While Eleanor paid at the till, Tony lingered near the door. As she struggled to pack the groceries, he stepped outside entirely. Emerging onto the pavement, she approached him where he stood smoking.
“Tony, take the bags,” she requested, holding out two heavy sacks of shopping.
He stared at her as if ordered to do something criminal, incredulous. “What about you?”
Eleanor froze, baffled. What did “what about you?” even mean? Since when did a man refuse to lend a hand? It felt fundamentally wrong, the woman weighed down while the man walked free.
“Tony, they’re heavy,” she insisted.
“So?” he retorted defiantly.
He saw her anger brewing, but stubborn pride locked his spine. He strode off ahead, knowing she couldn’t keep up. *’Take the bags’? What, am I her pack mule? Her lapdog? I’m a man! I decide! Let her carry them, she won’t collapse!* Tony seethed inwardly, his mood set on putting his wife firmly in her place.
“Tony, where are you going? Take the bags!” Eleanor called after him, voice trembling near tears.
The bags *were* heavy. Tony knew it; he’d filled the trolley himself. Home was a mere five-minute walk. Yet laden with weight, the distance stretched out endlessly.
Eleanor walked homewards, fighting tears. She hoped desperately it was a cruel joke, that he’d turn back. But no, his figure only grew smaller, further away. She wanted to abandon the bags but moved as if through fog, carrying on.
Reaching the foyer of their building, she sank onto a bench, utterly spent. Resentment and weariness choked her, but she swallowed the tears – crying on the street felt shameful. Yet she couldn’t stomach this hurt: not just the insult, but the deliberate humiliation. He knew exactly what he’d done. It wasn’t always like this… he used to be attentive, before the wedding.
“Alright, love?” A familiar voice broke her thoughts.
“Hello, Mrs. Davies.” Eleanor looked up at Martha Davies, who lived on the first floor and had been her grandmother’s best friend before Nan passed. Eleanor had known her all her life, another grandma. Since Nan died and Eleanor faced life’s early hardships, Martha had always been there. There was no one else – Mum lived near Manchester with her new husband and step-children, Dad was long gone. Now, Martha was her rock.
Without hesitation, Eleanor decided the groceries were Martha’s. Why carry them this far for nothing? Mrs. Davies’s pension was stretched thin, and Eleanor often brought her treats. “Let me help you up, Mrs. Davies,” she said, hefting the bags once more.
Inside Martha’s cosy flat, Eleanor left the sacks. “These are for you.” Martha spotted kipper fillets, tinned peaches, digestive biscuits, and other things she loved but couldn’t afford. She was so overwhelmed with gratitude, Eleanor felt a pang of guilt for not spoiling her neighbour more often. They kissed cheeks goodbye, and Eleanor climbed to her own flat.
Tony met her just inside from the kitchen, chewing. “Where’s the shopping?” he asked, breezy, as if nothing had happened.
“What shopping?” Eleanor matched his tone. “The bags you helped me carry?”
“Come on, don’t be like that!” he tried to laugh it off. “Bit cross, are we?”
“No,” she said calmly. “I simply drew a conclusion.”
Tony tensed. He expected shouting, tears, accusations. This quiet unnerved him. “What conclusion?”
“I haven’t got a husband.” She sighed. “I thought I was marrying a man. It seems I’m the one married to the fool.”
“Excuse me?” Tony feigned deep offence.
“What’s unclear?” Eleanor met his gaze squarely. “I want a *man* for my husband. And clearly, you want a man for your wife too.” She paused, thoughtful. “Then you need a husband.”
Tony’s face flushed crimson, fists clenching. But Eleanor was already in the bedroom, packing his things. He protested desperately. He didn’t want to leave. How could family fall apart over something so trivial?
“It was fine before! So you carried a few bags yourself. Big deal!” he ranted as she carelessly tossed his clothes into a holdall.
“I certainly hope you can carry *your* bag,” Eleanor stated flatly, cutting him off. She knew this was the first crack in the dam. If she swallowed it now, his control would only tighten. She opened the door firmly. It was over.
He stood bewildered on the landing as the lock clicked decisively, the soft, heavy sound sealing away the life he assumed would always be there. The hallway light flickered, plunging him into a stark, unwelcome silence.
I Thought I Had Found My Forever…
