Olivia walked through the front door, arms straining under the weight of two heavy shopping bags. The moment she stepped inside, her husband’s voice drifted from the living room.
“Back already? Is it six o’clock?”
“Past seven, actually,” she replied flatly, heading straight for the kitchen.
Three teacups sat on the table—a sure sign her mother-in-law had visited, likely with her sister Margaret in tow. Olivia didn’t even blink. Unannounced drop-ins, commentary on her “unladylike” habits, judgmental stares, and the lingering traces of guests who’d made themselves at home—it was all routine now.
“Where’ve you been? I’m starving,” Daniel muttered, eyes glued to his laptop.
“Popped to the supermarket. To feed His Majesty,” she shot back dryly. “But actually, we need to talk.”
Silence. Olivia strode over, turned his chair to face her, and said calmly, “I want a divorce.”
Daniel looked up, baffled. “What? Why?”
“Because I can’t do this anymore.”
“Liv, maybe cook dinner first, then we’ll talk? I’m absolutely ravenous.”
“No. We talk now.”
“You know I don’t drink, don’t cheat, don’t mess about. I’m home, I work, I cover my own bills. What more do you want?”
Olivia scoffed. “You live in *my* flat, don’t pay rent or bills—I handle everything. Groceries, cleaning, cooking—also me. So tell me: what exactly are you covering?”
“Well… I bought a jumper. Downloaded a game update. Send Mum and Auntie Margaret a bit now and then. That’s normal.”
“Right. Normal. Except I asked you to hang the laundry this morning—it’s still in the machine.”
“I had a break—”
“Switching tasks is a break, Dan.”
“But I don’t know how. Mum and Margaret never let me near the cooker or hoover.”
“Ah yes. The classic ‘I don’t know how.’ Very handy, isn’t it? Well, from today—if you’re hungry, cook. I’m done. The girls invited me out earlier—I said no, but I’ve changed my mind. Good luck.”
She hung the laundry, gestured at the kitchen, and left. At the café, sipping wine, her phone lit up—her mother-in-law’s number. Olivia muted it and flipped the screen down.
When she got home, Patricia was already there.
“Olivia! Have you lost your mind?! Divorce?! Do you even realise what you’ve got?! Men like Daniel don’t grow on trees! He doesn’t drink, doesn’t cheat, doesn’t leave socks lying about! Women would kill for that!”
Olivia met her gaze evenly. “You say that like you’re bragging about a well-trained spaniel. He doesn’t do anything bad—fine. But can you name one good thing he does? For *me*?”
“He works!”
“So do I. Except, on top of that, I clean, cook, shop, pay all the bills—for both of us. What does he do?”
“He buys you gifts! I help him pick them!”
“Ah. That explains the foot spa for Christmas and the woolly scarf for my birthday.”
“What, you wanted diamonds?” Patricia sneered.
“A spa voucher? A weekend away? But no. I get a scarf. And disrespect. And endless ‘I don’t know how.’ I’m done being his mum.”
“He *doesn’t* know how. The men in our family don’t do that.”
“Exactly. You raised him to wait for someone else to handle everything. And he’s fine with that. I’m not.”
“Maybe don’t jump to divorce? Teach him—”
“No. I won’t teach a grown man how to be an adult. I tried. For eighteen months. I’m done. Let’s pack his things—then you can both go where you’re comfortable. I’m not cruel. Just exhausted.”
Half an hour later, a taxi idled outside. Two bags, a suitcase. Daniel trailed behind, laptop tucked under his arm.
Olivia shut the door behind them. Sank onto the sofa. Took a deep breath. Scribbled in her planner: *Divorce. Free.*
And for the first time in ages, she slept soundly.
