“Go to the kitchen now!” I heard my husband sayand something inside me snapped.
Emma stared at her phone screen. Daniel had texted for the fourth time in half an hour: “Pick up the phone, you daft cow.”
She sat behind the wheel of the learner car, her instructor calmly explaining parallel parking. Her phone buzzed again.
“Can I take this? My husbands worried.”
“Go ahead.”
“Daniel, Im driving”
“Why arent you answering? Ive been calling!”
“I cant talk during”
“Right. Getting your license is more important than your husband, is it? When will you be home?”
“An hour.”
“Whos making dinner, then? Or do I have to do it myself?”
The instructor turned away, pretending not to hear.
“Ill cook when I get back.”
“Good. I thought I married a career woman now.”
At home, Daniel scrolled through his phone on the sofa. Three months unemployed, insisting it was temporary, but the job hunt dragged on.
“Hows driving school? Complicated, is it?” His voice dripped with that familiar smirk.
“Its fine. We practiced parallel parking today.”
“Oh, very serious. Proper science, that?”
Emma walked into the kitchen. The sink was full of unwashed disheshis breakfast.
“Daniel, can we finally sort those boxes? Its February, and it still feels like we just moved in.”
He glanced up from his screen.
“Whats there to sort? You can manage.”
“We could do it together. And tidy up while”
Daniel stood and stepped closer. Something cold flickered in his eyes.
“Go to the kitchen now.”
He said it quietly, perfectly clear. No shout. Just wordsand the silence was worse than any scream.
Emma froze.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me. Go and make dinner.”
“We were talking about the boxes”
“Talking? You were whinging. I said you can handle it yourself.”
Something shattered inside her. Not hurtunderstanding. She remembered New Years at his mates, where hed been the life of the party.
Flirting with every woman, cracking jokes, helping the hostess. Then, in the car afterward:
“Why were you so quiet all night? Embarrassed?”
“Im not going to the kitchen!”
His eyebrows shot up.
“What?”
“Im not!”
“Emma, dont push me. We were having a normal chat.”
“Normal? When was the last time you spoke to me normally?”
Daniel set his phone down.
“Whats your problem? It was just a joke.”
“A joke? Pick up the phone, you daft cowthats a joke?”
“So I cant text my wife?”
“You can. Just not like that.”
“For Gods sake, whats the difference? You know I didnt mean anything!”
“I know. Thats why Ive stayed quiet this long.”
Emma sat on the edge of the bed.
“You know what my instructor said today? Youve got steady hands. Imagine that. Steady. But at home, Im afraid to ask for help with boxes.”
“Afraid?”
Daniel laughed.
“Oh, come off it!”
“I am. Because I know youll find a way to make me feel worthless.”
“Dont be ridiculous! Youre making this up.”
“Am I? Remember when you told your mates I was playing at driving lessons?”
“It was funny!”
“To you. To me, it was humiliating.”
Daniel sat beside her on the sofa.
“Look, if you dont like how I talk”
“Then what?”
“The doors where its always been.”
Silence. Emma looked at her husband. No apology. No explanation. Just a nod toward the exit.
“Fine.”
She stood, pulled a duffel from the wardrobe, and started packing.
“What are you doing?”
“What you suggested.”
“Where will you go?”
“To Sophies.”
“Youll storm off, have a cry, then come back. Like always.”
“Like always?”
“Women love drama. Slam doors, sob to their friends.”
Emma folded her documents, makeup, charger into the bag.
“And crawl back after!”
She reached for the wedding photo box, pulled out a picturethem at the registry office, beaming.
“Would you have spoken to me like this then?”
Daniel glanced at the photo.
“People were watching.”
“And here?”
“Here, its family. I can relax.”
Emma carefully placed the photo back. Zipped the bag.
“Relax. Right.”
“Wait. Lets talk.”
“Whats to talk about? Youve shown me what I am to you at home.”
In the hallway, she pulled on her coat. Daniel stood barefoot in joggers.
“Oh, stop it! All couples row.”
“We werent rowing.”
Emma gripped the door handle.
“You just decided you could talk to me like that now.”
The door slammed. Behind her, his voice chased:
“You wont get far!”
Two weeks later, a text: “Ill swing by tomorrow, when Ive got time.”
Her friend Sophie shook her head.
“Why even see him?”
“I need to know Im right.”
The café by the station. Daniel was half an hour late.
“Howve you been?”
He sat without apologising.
“Fine.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Sophies for now.”
The “for now” slipped outold habit, softening the blow.
“Place is a mess. Dishes piled up, laundry rotting. Thank God the neighbour helped with shopping.”
A waitress approachedpretty brunette, mid-twenties.
“What can I get you?”
“Two coffees,” Daniel said, smiling at her.
“Anything sweet to go with?”
“Weve lovely cakes”
“Then bring the best youve got.”
He slid off his wedding ring, set it on the table.
“Now that no ones nagging me about housework, I can treat myself.”
The waitress giggled.
“Can you cook, then?”
“Course! A mans got to eat. Less fuss without socks left on the floor.”
Emma stared at the ring.
“Or someone demanding help with chores.”
He carried on. In that moment, she realisedhe was turning their story into a joke for a stranger.
“So,” he turned back, “ready to end the performance? Its dull without you.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Im not coming back.”
For the first time, Daniel really looked at her.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Emma stood, left money for the coffee.
“Wait. You know what youre doing?”
“I do. For the first time in three months.”
“Emma! Were adults!”
“Exactly. Thats why Im leaving.”
Outside, sleet fell. Through the window, she saw Daniel explaining to the waitressno doubt calling his wife hysterical.
A month later, Emma rented a flat. Passed her test, started a new job.
Once, she spotted Daniel in Tesco with a young woman. Laughing over groceries. She walked past unseen.
Wonder how long before he tells her, “Go to the kitchen now”? A month? Two?
That evening, Emma stood by her window, tea in hand. Her phone lay silent on the table. No more texts calling her a daft cow.
She thought of the women who stay. Who believe he doesnt mean it, that all men are like this. And felt not judgment, but sadness.
Her phone lit upa colleagues message about tomorrows meeting. Polite. Professional.
Emma smiled, replied. Then sank onto her sofain her home, where she could ask for help without fear of mockery.
