The Ideal Husband? When One Sentence Undermines an Indifferent Marriage
Youre the perfect husband, Romain: how a single remark shattered a marriage built on neglect
Émilie came home, her arms loaded with two heavy bags. No sooner had she stepped through the door than a voice called from the living room:
Are you finally here? Is it already six?
Its seven, she replied, exhausted, heading toward the kitchen.
Three tea cups on the table hinted at a recent visit. Her motherinlaw had been there, likely with her sister Agathe. Émilie wasnt surprised; such unannounced appearances, critiques of her unfeminine manners, disapproving glances, and the lingering sense of an outsiders presence had become routine.
Where have you been so long? Im starving, Romain said without looking away from his computer.
I stopped at the supermarket, she answered sarcastically. To feed Her Majesty. By the way, we need to talk.
He brushed off her comment. She moved closer, swivelled her chair, and said calmly:
We need a divorce.
Romain looked up, startled:
What? Why?
Because I cant take it anymore.
Émilie, could you at least make dinner first? We can discuss it afterward. Im starving.
No. We talk now.
Listen, you know I dont drink, I dont go out, I dont hang around anywhere. I stay home, I work. I earn enough. I never ask you for anything. What are you missing?
She burst into a bitter laugh:
You live in my flat, you dont pay rent or utilities I handle that. The shopping, the cleaning, the cooking all me. So whats the point of your money?
Uh I bought a sweater. I downloaded an update for my game. I occasionally give something to Mom and Aunt Agathe. Thats normal, right?
Sure, very normal. Except this morning when I asked you to hang the laundry, its still in the machine.
I was on a break
Changing tasks is also a form of rest.
But I dont know how. Mom and Agathe never let me near the stove or the vacuum.
I know. You dont know how to do anything. Isnt that convenient? From today on, if youre hungry, youll figure it out yourself. Im not cooking any longer. Some friends invited me to a caféI turned them down, but Ill go now. Good luck.
She stood, hung the laundry, gestured sharply toward the kitchen, and left. At the café, wine glass in hand, her phone buzzed with her motherinlaws number. She silenced it and placed the screen on the table.
When she returned, Colette Michaux was waiting in the apartment.
Émilie! What were you thinking? A divorce? Do you realize what a man you have? You wont find another like him! He doesnt drink, he doesnt cheat, he never leaves his socks lying around! Women envy you!
Émilie stared at her calmly:
You speak as if you were praising a welltrained dog. He does nothing wrongthats all you list. But can you tell me what he does right? For me?
He works.
I work too. On top of that I clean, wash, iron, cook, carry heavy bags, pay for everythingfor both of us. And he? What does he do?
He gives you gifts! I know! I help him pick them out!
Ah, thats why I got a footbath tub for Christmas and a wool scarf for my birthday.
Maybe youd like gold? her motherinlaw sneered.
A spa voucher or a weekend by the sea wouldnt have been refused. But noI get a scarf, contempt, and that endless I dont know how to do it. Im done playing mother for him.
Thats just how he is. Men in our family dont behave that way.
Exactly. You raised a man who expects everything to be served to him, and hes fine with it. Im not.
Couldnt you try something before divorcing? Teach him
Excuse me. I dont want to teach an adult man how to be a man. I tried, for a year and a half. No more. Gather his thingsyoull both go wherever you want. Im not cruel, just exhausted.
Half an hour later, a taxi waited outside the building.
