Friend’s House

You cant be serious, Oliver. Tell me this is just some stupid joke. Or maybe I misheard you because of the tap running?

I turned off the tap, dried my hands on the tea towel and slowly turned to face my husband. The kitchen smelled of boiled vegetables, fresh parsley, and clementines the scents of the approaching holiday. There were just six hours left till New Years Eve. Mountains of chopped salad ingredients crowded the work surface, a duck with apples was gently roasting away, and the brawn Id spent the whole night simmering was setting in the fridge.

Oliver stood in the doorway, guiltily shifting from foot to foot. He fiddled with a button on his old shirt a telltale sign he knew how absurd this whole thing sounded, yet stood his ground.

Beth, please, dont start, his tone was pleading, almost obsequious. Louises pipes have burst. Well, not quite burst, but the waters off. And the heating. Imagine her and the kids sitting in the freezing cold on New Years Eve. I couldn’t say no. They’re my boys, after all.

The kids, yes they’re yours, I tried to keep my voice steady, though inside I was trembling with hurt. But Louise? Is she your child, too? Why cant she go to her mums? To a friend? Even a hotel? She gets enough in maintenance from you to pay for a luxury suite.

Her mums at a spa, mates are all away, Oliver looked away. And its supposed to be a family holiday. The boys would love to see in the New Year with me. Well just eat together, watch the fireworks. Whats so strange? The flats big theres space for everyone.

I surveyed the kitchen. Yes, the flat was spacious, but it was our space. Mine and Olivers. Id spent a week cleaning, decorating the tree, choosing napkins to match the curtains, buying him that expensive aftershave hed always wanted. Id imagined the evening so differently: candles, fairy lights, soft music, just the two of us. Our first New Years at home in three years no travelling, no guests. Now that idyll was crumbling like a house of cards.

Oliver, we agreed, I reminded him softly. We agreed this would be our holiday. Im never against your boys, you know that. Im always welcoming when they come for weekends. But Louise Youve invited your ex-wife to our table. Cant you see how that feels?

Youre exaggerating, he waved a hand, trying to sound confident. Were civilized adults. Louise is just the boys mum. Dont be selfish, Beth. You cant be that mean at Christmas. Theyll be here in an hour.

He turned on his heel and left the kitchen, as if worried I might throw something heavy at him. I was left standing alone, bracing myself against the countertop. The oven duck crackled away, but my appetite had gone. Dont be selfish. That stung the most. For three years, Id tried so hard to be the perfect wife. I kept the house running, never stopped Oliver seeing his sons, even tolerated Louises calls at all hours asking for help fixing taps or picking up her cat from the vet. And this was my thanks.

Mechanically, I went back to dicing potatoes, hoping the anger would fade. Maybe it wasnt so terrible? Maybe Louise would behave herself. After all, New Years is a time for peace and miracles.

No miracle happened. The doorbell rang fifty minutes later. I barely had time to change from my old dressing gown into a cocktail dress and do my makeup. Oliver dashed to open the door, beaming like a newly polished silver teapot.

In they tumbled, full of noise. Ben, ten, and Sam, seven, shot straight through to the lounge, tearing across the pale floorboards with muddy shoes. Then Louise swept in regal as an ocean liner.

She wore a bright red dress with a plunging neckline, lugging huge shopping bags. Her heavy, sickly perfume quickly filled the hall, muscling out even the scent of clementines.

At last! she announced, shaking snow off her coat onto the carpet. The traffic was dreadful, honestly, I practically had to force the cabbie to hurry! Oliver, take the bags, darling, there are gifts for the boys and fizz. Proper champagne, not that cheap stuff you usually buy.

I put on my politest smile and followed them into the hall.

Evening, Louise. Hello, boys.

Louise gave me a once-over, lingering on my simple dress.

Hello, Beth she tossed casually. Oh, isnt it stuffy in here? You ought to open a window. And slippers Oliver, where are my slippers? The pink ones I left when I came for the money last time?

Ill find them, Lou, hold on Oliver muttered, already rummaging in the shoe cupboard.

Lou. I felt a spring coil inside me. Personal slippers for the ex-wife? And Oliver knew exactly where they were?

The boys had the telly on at full blast, bouncing on my new cream sofa the one I dusted daily.

Ben, Sam, please be careful, love, I asked gently.

Theyre just excited! Louise dismissed, flopping into an armchair. Let them burn off some energy. Oliver, get me some water, will you? Im parched.

