Liam decided to punish his wife, but ended up unwanted by anyone.
After Lily got a promotion at her new job in the bank, her personality changed sharply. Once quiet and gentle, she became irritable, sharp, and demanding. Liam, her husband, didn’t understand: *”What’s with all the sudden complaints? Everything was fine before.”* Lily nagged him for doing nothing at home—why was everything on her? The cooking, their son, the cleaning. Liam didn’t see the problem. *”There’s no real work for a man in a three-bed semi in Manchester. The shelves are up, the taps don’t leak. And cooking? That’s not a man’s job.”* When he asked for a roast dinner once, dropping a hint, she shot back, *”Peel the veg yourself, then I’ll cook.”* He snapped, *”You do it! You’re the woman!”* Lily stayed late at work more often, and now their son was always the last one picked up from nursery. Liam pitied the boy—but go himself? What if they asked him to move a wardrobe or fix a pipe?
He felt unappreciated. Grumbling often, he said, *”Why’d you even take that promotion? Should’ve stayed quiet—everything would’ve been the same.”* Lily calmly countered, *”Then go back to the development team, get your own promotion, earn more—I’ll step back, cook your dinners and look after our son. But we can’t live on just your wage now. My mum used to help, now she’s got her own bills.”* Liam just fumed. *”She had to go messing with renovations!”*
Truth was, he had no interest in climbing the ladder. Watching his boss slog without weekends, he’d say, *”No thanks. I do my hours—then home.”* But as Lily’s complaints piled up, resentment festered. He thought, *”If she wants to be the boss, let her see how lonely it is.”* He started staying late too—then began an affair with a colleague from accounts, Grace. She was plain, not a beauty, but curvy, sweet-voiced, and always baking.
Grace had a young son, but that didn’t bother Liam. With her, he felt needed: warm blankets, hot meals, admiring looks. Their meetings grew frequent. Meanwhile, Lily’s mum started collecting their boy from nursery—Lily was buried in a major project. Liam shrugged it off. *”Good. She won’t cook, but I’m not starving. Grace feeds me, praises me. Fair’s fair.”* Except Grace had conditions. If Liam arrived without chocolates, perfume, or cash for *”something nice,”* she sulked. Dinners turned simpler, affection cooler.
It nagged at him, but he lied to himself: *”Fine. She doesn’t demand love—just attention and a bit of cash. But when Lily hears I’m leaving? Then she’ll sing a different tune.”* When Grace, deadpan, asked for a leather coat, Liam knew: time to end the charade.
He stormed home, waited for Lily, and scowled. *”Lily, enough. I’m a man! I want dinner, a tidy house, clean socks! You get home first—why can’t you cook? Or is washing up too hard?”*
Silently, Lily took off her coat, dropped her bag, and sighed. *”Is that all?”*
*”No!”* he boomed. *”I’m leaving! For someone who values me! My bags are packed—done! Live alone!”*
*”Good,”* Lily nodded. *”Go. Tired of living with a lazy moaner. Leave the house. I paid the mortgage solo. My solicitor will prove you never put a penny in.”*
Liam felt scalded. What? No begging? No tears? He expected her to cling, plead—instead, cold maths.
Heart pounding with rage, he grabbed his bag and drove to Grace’s. Knocking firmly, he announced, *”Sweetheart, I’m yours now. For good!”*
She opened up, eyed him head to toe, and crossed her arms. *”Who said you could move in? I’ve got a kid, a rented flat, a tiny wage. You’re not a solution—you’re a drain. Can’t pay? Piss off.”*
The door slammed in his face. There he stood on the landing—bag in hand, pride shattered, pockets empty. Unwanted. By his wife. By his mistress. And for the first time in years—truly alone.
