“So, You Want My Husband? He’s All Yours!” quipped Anna with a smile to the mysterious woman who appeared at her door.

Author Walton MerrittReading 7 minViews 2

Would you like my husband? Hes yours! declared the wife, flashing a wry smile at the strange woman who had suddenly appeared at her door.

Hold on a tick, Emily! Someones at the door. Ill call you back once I see who it is and what they want, said Alice, reluctantly ending her conversation with her childhood friend. Emily had been regaling her, with great detail and plenty of laughs, about her mother-in-laws birthday party, and Alice had been giggling nonstop, as though she were watching the finest comedy.

Alice strolled over to the door, peered through the spyhole, and found herself utterly taken aback. She had expected a neighbourstrangers were hardly able to slip into their secure building undetectedbut instead, outside stood a young woman with a rather odd look about her, someone Alice had never once seen before.

She decided it was best not to open up. One can never be too careful with strangers, especially nowadays, when the world seemed full of charlatans. Alice lived by a simple rule: no dealings with unknown folk. Tricksters preyed upon the unsuspecting, but she would not be one of their easy catches.

She reached for her phone to chat with Emily again, but the bell rang once more. Whoever was out there seemed set on getting an answersurely convinced someone was at home.

Alice was entirely alone in the flat; her husband, Edward, had gone round to help a friend in the garden. She returned to the door and once again looked through the spyhole, studying the stranger more closely.

Something about the woman was both peculiar and rather pitiful, but Alice felt no sense of danger.

Whats the very worst that could happen if I open up and send her packing? Then I can enjoy the rest of my weekend in peace, thought Alice. Shes probably lost or trying to sell me some nonsense.

Steeling herself, Alice opened the door. The woman in the hallway straightened up at once, nervously adjusting her hair before speaking.

Afternoon! You must be Alice, yes? the stranger asked, fiddling with the scarf about her neck. Of course you areno idea why I bothered asking.

My word, they really are getting cleverer, thought Alice. She even knows my name.

Who are you and what do you want? Youve been hanging about for five minutes. I didnt ask you here, so spit it out or be off! Alice snapped, refusing to hide her irritation.

Is Edward in? inquired the stranger, catching Alice off guard.

Well, this is something else, Alice thought, her suspicion deepening. She even knows my husbands name. Shes certainly come prepared.

Are you here for Edward? Alice asked, though shed meant to say something else entirely.

No, Ive come to see you. But if Edward is in, things will be a good deal trickier for me, replied the woman, her manner strangely candid.

What could make things tricky for you? Whats going on? Alice wondered, her curiosity piqued.

Hes not at home. Now, whats your business?

Perhaps we ought to step inside. Feels quite odd to discuss such delicate things in the hall, suggested the stranger, growing bolder.

Absolutely not! I dont know you, and I dont let strangers in. Say what you mustand make it snappy, Alice replied sharply.

Would you truly prefer to discuss the particulars of my relationship with Edward here, in front of all your neighbours? the woman said, giving a sardonic smile.

What? What relationship? Alice burst out, her voice raised louder than she intended.

Alice, is everything alright? Why are you making such a racket? piped up Mrs. Brown, her neighbour from across the corridor, just emerging from the lift.

Oh! Good day, Mrs. Brown! Everythings perfectly fine. Hows the weather out? Alice tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Looks like rain, if you ask me, replied the neighbour, making no effort to hide her nosiness about the commotion.

Come in, then, Alice conceded, waving the stranger inside, but with an obvious note of displeasure.

Once inside, the woman cast her eyes around the flat, pausing to look with interest at anything that caught her attention.

You have five minutes. Get on with it, said Alice coolly, barring her from peering any farther into the sitting room. This isnt a museum.

My names Sophie, the woman began, removing her scarf and coat. Edward and I are in love.

Oh, how terribly unoriginal! Couldnt you have thought up anything better? Alice cut her off, serving a scornful smile.

