The icy wind howled through Manchester, biting deep into the bone. I sat at the kitchen table, clutching a cold cup of tea, fingers trembling. Tears? No, not my style. But inside, everything was breaking—shards of pain and confusion. I’d tried calling my girls, but their phones stayed silent, like a deliberate wall cutting me off.
I rang my mother-in-law, desperate for answers.
“What’s going on? Why won’t they let me speak to Emily and Sophie? Give them their phones!”
“Olivia, it’s got nothing to do with me,” her voice wavered, wounded. “They made it clear I’m no one in that house. Ask your *ex-husband*. I’m washing my hands of it.”
“He’s not my ex!” I snapped.
“Well, he’s no son of mine!” she hissed, hanging up.
I slammed the phone down and rushed to the hospital where Mum lay. Stable, but frail. I spoon-fed her soup, my hands unsteady. After, I drove straight to the girls’ school. Something was wrong—not just estrangement, but *kidnapping*. My ex, Richard, had taken them before the courts could decide, as if erasing me from their lives.
I waited on a bench outside school, phone buzzing.
“Olivia! Everything alright? Couldn’t reach you,” came the voice of Daniel, the cabbie who wouldn’t stop flirting.
“Sorry, couldn’t meet yesterday. Mum’s poorly, and… other things,” I forced politeness, though romance was the last thing on my mind.
“Where are you? I’ll swing by!”
“No time. Just waiting for the girls.”
“Perfect! Just enough for a cuppa!”
Ten minutes later, his battered cab rolled up—I hadn’t even given the address. He stepped out, clutching a basket of apples. Just what I *didn’t* need.
“For the girls—homegrown,” he grinned.
“Thanks,” I lied. “Didn’t know you had an orchard.”
“Just a few trees. Lovely in spring.”
“Well, well—fancy meeting *you* here,” drawled a voice behind me.
Richard. My face burned. Beside him, Daniel and his apples looked absurd.
“Taste’s gone downhill, Liv,” Richard smirked. “Traded me for a *fruit-seller*?”
“Excuse me, who are you?” Daniel bristled.
“Ooh, got a mouth on him!” Richard laughed. “Apples? Really? That’s how you woo her?”
“Stop it!” I snapped. “Apologise and *leave*. I’ll take the girls myself.”
“Call if you need me,” Daniel muttered.
“I’ll manage.”
As we argued, Emily and Sophie burst from school. I hugged them tight, relief flooding me—I’d feared the worst.
“Mum, are we going home?” Sophie asked.
“To Grandma’s,” I said carefully. “Just for a bit.”
“It’s cramped there,” Richard cut in. “No toys, boring.”
“But I’ll be with them,” I said. “Just a short stay.”
The girls watched me, waiting. My throat tightened.
“Cat got your tongue?” Richard sneered. “Tell them how you chose divorce, how they’ll never play in their rooms again.”
“Mum, I don’t want to,” Emily said suddenly, turning to her father.
“Good girl,” Richard smirked, leading her away.
I stood there with Sophie, tears falling. I knew I shouldn’t cry in front of her, but my heart shattered. Emily—*my* Emily—had chosen him. Betrayed me.
“Mum, let’s go,” Sophie whispered.
“Yes, love,” I choked out.
The lump in my throat was a knife. My eldest had turned away, and the wound still bleeds.