He still hadnt arrived. Lately, hed been overwhelmed with work and came home later each evening.
Emma had tucked the children into bed and retreated to the kitchen to brew herself a cup of tea. John wasnt home yet. These days, he was buried under endless tasks and exhaustion, often returning long after dark. Emma pitied him and tried to spare him from household worries. After all, he was the sole breadwinner.
Shortly after their wedding, theyd agreed Emma would tend to the home and their future children while John provided for the family. One by one, their three little ones arrived. John had rejoiced each time, declaring he had no intention of stopping there.
Emma, however, was worn out by the endless nappies, formula feeds, and sleepless nights. She decided it was time to pause.
John stumbled in well past midnight, slightly merry. When she asked why he was so late, he replied, “Emma, we were drowning in work, so we went out to unwind.”
“My love!” she smiled. “Come, let me fix you something to eat.”
“No need. I had some chicken wingslost my appetite. Best I just go straight to bed.”
March 8th was approaching. Emma, after asking her mother to mind the children, headed to the shopping centre. She wanted to mark the occasion with something speciala romantic dinner, just the two of them. Her mother agreed to take the little ones for the evening.
Alongside groceries and gifts, Emma decided to treat herself. It had been ages since shed bought anythingshe was too embarrassed to ask John for money for clothes, and where would she wear them? The last thing shed purchased was a housecoat, hardly fitting for the evening she had planned. So she stepped into a boutique, selected a few dresses, and slipped into the fitting room.
She was trying on the second dress when she heard her husbands voice from the next stall:
“Mmm, I cant wait to get you out of this!”
Girlish laughter followed.
“Patience, you devil! Go pick something out for your wife!”
“Why bother? Shes buried in nappies and tantrums. As long as the kids are fed and cleaned, she could wear rags! Ill get her a slow cooker. Or maybe a bread makerthatll thrill her!”
A cold shiver gripped Emma. She mechanically continued trying on dresses, straining to hear more.
“But what if she asks where you spent so much? A slow cooker and bread maker arent that pricey,” the girl giggled.
“Why should I justify how I spend my money? I workshe stays home! I give her a set amount for the house, and thats plenty! She should be grateful!”
The try-ons seemed to end, and the voices faded. Peering cautiously, Emma saw her beloved John at the till, paying for his purchases beside a blonde. After handing over the cash, he kissed the girl right there in front of the cashier.
“Everything alright, madam?” the shop assistant asked, noticing Emma still in the stall.
“Yes, yes, quite alright!” she replied, stepping out and handing back the dresses.
At home, Emma sent her mother off and put the children down for their nap. She began making plans. Shed never expected such betrayal from her husband. Not just the cheatingit was the contempt, the dismissal of everything she did for their family. In an instant, it all meant nothing. She wanted to flee, demand a divorce, but paused to think.
“If I divorce him, hell run off to his blonde, and Ill be left with the children and no income. Child support? A pittance, no doubt. How will we live?”
By evening, shed made her decision. That night, John didnt come home late under the usual pretence of work. “Probably saw her earlier,” Emma thought indifferently. All feeling for him had vanished. He was a stranger now. Her only concern was that he might want intimacysomething she couldnt stomach.
But it seemed hed had his fill elsewhere, so he didnt approach her.
The next day, Emma drafted her CV and sent it to several firms and agencies. All she could do was wait. The days dragged. Each morning, she checked her emails. Finally, a reply camean interview at a company in town. The very one where John worked. She debated going but decided she must.
Leaving the children with her mother, Emma attended the interview. After two hours with the managers, she was offered a decent position with flexible hours. The starting wage wasnt grand, but enough to support herself and the children.
She floated home, radiant. Her mother, seeing her so happy, pressed for answers.
“Mum, Johns cheating!” Emma exclaimed joyfully. Convinced her daughter had lost her mind from stress, the older woman took her hand and guided her to the sofa.
“Emma, how can you say such things? John works all day!”
“Hes not workinghes with his mistress!” Emma recounted everything shed overheard in the fitting room. Her mother listened, then asked,
“What will you do?”
“Ill divorce him! And yes, Ive taken a job with flexible hours. Once the children are all in nursery, Ill work full-time!”
“Well! I wont stop you! Betrayal shouldnt be forgiven. He doesnt even see you as a person anymore! Ill help with the children.”
“Thank you, Mum!” Emma hugged her tightly.
On the evening of March 7th, John came home late again. Emma didnt question him. Surprised by her indifference, he began to explain:
“Emma, the lads and I got carried away”
“Just go to bed,” she cut in.
The next morning, as Emma prepared breakfast for the children, John triumphantly presented her with a gifta bread maker.
“Darling, to make your life easier!” He leaned in for a kiss, but Emma stepped back, ignoring the gift.
“Ive got a gift for you too.”
Bewildered, John followed her to the hall, where two large suitcases waited.
“Were divorcing. No more lies about where youve been.”
“How did you?” he stammered.
“I heard everything in the fitting room while you bought gifts for your blonde. Keep the bread makergive it to her. I dont need it.”
Caught and losing his family, John snapped:
“Jealous Ive got someone else? Someone beautiful, passionate, polishedunlike you! Youve forgotten how to even wear makeup! Stuck at home with the kids, living off my money! It doesnt matter what I buy or for whom! Thats my right! Youre just a gold-digging wife!”
“I dont care,” Emma said calmly. “Leave.”
The next day, she filed for divorce and child support. A week later, a knock came at the door. Johns mother stood there, glaring. Without greeting, she screeched:
“Gold-digger! You drove out your husband and now youre taking his money! Drop the child support! He owes you nothing!”
“Hes not paying mehes supporting his children,” Emma retorted. “If hes short for his mistress, thats his problem. Hes as much a parent as I am!”
“What will you do without his money? You had children thinking youd live off him forever! But you wont! Hell get his boss to slash his official salary, and youll get scraps! Youll come crawling back!”
“Unlikely,” Emma said, pointing to the door. “Get out of my house before I call the police.”
Cursing, the woman left. Months later, nursery spots opened up one by one, and once the youngest was settled, Emma returned to full-time work.
“Hello,” came a familiar voice at her desk. “Can we talk?”
“Sorry, John, Im busy,” Emma replied without looking up.
“Maybe lunch?” he pressed. Emma lifted her gaze, studying her ex-husband. He looked haggard, drained. She knew the blonde, learning half his wages would go to child support, had dumped him. But it no longer mattered.
“No, John. Were not talking. And were not having lunch.”