Whats unoriginal about people falling in love? It happens. Youre hardly the first wife whose husband has gone, Sophie replied, brimming with confidence, attempting to brush past Alice.

And youre certain he loves you, not me? Alice asked, her smile never faltering.

Completely! Otherwise, I wouldnt be here, Sophie shot back, unflinching.

Well, the truth of the matter is my husband doesnt love anyone. Hes never known how. So, youre barking up the wrong tree, my dear, Alice retorted calmly.

Sophie tried to push her argument, but at that very moment, the door swung wide and Edward entered…

and Edward entered, stopping short when he caught sight of the strange woman in their hallway.

Sophie? What on earth are you doing here on a Saturday? Has something happened at work? he asked, bewildered.

No, shes here for you, Alice interjected, clearly amused by the scene.

For me? Whatever do you mean? Has something gone wrong at work? Edward pressed, utterly perplexed.

No, darling. Shes come to take you away from meentirely, Alice declared, savouring the drama with an ironic grin.

Sophie, now mortified, rapidly put on her coat and began backing towards the door.

Leaving already? What about Edward? Wasnt he the reason for your visit? If you want the truth, Id be more than happy to hand him over, Alice quipped, enjoying her discomfort.

But Sophie had already vanished out the door, speechless.

So what on earth was all that about? Edward asked, utterly lost.

I should be asking you! Why did that bold woman show up, demanding a divorce and insisting youd be off with her? Alice said, folding her arms across her chest.

You must be joking! Edward replied, looking genuinely stunned. I havent the faintest idea whats gotten into her. Shes been acting odd at work, but Ive never led her on. Im tired of all this nonsense. I promised, remember?

Good. Because you know me, EdwardI wont put up with such things. But honestly, these days some women will do anything to sort out their own muddled lives, Alice sighed, shaking her head.

Edward slipped off his shoes and headed towards the kitchen, while Alice paused in thought. She vowed not to let incidents like this disturb the peace of their home. She couldnt help but smile at the memory of Sophies terribly botched plan.

It was clear, despite the efforts of others, that their relationship was far sturdier than anyone could have guessed.

I’m 46, and if you looked at my life from the outside, you’d probably say everything is fine. I married young—at 24—to a hardworking, responsible Englishman. I had two children in quick succession—at 26 and 28. I left university because the schedules didn’t fit, the kids were small, and I thought “there’s time for all that later.” There were never any big dramas or rows. Everything went the way it was “meant to.” For years, my routine never changed. I’d wake before everyone, make breakfast, leave the house tidy, and head off to work. I’d come back in time to handle the chores, cook, wash, tidy up. Weekends were all about family gatherings, birthday parties, endless obligations. I was always there; I always took care of things. If something was missing, I fixed it. If anyone needed anything, I was always there. It never occurred to me to ask if I wanted something else. My husband has never been a bad person. We’d have dinner, watch TV, and head to bed. He wasn’t especially affectionate, but he wasn’t unkind either. He never asked for much, but he didn’t complain. Our conversations were about bills, the children, jobs to do. Then, on an ordinary Tuesday evening, I sat quietly in the living room and realised I had nothing to do—not because everything was perfect, but because, in that moment, nobody needed me. I looked around and understood that for years I’d kept this household running, but now I had no idea what to do with myself inside it. That day, I opened a drawer of old documents and found diplomas, unfinished courses, ideas scribbled in notebooks, projects put aside “for later.” I looked at photos from when I was young—before I was a wife, before I was a mother, before I became the one who made everything right. I didn’t feel nostalgic. I felt something worse: I realised I’d achieved everything without ever asking if it was what I truly wanted. I started to notice things I used to accept as normal: That nobody asks how I am. That even when I come home exhausted, it’s still me who sorts everything out. If my husband says he doesn’t fancy a family gathering, that’s fine, but if I’m reluctant, it’s still expected I’ll go. My opinion exists, but it doesn’t carry weight. There were no arguments or shouting matches, but there was never any real space for me. One evening at dinner, I mentioned I wanted to restart my education or try something different. My husband looked at me, surprised, and said, “But why now?” He didn’t mean any harm. He just didn’t understand why something that had always worked should change. The children were silent. There was no argument. Nobody forbade me from anything. Yet I realised that my role was so clearly defined that stepping outside it was uncomfortable. I’m still married. I haven’t left, I haven’t packed my bags, I haven’t made any dramatic decisions. But I’ve stopped pretending. I know that for more than twenty years, I’ve kept a family together in a structure where I was essential, but never the main character. How Do You Rebuild Yourself After Living a Life Where You’re Needed—But Never the Main Character?

