The Break Under the Grey Sky: A Drama in Blackwood
Emma returned home from her holiday, her heart heavy with sorrow. Her husband, James, hadn’t written once the entire time. At the train station in Blackwood, no one waited for her… The house was dark, no dinner prepared, and chaos reigned. “Guess James spent all this time at his mum’s,” she thought bitterly. She fetched a second suitcase and began packing. That’s when James walked in, catching her mid-task.
“Back already?” he muttered, lingering in the doorway. “Didn’t expect you! Had your fun, did you? Think you’ll just waltz back in like nothing happened?”
Emma laughed—sharp, almost hysterical.
“Don’t worry, I won’t stay long,” she said, her voice trembling with restraint.
“What’s that supposed to mean?!” James scowled. Then it dawned on him…
“Jimmy, how could you? We planned this trip for ages!” Emma was on the verge of tears.
She’d dreamed of this getaway all year. They’d saved up, pored over brochures, imagined lazy days on the beach.
“Not my fault, is it? Mum fell ill—had to stay,” James grumbled, avoiding her gaze.
“When’s ‘later’? If she’d been hospitalised, fine. But it’s just a cold!” Emma snapped.
“She had a fever! Needed the paramedics!” James shot back.
“A mild one, gone after paracetamol. Jimmy, it’s a last-minute deal! If we don’t book today, the price doubles!”
“Christ, you’re selfish! I said no. What if Mum worsens?”
“She’s got a daughter too,” Emma pointed out. “Can’t Lily look after her?”
“You know Lily’s busy. Drop it. We’ll go another time. Besides, I promised Mum I’d help with the shed. You’ll pitch in too.”
He walked off as if the discussion was over. Emma broke down.
Stuck in a job she despised, slaving just to pay bills, and now her one escape—ripped away. She endured her boss’s jabs, worked overtime, all for a glimpse of sun and sea.
She’d wanted to quit for years, but James forbade it. “The money’s good,” he’d say. They’d upgraded the car, redone the kitchen. Yet his wages vanished on his mother’s whims—a new telly, a repaired fence. Never enough!
Likely, *she* had pushed to cancel the trip. Expected everyone to dance attendance. Though who was “everyone”? Just her precious boy! His sister, Lily, knew better than to tangle with their mum. So he’d never ask her. Easier to refuse a wife than a mother…
The sea faded from reach. Emma pictured herself wallpapering her mother-in-law’s stuffy flat instead of lounging on sand and knew—she couldn’t. She needed this.
An hour later, she confronted James. “I’m going. With or without you.”
“You’ve lost it!”
“*You* have! I waited for this like a miracle, and you stole it. Stay if you’re so worried. I’m going.”
“Who with?” James sneered.
“Alone.”
He scoffed, then paced the kitchen. “I know why you’re desperate! Fancy a fling? A bit of reckless fun?”
Emma stayed silent, fists clenched. So many words burned inside…
“Cat got your tongue? Knew I was right!”
“If you’re so suspicious, come with me,” she hissed.
“Not leaving Mum.”
“Then don’t.”
She stormed out, choking on rage. Always his mother first. Now *this* accusation? She’d never given him reason to doubt. All she’d wanted was peace. No flings—just freedom.
James assumed she was bluffing.
At dawn, she asked once more. He called her daft. By noon, she returned with a ticket.
James erupted. Unprecedented. Emma offered to book him a spot, hoping he’d relent. But he dug in—pride over sense. His mother hadn’t even coughed that morning.
As she left for the station, he spat, “Don’t bother coming back! Useless wife!”
Emma boarded the train in tears, unaware this trip would change everything…
The resort washed her woes away. Azure waves, golden sand, crisp fish and chips—bliss. That first night, she texted James: *Arrived. It’s lovely. Wish you were here.* No reply.
She resolved not to message again. Let him reach out. But his silence was punishment for defiance.
The ache lasted a day. Then, the joy of solitude hit. With James, they’d have bickered, stuck to the hotel pool. Alone, she explored ruins, strolled coastal paths, swam till dusk.
And thought. Re-evaluated. Clarity came with calm. She worked that dead-end job not from lack of options, but because James feared losing her salary. Yet she saw no joy in it—he controlled the spending.
This trip? She’d scrimped for it. He’d contributed nothing. And she lived with a man who didn’t cherish her. Convenient, obedient—a wage-earning maid.
She was fit, glowing. James, at twenty-nine, had a beer gut. His mum? Not once a “thank you” for Emma’s help. Just credit to her darling boy.
Sipping a Pimm’s by the shore, Emma wondered: *Why?* What did this marriage give her? Stress and scorn. Why endure it?
She’d thought she loved him. But perhaps she’d just convinced herself—stick it out, appease, obey. Here, away, she realized… she didn’t miss him. Dreaded returning.
James never wrote. Fine. Cleaner this way…
At the station, no one waited. Home was dark, dinner unmade, clutter everywhere. James had clearly been at his mother’s.
Emma didn’t unpack. She grabbed a second suitcase. That’s when he found her.
“Back?” He loomed in the doorway. “Didn’t expect you. Had your fun, eh? Think you’ll just waltz back in? Oh no—you’ll beg forgiveness!”
Emma laughed—a bitter, liberated sound. How kind of him to make this easy. She’d feared leaving the house they’d shared for three years would hurt. But no—she *itched* to run.
“Relax, I’ll be gone soon. Just here for my things.”
“Meaning?!” His face twisted with rage.
“Oh, I see! Found some bloke on holiday, did you?”
“No.” She zipped the bag. “Found *myself*. I’m leaving, Jimmy. Divorce papers will follow.”
“You’re *not*! I’m throwing you out!” he roared.
“Whatever helps you sleep,” she shrugged.
She left for her old flat—bought before the marriage. James had nagged her to sell it for something bigger. She’d refused, as if sensing this day. Now, she was grateful.
He thought she’d cave. But when the divorce papers arrived, he panicked. Calls, pleas. Too late.
Emma began anew. Divorced, quit her job, and—learned to love herself. Life slips by when you live for others, forgetting the most important person: *you*.