The next hour was pure farce. Louise was everywhere. She critiqued the tree (Rather boring decorations, in my day we had cheerier ones), the table setting (Why so many forks? Is this Buckingham Palace?), barked at the kids, then cosied up to them. Oliver rushed about, fetching pillows, sorting the telly volume, charging her phone barely meeting my eye.

I laid the table, bone-tired. Plates, glasses, serving bowls I felt like a stray waitress at someone elses do.

Beth! Louise shouted from the lounge. Youve made salad with sausage? Dear me, how 80s. Oliver prefers beef, didnt you realise? We always made it with beef.

Olivers enjoyed my recipe for three years, I called from the kitchen, clanking the salad bowl down.

Hes just being polite, then Louise cackled. My poor Ollie, choking it down.

Oliver, standing sheepish in the doorway, managed a half-smile and said nothing. Didnt defend me. Didnt say, Beth cooks wonderfully. Just silence, afraid to rock the boat.

That was the first alarm bell. The second came when I brought out my pride the roast duck, golden and glistening. I placed it in the centre.

Duck with Bramleys and prunes. Enjoy.

The boys hurtled over, wrinkled their noses.

Yuck, its burnt! Sam declared. I want pizza! Dad, order pizza!

Its the crispy skin! I tried to explain.

Oh, honestly, kids dont eat things like that Louise chimed in, prodding the duck with distaste. So fatty. And prunes? Who puts prunes with meat? Oliver, order pizza for the boys. And me, actually Id better not risk that. My stomachs delicate.

Oliver grimaced apologetically.

Maybe its for the best, Beth? Let them enjoy themselves. Ill phone the pizza place, be here in half an hour.

You cant be serious? My voice wobbled. I spent four hours on that duck. A day marinating. Its the best dish I make.

Dont be upset, Oliver tried to comfort me, but I shrugged him off. Different people, different tastes. Well do both, make the table look even better.

He started ordering, asking Louise, Mushrooms or pepperoni for you?

I sat heavily. All of it felt surreal my own home, my kitchen, my New Years. Yet I was invisible, while my husband and his ex critiqued my cooking and discussed toppings.

Remember 2015, at the seaside lodge? Louise suddenly chirped, filling her glass without asking. You dressed as Father Christmas, your beard fell off at the worst possible moment! We laughed so much!

Oh, yes! Oliver joined in, face lighting up. You were the Snow Maiden, remember how you snapped a heel in a snow drift?

And off they went lost in happy reminiscence, overlapping tales of holidays, the first car, Bens first steps. Giggling together, a private world from which I was barred. I sat at my beautiful table and felt completely invisible a nothing, a piece of the furniture.

The boys scampered and one knocked a glass of red wine. It teetered before toppling, splashing across the pristine white tablecloth Id ironed earlier. A spreading crimson stain.

Oh, honestly Louise waved her hands. Oliver, dont just stand there, sort it out. And who puts wine near where the kids are? Beth, got any salt? Sprinkle it on, though I doubt this cheap cloth will ever come clean.

I rose slowly. Their laughter from the telly blurred in my ears. Oliver darted to fetch salt, fully occupied not once looking at me, not asking if I was alright. He was entirely absorbed in pleasing his old family.

Then I knew: I wasnt really here. Present in body but not in Olivers world, not tonight. There was Louise, there were the boys, there was his endless guilt; and I was simply the convenience, meant to cook and keep quiet.

I left the room quietly. Nobody noticed. Louise was halfway through yet another story for Oliver, who howled with laughter.

In the bedroom it was quiet, shadowy, only the streetlamp shining across the bed. I reached for my small sports bag and packed: jeans, a warm jumper, clean underwear, my cosmetics, my phone charger. Passport.

I changed out of my going-out dress, pulled on boots, glanced at my reflection: tired but determined, lips pressed tight.

As I passed through the hall, the pizza arrived.

Pizza! the boys hollered.

Oliver, pay the driver, Ive only got big notes! Louise ordered.

I waited for Oliver to turn away, paying the courier at the doorway. Oh, pizzas here! he called.

I slipped out as quietly as possible. The snap of the lock was lost amidst the noise. I called the lift, and only when the doors closed and it rumbled down did I allow myself a breath.

Huge, soft snowflakes drifted down outside. London was already waking for midnight: distant fireworks, laughter. I rang my friend.

Sophie, you up? I said when she answered.

Are you mad? Its ten oclock on New Years! Rob and I are halfway through the fizz. Whats up? You sound haunted.

Ive left Oliver. Can I stay the night?

