**The Part-Time Husband**
“Splendid. You made your wife a baby and now you’re running back to your mum’s apron strings? No, son, that won’t fly. I won’t hide you.”
“It’s not about hiding! It’s not forever… I just need a breather, alright? She’s always shouting, crying, apologising, then shouting again. My nerves are shot—even someone breathing near me sets me off now!”
“You’ll get your breather in the next life,” Tamara muttered, stepping forward with finality. “You married her—you tough it out. This isn’t summer camp, it’s family life. Did you think you’d spend your days clubbing and watching films forever?”
Matthew looked away, shoulders hunched in defeat. He wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. He dropped his bag, as if still determined to push past his mother’s protests.
Tamara blocked him.
“No. No more sleepovers. No dinners. If you won’t leave, I’ll call the police. I mean it. Oh, poor you—tired, are we?”
Matthew had always been like this. Eyes full of guilt, but flickering with resentment.
…Her son had been a master of dodging responsibility since childhood. While his older brother toiled in the garden, Matthew would complain of stomach aches and lie in bed with a “fever.” Tamara dragged him to doctors before realising her youngest was just a cunning little actor.
Once, when he “fell ill” before a test, she yanked him out of bed by his collar. He sniffled and whined, but he went.
“You’ll regret this when I drop dead at school!” he sulked. “Miss Wilkinson will blame *you*, not me!”
Tamara laughed, though even then, she knew it wasn’t funny. He could spend hours building castles with his toys, but washing a single plate was a Herculean task. Homework only happened after his mother shouted. Every problem sent him running to her with puppy-dog eyes.
She’d tried to break the habit, but responsibility was something he’d always shrugged off.
His wife, Emily, had a temper. At first, she’d been sweet—gentle, doting, hanging on his every word.
“She even brought me coffee in bed a few times. Mum, this is the wife I wanted,” Matthew had gushed.
Tamara wasn’t fooled. She knew people put on their best face early on. Plus, Emily was only twenty-one—barely any life experience but desperate to please.
One dinner party was all it took to spot the volcano beneath the veneer. When Matthew asked for a fork instead of a spoon, Emily sighed sharply. When he teased her as “fussy,” she smiled—but her eyebrow twitched. And when a cousin made an offhand remark about the salad, Emily stormed off to the kitchen, lips pressed tight.
“Oh, I forgot to call my mum!” she’d said, vanishing.
Tamara doubted any call was made. The kitchen stayed silent.
“Be careful with her, son. Are you sure she’s the one?” Tamara whispered later. “She’s not bad—she’ll keep you in line—but…”
*But you don’t know what you’ve signed up for*, she thought, though she didn’t say it.
“Mum, we’re fine. You’re too hard on her. She’s emotional, but so what?”
*So what?* To Tamara, it wasn’t a problem—she even saw the upside. Emily had fire, drive. She’d get what she wanted. And she wouldn’t let Matthew slack.
But was Matthew ready for that? Life had answered: no.
Six months into the marriage, they arrived with cake and grins.
“Mum, you’re going to be a grandma!”
Tamara nearly choked. Her throat tightened; her palms went damp. She adjusted her glasses and studied them. They beamed like lottery winners.
“What? You haven’t even been married a year, and now a baby?”
Matthew frowned, baffled by her reaction. Emily’s smile faltered. Arguing was pointless.
“What’s the big deal? We’re married—it’s family,” he mumbled.
Tamara sighed. These two were children themselves! How could they raise another? They had no idea what it meant to sleep standing up from exhaustion. But she didn’t suggest alternatives—she’d only be blamed. If it had happened, so be it.
*It’s out of my hands*, she thought.
She was wrong. Fate handed her the wheel.
It started small. Matthew began stopping by for lunch. Said he missed her, valued her care now he was grown. Then he slipped.
“Emily can’t stand the smell of meat, fish, even eggs. Lives on salad. I just want a proper meal—I’m not a monster,” he admitted.
Soon, he came for dinner too.
Tamara didn’t mind. She thought she was helping. Less cooking for Emily. A full stomach kept a man happy.
But Matthew pushed further.
“She’s driving me mad,” he complained. “Broke her nail before her friend’s birthday party. Kept asking if it looked awful. How should I know? I wouldn’t even notice!”
Tamara listened, nodding. He whined about work, about Emily waking him at night to talk, about trekking through shops for dragon fruit because she craved it.
Then Tamara grew angry—not at Emily, but at her son. She remembered pregnancy. She knew how much a woman needed support. But Matthew was withdrawing. He spent evenings at her place: bingeing shows, gaming, lying on the sofa “for peace.”
“Yesterday was insane. She lost it because I bought peach yoghurt instead of strawberry. Said I never listen.”
“Maybe you don’t,” Tamara said dryly.
He waved her off. A week later, he arrived with a bag.
“She’s gone to her mum’s. We need space or we’ll divorce.”
Tamara narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like this one bit.
“You’ll divorce if you keep running. Turn around and go to her. She’s struggling. She needs you, even if she nags you. You’re her *husband*. Be there!”
Then it started. Matthew moaned about her fears, about endless scans, about reassuring her. Then—he slipped—he’d been considering divorce…
Tamara saw right through him. He wanted her to take his side, let him hide. No. She wouldn’t enable him.
“Did you think it’d be all roses? There’s a *person* growing inside her! It’s hard. When I was pregnant with you, I cried at shampoo ads! But your dad came home every night because he loved me. Because he knew I was scared!”
“Mum, you don’t get it—”
“I get it perfectly! You chose her. You wanted a child. Now *be a man*.”
“Just till the baby’s born—”
“First till the birth. Then till the teeth come in. No, Matthew. You won’t be a part-time husband. I’ll chase you out with a broom if I have to.”
They argued, but Tamara shoved him out. Then she texted Emily:
“He’ll be back in an hour. Love, my advice: don’t crush him, but don’t let him off easy. He’s a piece of work—never learned to care for anyone.”
Emily read it instantly but replied after ten minutes: *Thanks. ❤*
…Matthew stopped spending evenings at his mum’s. At first, he vanished—didn’t even call on Mother’s Day. Slowly, they rebuilt, though a chill lingered. Tamara didn’t mind. Pain was part of growing up. If she’d let him hide under her skirt, he’d never have grown at all.
**Life lesson:** Responsibility isn’t a part-time job. Love means showing up, even when it’s hard—especially then.
