We heard Laura’s car roar up the drive, we heard her key in the lock. We were listening.
‘So?’ we asked, in unison.
She sat on the floor by my side, deflated. Up-to-date news came our way. The jig was up. The Boyfriend apologised in a way that only a cheat can: didn’t know why he did it, no excuse, women pestered him, alcohol turned him into Lothario.
Laura had pleaded with The Boyfriend to come with her, to sack off the wedding, and move into their house. Put this issue behind them.
His mother intervened, she waded in. Laura cried, asked The Boyfriend to join her in leaving. Mother said No!
Mother won. The Boy was hers. Good luck to her, God bless, and Amen! Good bloody riddance.
Wedding arrangements were cancelled. Telephone calls were made. Conversation and shared tears with family and friends.
The Boyfriend did not contact Laura again.
Laura was bereft. My heart broke for my daughter into a thousand tiny pieces, would it ever be whole again?
Laura threw out keepsakes, cleared her bottom drawer of the items she had collected for her new life as a married woman.
So was this the turning point? Did this experience of rejection turn my daughter into a full-blown alcoholic?
It was a rung or two up the ladder, but no, far more damaging was a relationship to follow.
She had been abandoned, tossed aside without care, and that mattered.
Her self-esteem was torn.