“She really does look lovely. And I’ve stopped noticing it,” thought Victor.
The morning was as chaotic as ever. Emily had made breakfast, woken little Sophie, and now her husband had commandeered the bathroom, forcing her to wash their daughter at the kitchen sink. In the flurry, her towel knocked a cup off the table. The noise brought her husband running. Emily handed Sophie to him and knelt to gather the shattered pieces.
“Right, that’s everything,” Emily muttered, rushing off to get dressed.
“I’ve got to dash—you take Sophie to nursery. Today’s a big day for me,” she called from the hallway, pulling on her boots. “I’ve got that presentation. If it goes well, they’ll put me in charge of the project—more money, more experience, better references.”
She threw on her coat, gave herself a final critical once-over in the mirror, snatched her handbag, and bolted before Victor could even protest.
He finished his toast and coffee while Sophie stood watching him.
“Want some?”
She nodded.
“No, you’ll spoil your appetite for nursery food.”
At the mention of porridge, Sophie grimaced.
“Lots of things I don’t like either,” Victor mused. “Like your mother always rushing off. Can’t be helped, I suppose.” He set his empty cup in the sink.
Dressing Sophie was a battle—her tights twisted stubbornly, and her mittens, damp from drying on the radiator, were nowhere to be found. By the time they stumbled out the door, both were frazzled. Victor hoisted Sophie onto his hip and hurried down the stairs.
At the nursery, he handed Sophie over, but the carer began explaining something.
“Sorry—running late,” he cut in, fleeing like a guilty man.
Only in the car did he breathe easy. He sat for a moment recovering from the morning whirlwind, then drove to work.
All the way, he brooded about how peaceful life had been when Emily stayed home. He’d left for work and returned to a tidy flat smelling of dinner. No stress. Now everything was a mad dash. It couldn’t go on like this.
Plenty of women would love to stay home with a child. But not Emily—she wanted independence, a career. Why even get married, then? She should’ve just chased promotions. They had enough money—he’d talk her out of this tonight. The thought lifted his spirits.
Work distracted him from the morning’s chaos. At lunch, a text arrived: Emily would be late, could he collect Sophie?
Brilliant. He’d hoped to meet friends at the pub—hardly saw them these days. His mood plummeted.
That evening, Victor was frying potatoes when Emily arrived, glowing. Still in her coat, she breezed into the kitchen.
“You won’t believe it—my presentation was a hit! They’ve put me in charge! Aren’t you happy for me?” She tipped her cheek up for a kiss. He obliged.
“You don’t seem pleased,” she noted.
“Ecstatic. My wife’s climbing the ladder. Less time for us. Just brilliant,” he said sourly.
“What’s your problem? Jealous I’m succeeding while you’re still just a manager?”
“Jealous? You barely see Sophie. Soon she won’t know you. Don’t we earn enough?”
“Stop shouting. This isn’t about her—it’s you. Yes, I’ll outearn you. That stings, doesn’t it? I want to do work I love, not rot at home. I want to look good—the way I did when you fell for me. Wasn’t that the woman you wanted?”
Victor faltered. She was right.
“That was before Sophie. A child needs her mother.”
“She needs her father too. Men love dumping everything on women and blaming them when it goes wrong. You look after her, then.”
The bickering escalated. Neither would yield. They went to bed angry, turned away from each other—until Emily, in sleep, draped an arm over Victor’s chest, and he covered her hand with his. In dreams, they still loved.
Next morning, Victor rose early, hoping to escape first. But Emily was already making breakfast, waking Sophie. He sighed and went to shave. The chaos repeated: spilled coffee, tangled tights, and Emily poised at the door.
Victor called that he couldn’t collect Sophie today—but the door slammed before he finished.
“Damn it!” He hurled his shirt onto the bed.
This wasn’t the family he’d imagined. His mother had stayed home, cooked, waited for his father, helped with homework. No fights. Why couldn’t they have that?
At work, Margaret cornered him. They’d had a fleeting affair years ago—before Emily. He’d ended it for Emily’s sake.
“You’ve been off lately,” she said.
“How?” He spooned instant coffee into a mug.
“Dishevelled. Grumpy. Not the blissful newlywed?”
“Everything’s fine. Emily’s working now—takes adjusting.” He poured boiling water, glancing at her. Her red lips curled knowingly. She looked straight out of a glossy magazine.
“You’re always so busy. If you need help—like picking up your daughter—just ask. You could come by after.” She leaned closer. “I’m not as difficult as your wife.” Her fingers brushed his collar.
Victor caught her wrist. He pictured Sophie telling Emily, “Auntie Margaret picked me up—”
“No. We’re done. I’ve got work.” He left his coffee steaming behind him.
That evening, Emily was late again. They didn’t argue—just didn’t speak. She understood his resentment, feared where it might lead. She didn’t want to lose him—but loved her job. That night, she reached for him, but he turned away.
Lying awake, she weighed her choices. Quitting wasn’t an option—she was good at this. But staying home until Sophie was older? She’d be replaceable by then.
Yet Victor had a point. She was glued to her laptop on weekends. They never went out. But more money meant holidays without scrimping.
And Victor was handsome. At work, women circled like vultures—Margaret especially. He’d been honest about his past when they met.
“No. Others manage. No more overtime. Meetings in the mornings. And why do I do everything? We’re a team—let others pull their weight.” Decision made, she settled into the pillow.
Next day, Emily was on telly, discussing her project. Asked how she balanced work and family while looking so polished, she smiled. “I’ve a wonderful husband who supports me.”
“She really does look lovely. And I’d stopped noticing,” Victor thought.
“Caught your missus on TV,” Margaret said later.
“Enough,” he snapped, seeing fury flash in her eyes before she masked it with a smile.
“Why not? Women like her don’t deserve men like you.”
“Leave it, Margaret. Alex fancies you—go bother him.” He left his coffee untouched.
Victor’s mother phoned after the broadcast.
“So you cook and clean now? Going hungry? A wife should be home, minding the child—”
“Stay out of it, Mum. I remember you at home. When school asked what you did, I had no answer. I was ashamed. Dad had too much free time—we know where he went.”
“You never said—”
“Because you only hear yourself. You thought slaving away earned love. But Dad wasn’t impressed—he wanted someone exciting. I even know you confronted his mistress.”
“Do as you like. It’s your life.” She sniffed.
“I’m sorry. I love you. Visit Sunday—or we’ll come for pancakes. Teach Emily—yours are perfect. I love her too. No one else.”
Next day, Emily didn’t ask him to collect Sophie. Assuming she’d forgotten, he went after work.
“Mum’s already fetched her,” the carer said.
“Really?” Heart lifting, he hurried home.
“You’re early! Project scrapped? Sacked?” he joked.
“No—just trying to reset. But I’m itching to call and check on things,” she admitted.
“They’ll manage. Smells amazing—” The doorbell rang.
“Mum?” Victor blinked at his mother on the doorstep.
She inspected the flat—spotless, Victor’s ironed shirt hung ready. Emily cooked proper meat, not just pasta, while Sophie chopped salad with a blunt knife. Not the disaster she’d imagined.
After dinner, Emily and Sophie washed up while Victor and his mother talked.
“You’re doing well. I raised you right because I was there—not off working, coming home too tired—”
“Mum—”
“No, you were right. Children should surpass their parents. My mother stayed home too—I thought that was life. But it’s about sharing. You’re right. And Emily’s clever—getting Sophie to help. A wife should be loved, not just good. I’m happy for you.”
In time, things settled. Sophie dressed herself for nursery. Emily delegatedThey learned to cherish each other’s strengths, finding balance in the chaos, and in the end, that was enough.
