While Katie was paying at the till, Jack stepped away. By the time she started packing the shopping bags, hed already walked out. When she left the shop, Katie found Jack outside, smoking a cigarette.
Jack, take the bags, please, Katie said, handing him two heavy shopping bags.
Jack looked at her as if shed asked him to do something criminal and replied, baffled:
What about you?
Katie was confused. What did he mean, *what about you?* Wasnt it natural for a man to help? It seemed absurd for a woman to struggle with heavy bags while her husband walked free, hands in pockets.
Jack, theyre heavy, she said.
So? he shot back, refusing.
He could see her irritation but stood his ground. *Carry the bags? What am I, a packhorse? A servant? Im a manI decide what I do. Let her manage, she wont die!* He walked ahead, knowing she couldnt keep up. Today, he wanted to make a pointto put her in her place.
Jack, where are you going? Take the bags! Katie called, her voice trembling.
He knew how heavy they werehed filled the trolley himself. The house wasnt far, just a five-minute walk. But with full bags, it felt endless.
Katie trudged home, fighting tears. She hoped Jack was joking, that hed turn backbut he didnt. The distance between them only grew. She almost dropped everything, but in a daze, kept going. When she reached their building, she collapsed onto the entrance bench, exhausted. The anger and humiliation burned, but she refused to cry in public. Swallowing it, though? No. He hadnt just insulted herhed done it on purpose. And the man whod once been so caring before marriage He knew *exactly* what he was doing.
Hello, Katie! A neighbours voice snapped her from her thoughts.
Hello, Mrs. Wilkins, she forced a smile.
Mrs. WilkinsMargaret to her friendslived one floor below and had been close to Katies grandmother. After her gran passed, shed stepped in, helping Katie whenever needed. With her mother remarried in another town and her father long gone, Mrs. Wilkins was the only family she had left.
Without a second thought, Katie handed her the shopping. At least carrying it hadnt been for nothing. Living on a meagre pension, Mrs. Wilkins rarely treated herself.
Come on, let me help you up, Katie said, lifting the bags again.
In Mrs. Wilkins kitchen, she unloaded tinned salmon, custard tarts, peaches in syruplittle luxuries the old woman adored but couldnt afford. Seeing her eyes well up, Katie felt guilty for not doing this more often. They parted with a hug, and Katie headed upstairs.
Inside, Jack was in the kitchen, chewing.
Where are the bags? he asked, acting oblivious.
What bags? she said coolly. The ones you helped carry?
Oh, come off itdont be dramatic! he laughed nervously. Youre not still cross, are you?
No, she replied, calm. Just made up my mind.
Jack stiffened. Hed expected shouting, tears, a row But this quiet resolve unsettled him.
About what?
I dont have a husband, she said, sighing. Thought Id married one, turns out I married a child.
Whats *that* supposed to mean? he pretended offense.
Simple, she met his eyes. I want a husband who acts like a man. You, clearly, want a wife who acts like one too. A pause. So what you *really* need is a husband.
Jacks face flushed red, fists clenched. But Katie didnt seeshe was already in the bedroom, packing his things.
He resisted till the end, refusing to leave. How could something so small break them?
It was *fine*! Whats the big deal about carrying bags? he protested as she tossed clothes into his suitcase.
Your suitcasehope you can carry *that* alone, she said, ignoring him.
She knew this was just the start. If she let disrespect slide, it would only grow. So she ended it, shutting the door behind him.
