**Diary Entry**
While Katherine paid at the till, James hung back. By the time she started packing the shopping bags, hed already slipped out of the shop. Stepping outside, she found him leaning against the wall, cigarette in hand.
“James, take these, please,” she said, holding out two heavy bags.
He stared at her as if shed asked him to commit a crime. “Why should I?”
She was baffled. What did he mean, *”Why should I?”* Wasnt it obvious? A man ought to helpthats just decency. It was absurd for her to struggle with the weight while he strolled empty-handed.
“Theyre heavy,” she insisted.
“So?” James dug in his heels.
He could see her temper fraying, but on principle, he refused to lift a finger. Quickening his pace, he left her behind. *”Carry bags? What am I, a pack mule? Some sort of servant? Im a manI decide when I help! Let her manage, it wont kill her.”* Today, he fancied putting her in her place.
“James, where are you going? Take the bags!” she called, voice trembling.
He knew exactly how heavy they werehed filled the trolley himself. The house wasnt far, just a five-minute walk, but under that weight, it felt endless.
Katherine trudged home, blinking back tears. Part of her hoped hed turn around, crack a joke, but nohe only walked faster. She nearly dropped everything but pushed on, numb. At the buildings entrance, she collapsed onto a bench, exhausted. Anger and fatigue clawed at her, but she swallowed it down. Crying in public? Unthinkable. But swallowing this? No. He hadnt just slighted herhed humiliated her deliberately. And this from the man whod once doted on her.
“Hello, love!” Mrs. Wilkins voice snapped her back.
“Hello,” Katherine forced a smile.
Mrs. Wilkins, their downstairs neighbour, had been like family since her gran passed. With her mother remarried abroad and her father long gone, the old woman was all she had left.
Without a second thought, Katherine handed over the shopping. It hadnt been a wasted effort, after all. Mrs. Wilkins pension barely stretched, and Katherine loved spoiling her with little treats.
“Come on, lets get these upstairs,” she said, hefting the bags again.
In Mrs. Wilkins kitchen, she unloaded tinned salmon, pâté, peaches in syrupluxuries the old woman adored but rarely bought. Tears welled in Mrs. Wilkins eyes, and guilt pricked Katherine for not doing this more often. They parted with a kiss, and she headed upstairs.
Home now, James ambled out of the kitchen, mouth full.
“Wheres the shopping?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.
“What shopping?” Her voice was light. “The ones you helped carry?”
“Dont be daft!” He tried to laugh it off. “Youre not still cross?”
“No,” she said calmly. “Just putting things together.”
James stiffened. Hed expected shouting, tearsnot this eerie quiet.
“Putting what together?”
“I dont have a husband.” She sighed. “Thought Id married one, but it turns out I married a child.”
“Whats that supposed to mean?” He feigned offence.
“Simple,” she met his glare. “I want a man who acts like one. And you? Seems you want a woman who acts like a man too.” A pause. “So what you really need is a husband.”
James flushed, fists clenching. But Katherine didnt seeshe was already in the bedroom, stuffing his things into a suitcase.
He fought it till the end. Refused to go. Couldnt fathom how something so trivial could unravel everything.
“It was just bags! Whats the big deal?” he protested as she tossed shirts into the case.
“Hope you can carry this one alone,” she said, ignoring him.
She knew this was just the beginning. If she let this slide, the disrespect would only grow. So she ended it, shutting the door firmly behind him.
