**A Day for Me**
**Part 1: The Return**
Evening settled slowly over the neighbourhood, painting the clouds in a soft orange glow, promising a quiet night. For Oliver, 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 an unhappy man, but he was accustomed to routinethe predictability of days rolling one after another like beads on an endless string.
He parked the car outside their house and noticed something odd straight away. The door of his wife Emilys car was wide open. Oliver frowned. Emily was meticulous, careful with details, especially with her car, which she treated like a sanctuary. Even more surprising was the sight of the front door slightly ajar, letting out a gust of fresh air mixed with the unmistakable noise of children playing.
He took a few steps forward and froze. The garden, usually neat and tended by Emily and the kids on weekends, was now a battlefield. Their three childrenWilliam, eight; Lily, six; and little Henry, barely fourwere playing in muddy puddles, covered head to toe in dirt, still in their pyjamas. Empty food boxes and wrappers were scattered across the lawn like a mini tornado had swept through. Oliver felt a stab of worry mixed with disbelief.
“Dad!” William shouted, spotting him. “Look what we made!”
Lily waved her hands proudly, showing off a mound of mud she insisted was an unbreakable fortress. Henry, meanwhile, giggled uncontrollably, splashing in a puddle.
Oliver glanced around for their 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 not to sound alarmed.
“Inside,” Lily replied, barely looking up from her creation.
Oliver stepped into the house, dodging wrappers and toys. The chaos multiplied the moment 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 scattered clothes.
The smell of food mixed with detergent and earth hung in the air. Oliver headed to the kitchen, where the sink overflowed with dirty dishes, breakfast remnants covered the counter, and the fridge door stood wide open. Dog food was spilled across the floor, and under the table, a shattered glass glinted in the shadows.
Olivers heart pounded. Something wasnt right. He rushed upstairs, pushing aside toys and piles of laundry. At the top, he saw water seeping from under the bathroom door. Inside, he found soaked towels, bubbles, and toys floating in the tub, with toilet paper unravelled into snowy drifts.
Without hesitation, he hurried to the master bedroom. He pushed the door openand there was Emily. Curled up in bed, still in her pyjamas, her hair tied in a messy bun, reading a book with utter calm.
Noticing him, she looked up, smiled, and asked serenely, “How was your day?”
Oliver stared, furious, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. “What happened here today?” he demanded, barely containing his anger.
Emily smiled again, unnervingly calm. “You know how every day when you come home from work, you ask, ‘What on earth do you do all day?'”
“Yeah,” Oliver replied, incredulous.
“Well, today I didnt do it,” Emily said, closing the book gently. “Today, I took the day for me.”
**Part 2: The Silence and the Truth**
For a moment, silence filled the room. Oliver stood frozen in the doorway, unsure whether to laugh, shout, or collapse like one of his childrens toys. He looked at Emilystill serenethen mentally replayed the chaos hed walked into: the mess, the dirt, the utter disarray. 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. Her pyjamas were stained with tea and chocolate, her bare feet peeking 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 keep him from escaping, answer the parents group chats, or even brush my hair. Today, I was just Emily. Not Mum, not wife, not housekeeper. Just me.”
Oliver felt a mix of admiration and bewilderment. He sat on the edge of the bed, struggling to gather his thoughts.
“But…” he began, then trailed off.
Emily met his gaze, her expression unexpectedly tender. “Do you know how often Ive wondered if you realise everything I do every day?” she asked, not accusatory, just curious. “Have you ever wondered what the house would look like if I didnt do anything for just one day?”
Oliver looked down. He remembered all the times hed come home and absentmindedly asked, “What did you do today?”as if order, meals, clean clothes, and bathed children just happened effortlessly, like magic.
“I suppose not,” he admitted quietly.
Emily smiled, a touch of sadness in her eyes. “I dont blame you. Sometimes I dont even realise how much I do until I stop.”
Just then, a shriek interrupted them. Henry, from the garden, was demanding his mum. Emily sighed but didnt move.
“Are you going down?” Oliver whispered.
“No. Not today. Todays my day,” she replied, closing her eyes and lying back.
Oliver stayed seated, watching his wife. For the first time, he saw the weariness in her facethe shadows under her eyes, the faint lines at the corners of her mouth. He also saw the peace of someone who, for once, had let the worlds weight slip from her shoulders.
Slowly, he stood 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. Oliver thought of Max, the spilled food, the mountain of dirty dishes. For the first time, he understood what a day in Emilys life truly meant.
He rolled up his sleeves and, without a word, began to clean.
**Part 3: The Invisible Weight**
Oliver started in the kitchen. The counter was a disasterspilled cereal, dried milk, breadcrumbs, and juice stains. The fridge door was still open, and when he tried to shut it, he found a fallen yoghurt pot blocking the way, its contents smeared across the shelf. He took a deep breath and began wiping.
As he stacked the dishes, he remembered how Emily always rose before dawn. Hed hear the kettle boiling, smell fresh coffee, listen to the kids stirring while he lingered in bed, never considering the whirlwind already in motion downstairs.
Now, facing the pile of dirty plates, he felt exhaustion creeping into his shoulders. He scrubbed them one by one as Henry bounded in, hands caked in mud.
“Dad! Dad! Lily splashed me!”
Oliver paused mid-scrub. Henrys hair was wild, his face streaked with dirt. For a second, he wanted to scold himthen stopped. Emilys words echoed: *Today, I didnt do anything.* Today, the kids were free, and chaos was the price.
“Go wash your hands, please,” he said wearily.
Henry obeyed, leaving muddy footprints behind.
Oliver sighed and kept cleaning. When the kitchen was done, he moved to the living roomswitched off the telly, picked up toys, folded stray clothes. With every chore, he felt the invisible weight of routine, the thankless labour that kept the household running.
Upstairs, the bathroom was still dripping. Soaked towels weighed like bricks, and unspooled loo roll carpeted the floor. Oliver mopped up, wrung out towels, and opened the window.
Finished, he sat on the stairs, drained. From the garden, William and Lilys laughter floated in. For the first time in years, guilt pricked him. How often had he taken order, meals, cleanliness for granted? How often had he asked, without thinking, *What did you do today?*
He glanced up at the closed bedroom door. Emily was still there, reading, enjoying a day to herself. For a second, he envied herthen understood. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is stop and care for yourself.
By evening, Oliver bathed the kids, dressed them, and cobbled together dinner. When Lily asked where Mum was, he smiled.
“Today, Mums resting. Today, we take care of her.”
The children accepted this as a new game. They ate amidst giggles, and afterwards, Oliver read them a story until they drifted off.
Only then, in the quiet house, did he return to the bedroom. Emily was still in bed, her book on her chest, eyes closed. Oliver lay beside her and whispered,
“Thank you. For everything you do, every day.”
