**19th March, 2024**
Margaret Whitmore found herself cast aside. After twenty years of marriage, she became, in an instant, a lonely woman—unwanted and forgotten.
“Goodbye. I’ve fed, clothed, and kept you for years. Now it’s time I thought of myself.”
“But, Edward! You forbade me from working! You said you didn’t want a wife with a job!” she wept.
“And what of it? I didn’t know I’d grow sick of your cooking. Frankly, I’m tired of you. Look at yourself—dull, aged, miserable.”
“How am I to live without you?”
“You’ve got three months. I’ll cover expenses till then. After that—sort yourself out.”
With that, Edward left—for a younger, ambitious woman he’d been seeing behind Margaret’s back.
They’d met at a friend’s party, sparks flying instantly. Six months later, she fell pregnant, and they married. Back then, she’d been a student; he, a rising manager at a London firm.
“My salary covers us both,” he’d declared. “I won’t have you coming home exhausted from work.”
So it went. Edward climbed the corporate ladder while Margaret raised their children—first one, then another. She cleaned, cooked, shopped, hauled them to football practice and piano lessons.
After the second child, he changed. No more sweet whispers, no flowers, no loving glances. Soon, he barely looked at her—as if she were invisible.
Then came the whispers: *He’s got someone else.* Swallowing her pride, she confided in her mother, who advised silence. So Margaret endured. The children grew up barely respecting her. She became little more than a housemaid—worn out, neglected.
Her once-bright blue eyes dulled. Her smile faded. The weight crept on.
Then Edward left for good.
She didn’t know how to go on. She called her sons—both moved out—sobbing as she told them. Their replies stung:
“Mum, you brought this on yourself.”
Twenty years given to her family—and it meant nothing.
A week in bed, crying herself hollow, she realised: *If I don’t change now, the misery won’t end.* So she washed her face, dressed, and signed up at a gym.
Then she remembered—her friend’s spaniel had a litter. The next day, she brought home a cheerful, wriggling pup. A week later, she landed a job as a retail assistant.
Life began anew. Six months on, Margaret was unrecognisable. Her smile returned, her eyes brightened, her figure sharpened. She felt—*free*.
Every morning, she jogged through Hyde Park with her spaniel, Piper. Men noticed her now, tried to chat. But she wasn’t interested. For once, she’d live for herself—finally tasting the joy denied her for so long.
**Lesson learned: A cage only holds you if you let it.**
