“I’m a Husband, Not a Coat Stand”
“You bought the wrong bread again. I asked for seeded,” Emily said, placing the loaf on the table without even glancing at James.
“It was the last one,” he replied calmly. “What’s the fuss? It’s fine bread.”
“Charlie gets an upset stomach from the seeds. Easy for you to say—you’re not the one up at night with him.”
James exhaled slowly and closed his eyes for a moment. He set the shopping bags by the window and sat on the stool nearby, as if deliberately keeping his distance. He wanted to be closer but couldn’t find the way.
A knock came at the door—it was Sarah, Emily’s sister, bearing treats and a smile. In her sister’s home, she was met with the usual whirlwind of domestic chaos, warm and familiar. It pulled her in.
“Hello, family! Peace and quiet, I hope?”
“Hardly. Just homework, dinner, baths. Then ironing for tomorrow,” Emily said, unpacking the bags. “I’ve been on my feet since morning.”
“Knees not creaking yet?” Sarah teased, hanging up her coat.
James merely nodded in greeting and retreated to the bedroom. He’d long since stopped trying to join their conversations.
“Same as always?” Sarah murmured, watching her sister.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re here alone. James might as well be a ghost.”
Emily waved her off, rolling her eyes.
“Don’t start. We have—an arrangement. I handle the house and kids; he works. Normal stuff.”
“It’s not about that. He’s been home for over an hour. Have you even spoken to him?”
“Oh, please. I’m not obliged to arrange candlelit dinners every night. We have children.”
The kitchen was cramped—a narrow table, chairs with fraying cushions, a chipped cutting board. A neatly penned schedule of clubs and football practice hung on the wall.
“Do the kids mean the end of your marriage?” Sarah asked.
Emily shrugged.
“I just don’t want them growing up like we did. Mum leaving us alone half the day, Dad drinking while she slaved away. The mess—I started cleaning just so the loo wasn’t terrifying.”
“I remember,” Sarah sighed. “But I also remember us sprawled on the floor watching cartoons. When did you last do that with yours?”
Emily looked away. The answer was obvious.
“They need maths and swimming, not cartoons.”
“And James? Does he need anything?”
Emily glanced toward the hallway, frowning.
“He’s a grown man. He can endure it for the family.”
Sarah fell silent, studying her sister—the dark circles under her eyes, the haphazard bun, her hands forever in motion.
“Do you love him?” she asked abruptly.
“Of course I do! It’s just—not the right time.”
“Ten years isn’t the right time? Not since Michael was born.”
Charlie shuffled in, pyjama-clad and rumpled like a sparrow.
“Mum, Michael’s book is torn. He says I did it—but I didn’t!”
“I’ll handle it.”
Emily hurried off. Left alone, Sarah didn’t wait long before James reappeared, as if he’d been biding his time.
“Rough day?” she asked gently.
“It’s fine. Sometimes I wonder if she’d notice if I vanished,” he admitted quietly.
“She would. But maybe too late.”
He sighed, turning away.
“I love them. But I’m furniture here. Paycheck delivered, then dismissed.”
Sarah had no reply, and James didn’t expect one. He left as quietly as he’d come.
Emily never returned—lost between torn books, dusty sills, and untidy laundry.
The next morning began not with tea but a quarrel over coats.
“Michael, wear the hooded one.”
“Mum, it’s boiling. We’re going to the mall!”
“And freezing on the way? Who wipes your nose after?”
Charlie squirmed by the door, socks over shoes for “better grip.” Emily snapped; he flinched. James, already in the car, had offered help—rejected, as always.
Once inside, he tried again:
“Just us tomorrow? Cinema, maybe? Like we used to.”
“Tomorrow? Who’ll mind the boys?” Her voice shifted from surprise to irritation. “They’re children!”
“They’re twelve and five. Michael can make sandwiches.”
“And burn the kitchen down. Be serious.”
At the mall, the boys begged for burgers. Emily blocked their path.
“We’ve soup at home. Junk food means tummy aches.”
