Victor stepped through the front door, tossed his keys onto the hallway table, and marched straight to the kitchen. Emma stood at the stove, stirring a pot of pumpkin porridge—their children’s favourite. He didn’t even greet her.
“Where’s the mop?” His voice was sharp, dripping with cold irritation.
“What mop?” Emma turned, confused, searching his face for some hint of what was wrong.
“The one for cleaning. The house is a mess—have you even tried?” he sneered, then strode out before she could reply.
Emma stood frozen, staring after him. Her mind reeled. Where was the Victor who once called her “Emmy,” who washed the dishes without being asked, who kissed her forehead after long days?
It hadn’t always been like this. He used to come home, shrug off his coat, and grab the vacuum without hesitation. He never cared about “men’s work” or “women’s work”—he just did what needed doing. With love. After dinner, he’d wrap his arms around her, insisting she rest while he scrubbed the plates.
Their life had been full—parties, cinema trips, weekends with friends. Then their daughter arrived. Victor beamed with pride. Two years later, their son was born. Everyone said they were the perfect family: golden children, a marriage to envy.
“You’re so lucky, Em,” her friends would sigh. “Men like him don’t exist anymore.”
She’d believed their love was unbreakable. Eternal.
But slowly, it changed. Victor came home tense, exhaustion stripping away his kindness.
“Why is everything upside down?” he’d snap. “I work all day, and you can’t even make dinner? What do you do all day?”
Emma would explain—the porridge spilled, the children chasing each other, the walls smeared with sticky fingerprints. The endless washing, soothing, tidying. But Victor didn’t listen. He was angry. Tired. A stranger.
Once, chopping onions, she couldn’t tell if her tears were from the knife or her own breaking heart.
“Mum warned me,” she whispered. “Don’t spoil a man. Love isn’t enough if you lose yourself in it.”
She’d been so sure they were meant to be. She’d known him, heard his unspoken thoughts. Now? It all felt like a lie.
And Victor—he took her silence as guilt. Her quiet became proof she was failing. He became judge and jury in their home. Emma felt her world crumbling.
Then, their guardian angel intervened.
A call from work. A promotion—better pay, better hours. A colleague had retired. The job was hers if she wanted it.
Her mother promised to watch the children until nursery started. Emma, revitalised, got a haircut, bought new clothes. She was ready to reclaim herself.
Meanwhile, Victor—lost his job. The company folded. He was adrift but refused to show it.
“I’ve got the kids,” he said stiffly. “Updating my CV, checking listings. Your mum can step in if needed.”
Emma didn’t argue. She supported him—calm, steady. For the first time in months.
Two weeks in, Emma settled into her new role. At home, things seemed fine. But by the fourth week, she noticed: laundry piled up, the floors were sticky, the children fussier. Victor grew snappish.
“Looks like you’ve let things slide,” she remarked, voice gentle but firm. Not cruel—just pointed. “I’m working too, you know.”
Victor deflated. The truth hit him.
“Em… I was an idiot,” he admitted that evening. “This morning, the kids fought over a toy. The porridge burned. I made eggs—Oliver refused to eat. While I cleaned the hob, Sophie knocked over her milk. Then—a video call. For a job. I panicked, answered in an apron. But… I got it. Starting next week. Will your mum still help with the kids?”
Emma nodded. Quiet contentment settled in her chest—the peace of things finally falling into place.
He understood. He’d lived it now. No more lectures about mops. He’d value her—not because he had to, but because he knew.
That night, they sipped tea together. Sophie doodled at the table. Oliver stacked blocks.
Emma glanced at her husband. For the first time in ages, she smiled.
He caught her gaze.
“Sorry I was blind,” he murmured. “Can I cook tomorrow?”
“Go on,” she chuckled. “But leave the mop alone. It’s my symbol of power now.”
They laughed—together—for the first time in far too long.
