Monday
Have a good day, Ben murmured as he leaned in and brushed my cheek with his lips.
I nodded automatically. The skin felt cold and dryno warmth, no irritation. Just skin, just a gesture. The front door closed, and silence filled the flat.
I stood in the hallway for another ten seconds or so, listening to myself. When exactly had this happened? When had something clicked off inside and left nothing behind? I remembered crying in the bathroom two years ago when Ben forgot our anniversary. A year ago, I shook with anger becauseonce againhe hadnt picked up Alice from nursery. Six months ago I had still tried to talk, to explain, to plead.
Nownothing. Everything was swept clean, like scorched earth.
I wandered into the kitchen, poured myself a cup of tea, and slouched at the table. Twenty-nine, seven of those years married. And here I was, sitting alone with a cooling mug and realising Id stopped loving my husband. So quietly, so unremarkably, I hadnt even noticed it happening.
Ben kept to his routines. He’d promise to fetch Alice from nurserythen forget. He said hed fix the leaky tap in the bathroomthree months on, it still dripped. Every week hed swear wed take Alice to the zoocome Saturday, something important came up with his mates; Sunday hed barely move from the sofa.
Alice had stopped asking when Daddy would play with her. At five, she’d already learnt: Mummy was reliable. Daddy was a person who sometimes appeared in the evenings and stared at the television.
I didnt argue anymore. Didnt cry into my pillow. Didnt hatch plans to fix things. I simply crossed Ben out of the equation.
If the car needed an MOT, I sorted it. The lock on the balcony door jammed? I called the locksmith. Alice needed a snowflake costume for the Christmas play? I stitched it together at night while Ben snored in the next room.
The family had become something odd: two adults living parallel lives under one roof.
One night, Ben reached for me in bed. I politely edged away, blaming a headache. Then exhaustion. Then an endless list of fake ailments. Carefully, methodically, I built a barrier between us, and with every refusal, the wall grew taller.
Let him find someone on the side, I thought, detached. Give me a reason. Something clear, understandable, the sort of thing Mum and his mother would accept. No awkward explanations.
Because how do you tell your mother youre leaving your husband simply because hes… nothing? He doesnt hit you, doesnt drink, brings home the wages. So what if hes hopeless around the housethats just men. So what if he cant handle kidsmen never can.
I opened a separate bank account and started saving part of my salary. Joined a local gymnot for Bens sake, but for my own. For that new life shimmering somewhere ahead, beyond the inevitable divorce.
In the evenings, after Alice drifted to sleep, Id pop in my headphones and listen to English language podcasts. Everyday phrases and business correspondence. My office worked with clients abroad, and good English might one day open a different door for me.
Professional development courses took up two evenings a week. Ben grumbled about having to mind Alice, though minding meant plonking her in front of cartoons while he scrolled his phone.
I spent weekends with my daughter. Parks, playgrounds, cafés with milkshakes, cinema trips to kids films. Alice accepted that this was our timemums and hers. Dad existed somewhere out on the sidelines, like an old armchair.
She wont even notice, I reassured myself. When we split up, hardly anything will change for her.
It was an easy thought, and I clung to it like a life raft.
Then something shifted.
I didnt see it at first. Ben offered to tuck Alice in one evening. Then collected her from nursery without being asked. Then he cooked dinnerjust pasta with cheese, simple but, amazingly, unprompted.
I eyed him suspiciously. Was it guilt? Some momentary madness? Was he hiding a secret I hadnt uncovered?
But time passed, and Ben stuck with his new rhythm. He woke up early to take Alice to nursery. He finally fixed that stubborn leaky tap. Enrolled Alice in swimming lessons and took her himself on Saturdays.
Daddy, Daddy, look! I can dive now! Alice raced round the flat, miming a swimmer.
Ben would scoop her up and toss her skyward. Her laughter rang out loud and true.
I watched from the kitchen, unable to recognise my own husband.
I can look after her on Sunday, Ben said one evening. Havent you got plans with the girls?
I nodded slowly. I had no plans. I was going to read alone in a coffee shop. How did he even know about my friendshad he listened to my phone calls?
