The Right to Be Tired
Andrew came home late. Without a word, he kicked off his shoes in the hallway, hung up his coat, and silently headed to the bathroom. A few minutes later, he sat at the kitchen table, where a plate of chicken stew and peas—his wife Emily’s signature dish—awaited him. Beside it sat a seafood salad. He picked up his fork, poked at the salad for a moment, then suddenly turned.
“Tell me the truth… Where did you get this salad?” he asked quietly, but firmly.
Emily froze, the teapot hovering mid-air. Something uneasy flickered in her eyes.
They had been married for over thirty years. If asked to rate their marriage on a scale of one to a hundred, Emily would’ve given it a solid fifty. Because they’d had it all—love and irritation, joy and drudgery, bright moments and weary days. Just an ordinary life. And Andrew—stubborn, temperamental—was a good man. Loyal, dependable, hardworking.
Everything changed last spring when Emily collapsed. The doctor called it simple exhaustion, years in the making. Andrew took her home in a taxi—their own car had long been neglected, every spare pound going toward their daughter Lucy’s wedding loan.
Lucy had just gotten married, and she wanted a wedding “straight out of a film.” Even though the dress looked odd and the cake tasted “like rubber,” as Andrew put it, they endured it. All that mattered was their daughter’s happiness.
After the wedding, the newlyweds moved into a flat inherited from the groom’s grandfather, while Andrew and Emily kept paying off the loan, scraping by with their old car, worn-out appliances, and endless fatigue.
Emily taught English and gave private lessons. Andrew worked as a mechanic at a factory. He refused canteen meals, burgers, takeaways—only home-cooked food! Hot, fresh, varied.
Emily never argued, though after work, she could barely stand. Once, she snapped.
“How am I supposed to manage soup, a main course, salad, and dessert? I’m not a machine.”
But Andrew would just scoff and tell stories about his great-grandmother, who worked the fields, fed a family of eight, and still found time for the church choir.
Emily was just tired. One day, stopping by a new deli near their house for bread, she spotted a salad display. Suddenly, she said,
“I’ll take the ‘Ocean Treasures,’ a large tub…”
That evening, dinner was stuffed cabbage, pie… and that very salad.
“Wow, something new! Tastes just like homemade,” Andrew praised.
Emily said nothing. And so began her secret—if she couldn’t manage, she bought prepared meals. Homemade-style, tasty, a bit pricier—but it let her breathe.
It might have stayed that way, if not for chance. At work, Andrew shared lunch with a young trainee, who was eating meatballs and a salad suspiciously similar to his.
“Where’d you get the meatballs?”
“From the deli round the corner. Tastes better than home!” the lad grinned.
Andrew grew wary. Too many coincidences. And then, suspicion took root…
That evening, he ate in silence before asking the question. Emily lowered her eyes.
“I… I was just tired. I thought you wouldn’t care, as long as it tasted good…”
Andrew stood, walked over, and hugged her.
“I do care. But you’re human too, Em. You’ve got the right to be tired.”
She sniffled. He smiled.
“Truce?”
“Truce.”
And that night, instead of the usual meal, they ordered pizza, put on an old film, and for the first time in years, didn’t just feel like husband and wife—they felt like a team. And sometimes, that’s all it takes to change everything.