Good lord Of course, Beth. Rob, get another glass for Beth, shes coming over! Where are you? Ill book an Uber!

Forty minutes later, I was warm in Sophies kitchen. The place smelled of cinnamon and comfort. Her husband, tactfully, had vanished to sort the telly, leaving us alone.

Tell me everything, Sophie poured me hot lemon tea. Whats that berk done now?

I told her. About Louises broken pipes, the coleslaw, the tales of golden memories, the untouched duck.

Thing is, Soph, its not that they came. Its him. He turned into a butler. He completely forgot me. I was just furniture while they played happy family. Why stay, if he still cant let go of them?

Classic nice guy syndrome, Sophie shook her head. Tries to be everyones hero and betrays the one who really cares. You did right walking out. If youd stayed and grinned through it, hed think he could do it forever. Walk all over you for their sake.

My phone buzzed an hour after Id gone. It must have taken them that long to notice I was missing.

Oliver called. I rejected it.

Then again. And again.

Texts followed.

Beth, where are you? We lost you.

Did you nip to the shops? Pizzas cooling.

Beth, answer this isnt funny. The guests are asking for you.

Have you really left? Beth, this is childish! Come back, I cant let Louise down!

I read the last one and managed a bitter smile. Cant let Louise down. Not his wife, whod been publically humiliated, but his ex, who would surely be basking in triumph by now.

Dont answer, Sophie advised. Let him stew. Let him wait on Lou and tidy after the boys.

I turned off my phone.

That New Year I didnt make any wishes at the chimes. I just drank bubbly with my best friend and her husband, watched The Holiday, and felt light, oddly free. Like a heavy backpack Id carried for three years had finally slipped off.

On New Years Day, sunlight and frost. I woke on Sophies sofa to the smell of fresh coffee. Switched my phone on. Fifty missed calls. Twenty messages. The tone of them shifted from demanding, to panicked, then self-pitying.

The boys broke your favourite vase. Sorry.

Louises furious, hates the sofa, says its hard.

Theyve gone. Beth, the flats a wreck. I dont know where to start.

Beth, darling, Im so sorry. Im an idiot. Please call.

At lunchtime, there was a knock at Sophies door. Oliver was on the step, looking like hed been through hell dishevelled, wine-stained shirt, eyes ringed and tired. He clutched an enormous armful of roses, probably bought at an extortionate price from the only open off-licence.

Sophie folded her arms and blocked the way.

Well, look whos here. What dyou want?

Sophie, please can I see Beth? I know shes here. I have to talk to her.

I came into the hall. On seeing him, all I felt was weariness no pity, no satisfaction.

Beth! Oliver reached for me, but stopped at my glacial stare. Beth, Im so sorry. I get it now. It was a nightmare. The minute you left everything fell apart. Louise was ordering me about, the boys ran riot, trashed the tree I tried to calm them but Louise said I was a terrible dad, ruining their night. We argued. I ordered them a cab at three and sent them home.

He paused, desperate for eye contact.

I understand now, Beth. How badly I hurt you. I was a complete walkover. So desperate not to upset them, I became a monster to you. You are my family. Just you. Please, forgive me. Come home. Its empty without you. I tidied up mostly.

I glanced at the dripping roses.

Its not just that you hurt me, Oliver. You showed me exactly where you think I belong somewhere between cook and furniture. You let another woman take over my home, criticise me, and you did nothing.

I swear itll never happen again! Oliver was frantic. Ill block Louise everywhere. Only speak about the boys, and only out. No more guests, no more late calls. Ill change promise.

I was silent. I could see he meant it he was frightened, repentant. But could I ever forget how alone Id felt at my own table?

Im not coming back today, I said at last. I need time. Ill stay at Sophies for a few more days. And you go home. Do some thinking. Not about how to get me back, but about why you let it come to this. Why your ex-wifes opinion matters more than your current wifes feelings.

Ill wait, Oliver murmured, hanging his head. As long as it takes. I love you, Beth. Truly.

He laid the roses on the table and walked out, shoulders slumped. The door closed.

Back in the kitchen, Sophie was pouring fresh tea.

So? Will you forgive him? she asked.

I dont know, Soph. Maybe. In time. Hes not a bad man, just lost. But if I do go back, things will be very different. Ill never be pushed to the sidelines again. Never.

I gazed from the window. The city was blanketed in pure, fresh snow as if the world was a fresh page. Life went on, and this time I knew: the pen that wrote the story of our family should be in my hand, not the ghosts of the past.