**Diary Entry**
I’ll tell him everything tomorrow.
William sat slumped in his armchair, eyes fixed on the carpet. His head throbbed from the row, and anger still simmered in his chest. He felt lost, wounded. He’d come home late, exhausted after a gruelling day at the office, his mind crowded with spreadsheets, deadlines, and relentless stress. The sight of the flat in disarray tipped him over the edge.
“Emily, why can’t you just tidy up after yourself?” he snapped, voice sharp. “Is it really that hard?”
The words hung heavy in the air, and he instantly regretted them. Emily replied icily, almost indifferent, but he caught the glint of tears in her eyes. He wanted to soften his tone, to take it back, but the words lodged in his throat. Instead, he kept shouting, pouring out weeks of pent-up frustration.
Emily perched on the edge of the bed, her eyes red-rimmed, her heart hammering as if trying to escape. She clenched her fists, fury bubbling inside her, flooding every inch of her body. Just yesterday, she’d been happy—now, everything felt broken. This was just another fight, another nail in the coffin of their relationship.
“Why?” she whispered to herself, dizzy with emotion. “Why do men think we exist to serve them?”
The same old story. Every day, it seemed. William expected her to manage everything—his meals, his laundry, his mess. And when she dared say she was tired too, that she needed support, his response was always the same: shouting, blame, cutting words.
Her gaze fell on the pile of laundry she’d meant to wash in the morning. Not anymore. His words echoed in her head: *“Got nothing better to do?”*, *“Typical—you never think of me!”* It had become as routine as tea at breakfast, but today it left a bitter aftertaste.
“I don’t owe him an explanation,” she muttered, staring at her reflection. Her face was drawn, but her eyes burned with resolve. “I work just as hard as he does. My money is mine.”
She remembered the dress she’d bought last week—something bright, something just for her. The joy had been short-lived. The second William found out, the accusations flew. *“Selfish! It’s always about you!”* His words still stung.
But what hurt most was his refusal to see her side. All he saw was his own inconvenience. His clutter covered every surface, yet somehow, tidying it was *her* duty. All these little things had piled up, rotting their relationship from the inside.
“Enough.” She shook her head firmly. “I deserve better. I’m not his maid. I want a life of my own—not one ruled by his expectations.”
She stood and crossed to the window. The decision was clear. She couldn’t live like this anymore. She needed her freedom back—her right to choose.
“Tomorrow,” she resolved. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell him everything. Let him figure it out on his own. Let him see what it’s like to be alone.”
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. Her mind raced—but for once, it raced toward the future. She imagined a fresh start: going where she pleased, buying what she liked, without guilt. For the first time in ages, she felt light, even with the storm ahead.
Morning came too early, before the alarm. Her eyes landed on the stack of ironed shirts. *“These are the last,”* she thought, tucking them into the wardrobe. Today was the first step toward something new. It wouldn’t be easy—but it would lead her to where she belonged: somewhere she was loved for who she was.
