The Peacock Mask Fell Off
That morning, Valerie Simmons called her daughter at work. Her voice was hoarse, strained:
“Natalie… I feel awful, nearly fainted right on the street…”
“Mum, where are you? I’ll leave right now! Did you call Dad?”
“He went fishing with his mates. No signal. I’m near your house… but I can’t walk any further.”
Fifteen minutes later, Natalie was helping her mother up the steps to the flat. Fear clawed at her throat—Mum’s heart had been acting up lately, and every call like this sent her into panic. She slid the key into the lock, pushed the door open—and froze.
From the bedroom came unmistakable, damning sounds. She flung the door wide—her husband, Daniel, the so-called “brilliant artist,” was scrambling from under the covers while a strange girl frantically gathered her clothes.
“You?!” Natalie’s voice shook. “How could you? You said you were working in the studio all night! Called Mum paranoid for suspecting you!”
“Come on, love, don’t overreact,” Daniel whined, clutching the duvet. “These things happen. Artists are passionate—it’s inspiration, spontaneity—”
“Spontaneity?!” Natalie shrieked. “Pack your things and get out! Go to your mother, or that freezing studio of yours—paint your bloody ‘masterpieces’ there!”
The feud between mother-in-law and son-in-law had simmered for years. Valerie saw him as a pretentious fraud, a peacock strutting about in the name of “art.” The purple hair, the ridiculous goatee, the shiny trousers, the endless babble about “breaking boundaries”—it all grated on her.
“When will you get a proper job, Danny?” she’d mutter. “Doodling isn’t a career. Your paintings sell once in a blue moon. What then?”
“Valerie,” he’d drawl, “you don’t get it. Natalie’s lucky to have someone like me—a rare talent, a free spirit. You? Just a nag.”
He’d insulted her efforts even at their first meeting. She’d roasted beef, baked a cranberry pie—only to hear:
“I don’t eat that. Meat’s oppressive. The table’s shape stifles my soul.”
Yet days later, she spotted him outside a burger joint, devouring a double patty. That’s when the first doubts crept in—what else was he lying about?
Natalie brushed it off:
“Mum, maybe you mistook him for someone else—”
“Who else struts around in a neon jacket like a peacock?”
Then came the late-night parties in Natalie’s inherited flat, the half-naked “muses,” the furious neighbors. Once, after complaints, Valerie showed up unannounced. The door swung open to reveal a bohemian circus—girls with hookahs, lads with bottles, Daniel holding court with a wineglass.
“What is this?!” she snapped. “Out! All of you!”
“We’re celebrating my new exhibition!” Daniel protested. “People would kill to be here!”
“Let them dream on! Clean this mess—now!”
His strategy? Smile and endure. He even invited her to his gallery show. But as she lingered by a window alcove, whispers cut through the dim light:
“When can I see you?” A girl giggled.
“Once Natalie’s on shift—I’ll text you.”
“Sent you pics… Miss you. Ditch your wife!”
“We’ll see,” Daniel murmured.
Valerie stepped from the shadows. He didn’t flinch.
“Going to tattle? Natalie won’t believe you. To her, you’re just the bitter old mum. I’m the beloved. So stay quiet, Granny.”
But she didn’t. Though Natalie refused to listen, snapping, “Stay out of my marriage,” Valerie took action. She befriended a neighbor for surveillance. Then—the call:
“He brought a girl home. Overnight bag. Lights off—they’re staying.”
Her heart hammered. Natalie was on night shift. Valerie threw on her coat, stepped into the cold, and dialed her daughter, voice frail:
“Natalie… I’m not well. My heart… I’m near your place…”
Natalie rushed home. They climbed the stairs. The key turned. Then—it unfolded as it had to. Screams, tears, the girl shoved out. Daniel, half-dressed, spluttered excuses, but Natalie was done.
By dawn, the locks were changed, keys confiscated. Divorce papers filed within a week. Only a month later did Natalie finally speak:
“Mum… did you make it up that night? Were you really ill?”
Valerie met her daughter’s gaze. Breathed.
“Of course I was. How could I know who he’d bring?”
Natalie nodded, hugging her for the first time in years.
Valerie said nothing. No need to confess—she’d do anything for her daughter. Even a small, necessary deception.
