You know what, it’s crazy how one little phrase can unravel everything. “You’re the perfect husband, Harry”—just like that, a marriage built on indifference fell apart.
Emily walked in carrying two heavy shopping bags. The moment she stepped inside, her husband’s voice rang out from the living room:
“You’re back? Is it six already?”
“Actually, it’s seven,” she sighed, heading to the kitchen.
Three mugs sat on the table. That meant her mother-in-law had been over—probably with her sister, Margaret. Emily wasn’t even surprised anymore. Unannounced visits, judgmental comments about her “unfeminine” habits, those disapproving glances—it was all just part of the routine now.
“Where were you so long? I’m starving,” Harry mumbled without looking up from his laptop.
“Stopped by the supermarket. Wouldn’t want His Majesty to go hungry,” she shot back. “But actually, we need to talk.”
Silence. So she walked over, turned his chair to face her, and said calmly, “We need to divorce.”
Harry finally looked up, baffled. “What? Why?”
“Because I can’t do this anymore.”
“Emily, can’t we talk after you make dinner? I’m starving.”
“No. We’re talking now.”
“Come on, you know I don’t drink, don’t go out, don’t mess around. I work from home, I earn my own money. I never ask you for anything. What more do you want?”
Emily scoffed. “You live in my flat, don’t pay rent, don’t cover bills—I pay for everything. Groceries, cleaning, cooking—all me. So tell me, what exactly do your wages cover?”
“Well… I bought myself a new jumper. Downloaded a game update. Sometimes I help my mum and Aunt Margaret—send them a bit of cash. That’s normal, isn’t it?”
“Oh, sure. Totally normal. Except this morning I put laundry in and asked you to hang it up—and it’s still sitting there.”
“I was on a break…”
“Switching tasks *is* a break, you know.”
“But I don’t know how to do any of this! Mum and Margaret never let me near the stove or hoover.”
“Right. You ‘don’t know how.’ Super convenient, isn’t it? Well, starting today—if you’re hungry, you cook. I’m done. The girls invited me out earlier, and I said no—but I’ve changed my mind. Good luck.”
She got up, hung the laundry herself, gestured at the kitchen, and left. At the café, sipping wine, her phone buzzed—mother-in-law’s number. Emily muted it and flipped the screen down.
When she got back, Rita was already waiting in the flat.
“Emily! What on earth are you thinking? Divorce?! Have you lost your mind? Do you even realise what kind of man you’ve got? You won’t find another like him! He doesn’t drink, doesn’t cheat, doesn’t leave socks lying around! Women envy you!”
Emily just looked at her calmly. “You say that like you’re bragging about a well-trained dog. He doesn’t do anything *bad*—you just listed that. But can you tell me one thing he actually does for *me*?”
“He works!”
“So do I. Except I also clean, do laundry, cook, haul heavy bags from the shops, and pay all the bills—for both of us. What does *he* do?”
“He buys you gifts! I help him pick them!”
“Ah, yes. Now I get why I got a foot spa for Christmas and a woolly scarf for my birthday.”
“What, you wanted gold?” Rita sneered.
“I wouldn’t have said no to a spa voucher or a holiday. But no. I get a scarf. And disrespect. And the endless ‘I don’t know how.’ I don’t want to be his mum anymore.”
“Well, he doesn’t know how! The men in our family don’t do that.”
“Exactly. You raised him to expect someone else to do everything for him. And he’s fine with that. But I’m not.”
“Maybe don’t jump straight to divorce? Teach him—”
“Sorry. I don’t want to teach a grown man how to be a man. I tried. For a year and a half. That’s enough. Right now, we’re packing his things—and you’re both leaving. I’m not cruel. I’m just tired.”
Half an hour later, a cab was waiting outside. Two bags, a suitcase. Harry trailed behind, laptop under his arm.
Emily shut the door behind them. Sat on the sofa. Took a deep breath. Wrote in her planner: “Divorce. Free.”
And for the first time in ages, she slept peacefully.
