**A Day for Me**
**Part 1: The Return**
Evening settled slowly over the neighbourhood, painting the clouds in a soft orange glow that promised a peaceful night. For Julian, however, the routine was the same as always. After an exhausting day at the office, where paperwork seemed to multiply and meetings dragged on without pause, all he wanted was to get home, have dinner, and maybe watch a bit of telly before bed. He wasnt unhappyjust accustomed to the predictability of days that rolled on like beads on an endless string.
He parked the car outside his house and immediately noticed something odd. The door of his wife Emilys car was wide open. Julian frowned. Emily was meticulous, especially about her car, which she treated almost like a personal sanctuary. Even more surprising was the sight of the front door slightly ajar, letting out a gust of fresh air mixed with the unmistakable sound of children playing.
He took a few steps forward and froze. The garden, usually neat and tended by Emily and the kids on weekends, now looked like a battlefield. His three childrenThomas, eight; Lucy, six; and little George, just fourwere playing in muddy puddles, completely covered in dirt and still in their pyjamas. Empty takeaway boxes and wrappers were scattered across the lawn as if a tiny tornado had swept through. Julian felt a stab of worry mixed with disbelief.
“Dad!” Thomas shouted, spotting him. “Look what we made!”
Lucy waved her hands proudly at what she claimed was an invincible mud fortress. George, meanwhile, giggled uncontrollably, splashing in a puddle.
Julian glanced around for the dog, Max, but there was no sign of himnot even a distant bark. His unease grew. Where was Emily? Why was everything like this?
“Wheres Mum?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Inside,” Lucy replied, barely looking up from her creation.
Julian stepped into the house, dodging wrappers and toys. The chaos multiplied as he crossed the threshold. A lamp lay toppled on the floor, the rug was crumpled and shoved against the wall. In the living room, the telly blared cartoons, and the sofa was buried under a sea of toys and discarded clothes.
The smell of food mixed with detergent and dirt hung in the air. Julian headed to the kitchen, where the sink overflowed with dirty dishes, breakfast leftovers covered the counter, and the fridge door stood wide open. Dog food was spilled across the floor, and under the table, a broken glass glinted in the shadows.
Julians heart pounded. Something wasnt right. He hurried upstairs, pushing aside toys and piles of clothes blocking the way. At the top, he saw water seeping from under the bathroom door. Inside, he found soaked towels, bubbles, and toys floating in a sea of unrolled toilet paper.
Without wasting another second, he rushed to the master bedroom. He pushed the door open, and there, curled up in the dim light, was Emily. She lounged in bed in her pyjamas, her hair in a messy bun, reading a book with an expression of utter calm.
Noticing him, she looked up and smiled serenely.
“How was your day?”
Julian stared, furious and bewildered.
“What on earth happened here today?” he demanded, barely holding back his anger.
Emily smiled again, unsettlingly relaxed.
“You know how you come home every day and ask, ‘What on earth do you do all day?'”
“Yes,” Julian replied, incredulous.
“Well,” she said, gently closing her book, “today I didnt do it. Today, I took the day for me.”
**Part 2: Silence and Realisation**
For a moment, silence filled the room. Julian stood frozen in the doorway, unsure whether to laugh, shout, or collapse like one of the childrens abandoned toys. He looked at Emily, still serene, then mentally replayed the chaos hed walked into: the mess, the dirt, the sheer disorder. For the first time in years, he was speechless.
“You took the day for you?” he repeated, as if the words made no sense.
Emily nodded, setting the book aside and sitting up. Her pyjamasa faded blue cotton setwere stained with tea and chocolate, and her bare feet peeked out from under the duvet.
“Yes. Today, I decided not to do a single thing I usually do. I didnt tidy, clean, cook, organise, argue with the kids to get dressed, wash dishes, chase Max to stop him escaping, answer the school parents group chat, plan dinner, or even brush my hair. Today, I was just Emily. Not Mum, not wife, not housekeeper. Just me.”
Julian felt a mix of admiration and confusion. He sat on the edge of the bed, struggling to process it all.
“But…” he began, then trailed off.
Emily met his gaze, her expression unexpectedly tender.
“Do you have any idea how many times Ive wondered if you notice everything I do every day?” she asked, not with resentment, just curiosity. “Have you ever stopped to think what the house would look like if I didnt do anything for just one day?”
Julian looked down. He remembered all the times hed come home and absentmindedly asked, “What did you do today?” as if the order, the meals, the clean clothes, and the childrens routines just happened effortlessly, like magic.
“I suppose not,” he admitted quietly.
Emily smiled, a little sadly.
“I dont blame you. Sometimes I dont even realise how much I do until I stop doing it.”
Just then, a shriek interrupted them. George, from the garden, was demanding his mums attention. Emily sighed but didnt move.
“Are you going down?” Julian asked, almost whispering.
“No. Not today. Todays my day,” Emily replied, closing her eyes and lying back down.
Julian stayed seated, watching his wife. For the first time, he saw the exhaustion in her facethe dark circles under her eyes, the faint lines at the corners of her mouth. He also saw the peace of someone who, for once, had set down the weight of the world.
He stood slowly and left the room. Downstairs, the mess greeted him like a slap. The kids were still playing, oblivious, and the telly still blared in the living room. Julian thought of Max, the spilled food, the mountain of dirty dishes. For the first time, he understood what a day in Emilys life really meant.
He rolled up his sleeves and, without a word, began to clean.
**Part 3: The Invisible Weight**
Julian started in the kitchen. The counter was a disasterdried cereal, spilled milk, toast crumbs, and juice stains. The fridge door was still open, and when he tried to shut it, he found a fallen yogurt pot blocking it, its contents smeared across the shelf. He took a deep breath and began wiping it clean.
As he stacked dishes in the sink, he remembered how Emily always woke before him. Hed hear the kettle boiling, smell fresh coffee, listen to the kids slowly stirring. Hed linger in bed, enjoying the warmth, never considering the whirlwind already in motion downstairs.
Now, facing the pile of dirty plates, he felt the strain in his shoulders. He washed them one by one as George bounded in, hands caked in mud, grinning mischievously.
“Dad! Dad! Lucy poured water on me!”
Julian, still scrubbing a plate, looked at his son. His hair was wild, his face smeared with dirt. For a second, he thought of scolding himthen stopped. Emilys words echoed in his mind: *Today, I didnt do anything.* Today, the kids were free, and chaos was the price.
“Go wash your hands, please,” he said wearily.
George obeyed, leaving muddy footprints behind.
Julian sighed and kept cleaning. When the kitchen was done, he moved to the living room. He turned off the telly, picked up toys, and folded abandoned clothes. With each task, he felt the invisible weight of routinethe silent, unseen labour that held their lives together.
Upstairs, the bathroom was still damp. The wet towels weighed like stones, and the toilet paper sprawled across the floor like a white carpet. Julian gathered it all, mopped the floor, and opened the window.
Finished, he sat on the stairs, exhausted. He heard Thomas and Lucy laughing in the garden and, for the first time in years, felt a pang of guilt. How often had he taken the order, the meals, the cleanliness for granted? How many times had he asked, without thinking, “What did you do today?”
He glanced up at the closed bedroom door. Emily was still there, reading, enjoying her day. For a second, he envied herbut then he understood. Sometimes, the bravest thing you could do was stop and take care of yourself.
By evening, Julian bathed the kids, dressed them in clean pyjamas, and made a simple dinner. At the table, Lucy asked, “Wheres Mum?”
Julian smiled. “Mums resting today. Were looking after her.”
The kids nodded, accepting it like a game. After dinner, Julian read them a story until they fell asleep.
Only then,