“But it’s Saturday!” Michael groaned.
“No arguments. This isn’t a democracy.”
Twenty minutes later, Charlie whined from hunger. Michael refused to try on clothes, earning a sharp scold that silenced him completely.
James had endured this before. But today, something snapped.
“Have you heard yourself?”
“Have you?” She turned, scowling. “Or do you only hear your games?”
“I hear you commanding everyone. Constantly. Even when it’s pointless.”
“Because without me, everything falls apart!”
“It already has, Emily.”
They left early. James drove in silence; Emily stared out the window. The boys plugged in headphones, drowning out the tension.
James stopped outside the house but didn’t get out.
“Are you going somewhere?” Emily asked, startled.
“I need to think. Alone. Don’t wait up.”
“What? You’re leaving us?” Panic and hurt tangled in her voice.
“No. I just can’t breathe on a schedule anymore. I’m a husband, not a coat stand.”
She stood frozen, watching his car disappear.
At home, Michael vanished into his room; Charlie glued himself to the PC. Emily moved to the kitchen, kettle in hand—but forgot to turn it on. Next to her, the shopping list blurred into gibberish. For the first time, she was alone. “Now what?” pierced her thoughts.
No plans could fix this.
Two weeks passed in quiet, punctuated by brief calls. James stayed with his parents, eyeing flats to rent. Emily cooked, ironed, wiped surfaces—mechanical, hollow. The house was too still.
On day three, Charlie asked when Dad was coming back. “Soon,” Emily lied. Michael asked nothing, just watched her warily, waiting for the next shout.
Sarah visited with a shop-bought pie and oranges, though the fridge was already overstocked—Emily’s nerves made her hoard.
“Have you eaten today?” Sarah asked, sitting.
“Yes. I made mash and nuggets.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Emily shrugged. She couldn’t remember.
“You look like the world’s ending tomorrow,” Sarah said.
“I just… don’t know where to put myself. Something’s missing.”
Sarah poured tea, slicing the pie to coax her sister into eating.
“You forgot how to live for yourself. And for James. It’s just the kids and endless ‘musts’ you piled on yourself.”
“I thought that’s how it should be. That caring meant being there—”
“James needed you with him, not just nearby. He’s not just a wallet with legs.”
“I know,” Emily whispered. “But I thought—just a bit longer. Till the boys were older.”
Her hands folded on the table. The commander was gone—just a tired woman remained. She reached for her phone but didn’t pick it up.
“I want to talk to him. Properly.”
They met at a café. James wore the navy jumper and jeans she’d bought him years ago. Tired but composed, he’d prepared—trimmed beard, fresh cologne, even white socks.
“Hi,” he said, sitting.
“Hi.”
Silence clung, heavy with unspoken apologies.
“Let’s be honest,” Emily began. “I… didn’t see how lost you were.”
“Em, I tried. You didn’t want to see.” Pain edged his voice.
“I needed to be needed. First by you, then the boys. Without that, I felt empty. But… I forgot you needed me too. Not just a tidy house.”
James sighed, his hand resting near hers on the table. Neither bridged the gap, but neither pulled away.
“Do you want me back?” he finally asked.
“Yes. I’ll try to change. Not for you—for us.”
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“Then we’ll know. But I’ll try.”
He nodded, mouth twitching—nervous, not yet a smile.
“I don’t know if I can be like before. But if nothing changes, there’s no point.”
They talked for twenty more minutes—careful, pragmatic. Two adults gluing a shattered cup back together. No tears, no grand declarations, just a quiet resolve: they wanted to try.
James didn’t return that night. But days later, he took the boys karting, then to the cinema. A photo of Michael in a helmet arrived with a text: “Thanks for letting me.”
Emily returned to work. Charlie started nursery properly; MichaelAs James carried the last box back into their home, Emily handed him a freshly brewed cup of tea—just the way he liked it—and for the first time in years, they sat together in comfortable silence, knowing that rebuilding would take time, but they were finally facing it together.