Weeks blurred into a month, then two. Ben didnt revert to his old self. He pressed on.
Ive booked us a table at that Italian place, he said one day. Friday night. Mums happy to watch Alice.
I glanced up from my laptop.
Whats the occasion?
No reason. I just want to have dinner with you.
I agreed. Out of curiosity, I told myself. Just to see what he was up to.
The restaurant was cosier than I remembered: low lighting, live music. Ben ordered my favourite wine, and to my astonishment, he got it right.
Youve changed, I said, straight out.
Ben twisted the glass in his hands.
I was blind, Kate. Blind and utterly stupid.
That’s hardly breaking news.
He gave a lopsided, humourless smile. I thought working hard for the family was enough. That we needed more space, a better car, a bigger house. Really, I was just… running away. From responsibility. From real life.
I waited, letting him talk.
I could see youd changed. That you stopped caring. And that was worse than any angry row. When you shouted, when you criedit was normal. But then… you just stopped. It was as if I no longer existed.
He set his glass down.
I nearly lost you. Both you and Alice. Thats when I realised Id got it so wrong.
I looked at the man across the table. He was finally saying everything Id waited years to hear. Was it too late? Or not quite?
I was planning to leave you, I admitted, voice barely a whisper. Waiting for you to give me a reason.
He went pale.
Oh God, Kate
I was saving money. Looking at flats.
I didnt realise it had gone that far.
You should have, I said, cutting him off. This is your family, you should have noticed.
The silence was thick and heavy between us. The waiter, sensing the mood, gave us a wide berth.
I want to work on this, Ben said at last. On us. If youll let me.
One chance, I replied.
One is more than I deserve.
We sat in that restaurant until closing, talking about everything: Alice, money, expectations, houseworkabout what we both wanted. For the first time in years, we really spokenot just exchanged grievances or meaningless small talk.
Rebuilding was slow. I didnt jump into Bens arms the next morning. I watched, waited, expecting him to slip. But he didnt.
He took charge of weekend breakfasts. Braved the nursery parents group WhatsApp. Learned to plait Alices hairwonky and lopsided, but he tried.
Mum, look! Daddy made me a dragon! Alice burst into the kitchen, showing off a wonky creation from emptied cereal boxes and coloured paper.
I looked at that dragonawful, with one wing bigger than the otherand smiled.
* * *
Half a year slipped by almost unnoticed.
By December, we spent a weekend at my parents cottage. The old house, all wooden beams and the smell of home baking, buried under a drift of snow. The porch creaked as we traipsed in and out.
I sat by the window with a mug of tea as Ben and Alice built a snowman in the garden. Alice barked ordersthe nose goes there, the eyes need to be higher, the scarfs not right!Ben obeyed, lifting her up, tossing her in the air. Alices squeals echoed down the lane.
Mum, come join us! Alice waved frantically.
I shrugged on my coat and headed out. The snow glittered, breath freezing in the air, until someone lobbed a snowball at me.
It was Daddy! Alice immediately betrayed him.
Traitor! Ben protested.
I scooped up snow and chucked it at him, missing wildly. He laughed; I laughed, and before long the three of us were tumbling through the drifts, forgetting cold, forgetting everything.
That evening, after Alice fell asleep on the sofa before her cartoon finished, Ben quietly carried her off to bed. I watched him pull up her blanket, tuck in the pillow, stroke her tangled hair from her forehead.
I sat by the fire, warming my hands on a mug. Snow continued to drift down, blanketing everything beyond the window.
Ben sat beside me.
What are you thinking about?
How glad I am that I didnt go through with it.
He didnt ask what it was I nearly did. He knew.
Relationships take work, every single day. Not heroic gestures, but all the little things: listening, sharing, noticing, helping. I knew there were hard days aheadmisunderstandings, petty arguments.
But right now, in this moment, my husband and daughter were beside me. Alive, real, beloved.
Alice woke and wriggled onto the sofa with us, squeezing between her parents. Ben put his arms round us both, and I realised some things are absolutely worth fighting for.
