**Diary Entry 12th June**
Hed promised to be there, but instead, she was left stranded in the terminal hall. His “urgent business trip” was nothing but a liein truth, he was lounging under the sun by the ocean. As she fought back tears, her phone rang. The voice on the other end shattered the last illusion shed clung to.
Emily had always been an exceptional accountant. Meticulous, detail-oriented, capable of squeezing every drop of advantage from any situation. Valuable traits at workbut at home, she was beginning to realise, they were a curse. Five years of marriage had taught her one fundamental truth: her husband, James, was used to a life where everything magically fell into place. And the magician was always her.
This seaside holiday was the perfect example. It had been her idea, her money, her countless hours scouring for the best flights, booking the hotel with the sea view, planning excursions to keep James from getting bored. Naturally, James had taken no part in the process. He was busy. Very busy. At work, with his mates, tinkering in the garagethere was always a good reason to leave the tedious organising to Emily. Then, once everything ran smoothly, hed boast to his colleagues, like some conquering hero, about how he “spared no expense” for his two favourite women.
Emily would just smile and say nothing. That was her role. The silent, efficient shadow ensuring everyone elses comfort.
But that day, in the cab to Heathrow, something inside her began to fray. In the backseat, her mother-in-law, Margaret, was already holding court like a queen on a faded throne, launching into her usual litany of complaints.
“Emily, are you absolutely sure youve checked everything? You didnt forget the passports, did you? And the travel insurance? You know how scatterbrained my James ishe needs watching like a hawk.”
James, seated beside Emily, didnt react. Eyes glued to his phone, he pretended not to hear. Emily sighed and forced calm into her voice.
“Everythings sorted, Margaret. All the documents are here, the insurance is arranged, the tickets are printed. Dont worry.”
“How can I not worry when its all on your shoulders?” Margaret huffed. “Young people these daysso irresponsible. Back in my day…”
The lecture that followed was familiar: a long monologue about the past, inevitably better, cheaper, and more reliable. Emily tuned out, staring at the grey, monotonous suburbs flashing past the window. A sudden, icy fear gripped herthe fear that this was her life. An endless cycle of managing other peoples comfort, a silent, unthanked puppeteer.
Then, James finally looked up from his phone.
“Mum, leave it. Emilys got it covered. No need to nitpick.”
A flicker of warmth lit in Emilys chestonly to be doused instantly. As if apologising to his mother for briefly defending his wife, he added,
“Shes a proper pro, my Emily. Makes sure everything runs like clockwork. Right, love?”
*She makes sure everything runs like clockwork.* The words dripped with such condescension it made her skin crawl. As if that was her only talentorganising other peoples contentment. As if she had no dreams, no ambitions, no life of her own.
“Of course,” she replied tightly. What other choice did she have?
The chaos of the airport only sharpened Emilys irritation. The check-in hall was a whirlwind of endless queues, exhausted faces, and wailing children. For Margaret, it was a fresh buffet of grievances.
“Why is the queue so long? Well miss the flight! James, youre the man heredo something!”
As always, James delegated.
“Emily, can you see if theres a priority lane? Mums getting worked up.”
Emily knew Margarets agitation rose in direct proportion to her dissatisfaction with the universe. Arguing was pointless. She went to the information desk and asked about priority boarding for elderly passengers. The answer was predictable: no exceptions.
When she returned, Margaret was scandalised.
“I knew it! You always mess things up. Couldnt you have planned ahead?”
“I did everything I could, Margaret,” Emily said, her patience wearing thin. “Were on time. The queue is long. Thats not my fault.”
“Not your fault? Whose, then? You organised this whole trip!”
The circular logic was dizzying. When they finally reached the counter, another crisis erupted. The seats.
“Why arent we in business class?” Margaret demanded. “Ive dreamed of this my whole life.”
“The tickets were booked months ago, Margaret. Business class was significantly more expensive,” Emily said through gritted teeth.
“More expensive! So you scrimp on me? After all Ive done for you two?”
James just shrugged.
“Come on, Mum. Emily, really, couldnt you have sorted something better?”
*Sorted something better.* Meaning: more convenient for him and his mother. Had anyone, even once, considered what might be better for *her*?
“An aisle seat?” Margaret went on, horrified. “I dont want the aisle. I want the windowto see the clouds.”
“Im sorry, madam,” the exhausted attendant replied. “The flights fully booked. No other seats available.”
“What do you mean, no seats? I demand a solution! Ill lodge a complaint!”
Tired of his mothers theatrics, James chose the worst way to intervene.
“Emily, dont just stand there. Ask nicely. Youre good at persuading people.”
*Persuading people.* He meant: *Youre good at bending over backwards.*
At that moment, something inside Emily snapped. A clean, silent click. She was done. Done persuading, done organising, done being the convenient, silent shadow.
“Ive asked, James. There are no other seats,” she said, her voice cold and flat.
“Whats wrong with you today?” he hissed. “Youre ruining everything. If you cant behave normally, you might as well stay home!”
Then came the most unexpected thing. Emily looked at Jamess sulky, angry face, at Margarets smug satisfaction, at her own suitcase beside herand felt a deep, dizzying relief.
“Fine,” she said, perfectly calm. “Ill stay.”
James and Margaret exchanged stunned glances.
“What do you mean, youll stay? Have you lost your mind?” Margaret spluttered.
“Youll manage without me,” Emily said, and for the first time in years, her voice carried real conviction. She grabbed her suitcase and walked away.
“Emily, stop this nonsense,” James said, grabbing her arm. “Are you upset? You know how Mum is. Ignore her.”
“Oh, I know, James,” she said, pulling free. “I know very well.”
“Fine! Stay, if you cant act right!” he shouted after her, mimicking the tone shed often used with him.
Emily smiled to herself. Those were his exact words. And she *was* stayingjust not the way he imagined. She watched them, James and Margaret, bickering and grumbling as they headed for security. Convinced theyd punished her, put her in her place. They had no idea theyd just set her free.
Emily left the check-in hall and found a quiet corner. No tears, no trembling hands. Just cold, crystalline resolve. She pulled out her phone. It wasnt just a communication tool anymoreit was the control panel of her own life, one she was finally reclaiming.
First, the hotel. She dug up the confirmation email shed carefully filed. “Family holiday.” What a joke. Her fingers flew across the screen. Cancel James and Margarets booking. A standard notification about cancellation fees popped up. It didnt matter. She knew the price of freedom, and she was willing to pay it.
Next, the airport transfer. Search. Confirm. Cancel. She allowed herself a small, wicked smile imagining their faces, scanning the crowd of drivers for a sign with their name that would never appear.
Now, for herself. She opened the airline app. Business class. James had always called it a pointless extravagance. “For the same price, we get an extra week in a standard room,” hed argue, never understanding her craving for something that wasnt standard. She selected a window seat, far from the noise, and confirmed the upgrade.
Last step: a phone call. She scrolled through her contacts and found Sophie, her best friend whod moved to Portugal years ago. They rarely spoke, but their bond was unbroken.
“Emily! Bloody hell, is that you?” Sophies warm, lively voice was a balm.
“Hi, Sophie. Slight change of plans.”
“Whats happened? You sound different.”
Emily took a deep breath.
“Im free.”
“Free? You mean youve left him?”
“Not yet. But its only a matter of time. Ive just escaped. From the holiday, from him, from his mother.”
A stunned silence, then a joyous