I’m 41 and the house I live in once belonged to my grandparents. After they passed, my mum stayed here, and when she was gone, the home was left in my name. It’s always been a quiet, tidy, and peaceful place. I work all day and come home alone. Never did I imagine that all of this could be turned upside down by a decision I made “just to help someone.” Two years ago, a distant cousin rang me in tears. She was splitting up, had a little boy, and nowhere else to go. She asked if she could stay with me “just for a few months” until she got on her feet. I agreed—she was family, and I thought it wouldn’t really affect me. At first, it was fine—she took one room, chipped in a bit towards bills, headed out early for work. Her son stayed with a neighbour during the day. Everything was OK. After three months she quit her job, saying it was temporary and that she was looking for something better. She started staying home all day. The little boy didn’t go to the neighbour anymore—he was always here. The house began to change: toys everywhere, noise, unexpected guests. I’d come home exhausted only to find strangers sitting in my living room. When I asked her to give me a heads-up, she said I was overreacting and that “this is her home too, now.” Soon she stopped contributing to bills—first, she said, she couldn’t manage, then she’d “catch up later.” I paid for everything: bills, food, repairs. One day I came back to find she’d rearranged all the furniture to make it “cosier”—without asking. When I protested, she was offended and said I was cold and didn’t know what it meant to live as a family. It got even more tense when she started inviting her ex round—the very man she claimed she was escaping. He’d come by in the evening, stay the night, use the bathroom, eat our food. One day I caught him coming out of my room, having “just grabbed his jacket” without asking. That’s when I said things couldn’t go on like this—there had to be boundaries. She started crying, shouting, reminding me I took her in when she had nowhere to go. Six months ago, I tried to set a deadline for her to move out. She said she couldn’t—she had no money, her son was at school nearby, and how could I throw her out? Now I feel trapped. My home isn’t mine any more. I sneak in quietly so I don’t wake the child, eat dinner in my room to avoid arguments, and spend more time outside than in. I still live here, but it no longer feels like home. She acts like she owns the place—I pay for everything, yet I’m called selfish if I ask for some order. I really need advice.

I’m 46, and from the outside, anyone looking at my life would say everything is just fine. I got married young—at 24—to a hardworking, reliable man. Had two children in quick succession—at 26 and 28. I left university because schedules didn’t match, the kids were small, and “there would be time later.” There were never any big arguments or drama. Everything went the way it “should.” For years, my daily routine stayed the same. I’d get up before everyone, make breakfast, leave the house tidy, then head to work. I came home on time, finished chores, cooked, washed, tidied up. Weekends were for family gatherings, birthday parties, obligations. I was always there, always responsible. If something needed doing, I sorted it out. If someone needed something, I provided it. I never asked myself if I wanted anything different. My husband was never a bad man. We had dinner, watched TV, went to bed. He wasn’t particularly affectionate, nor was he cold. He didn’t want much, but didn’t complain either. Our conversations revolved around bills, kids, and chores. Then, on an ordinary Tuesday, I sat in the living room in silence and realised I had nothing to do—not because everything was fine, but because at that moment, no one needed me. I looked around and understood that, for years, I’d held this home together, yet now had no idea what to do with myself in it. That day, I opened a drawer of old papers and found unused diplomas, unfinished courses, notebook ideas, projects left “for later.” I looked through photos from when I was young—before I was a wife, before I was a mum, before I became the fixer of everything. I didn’t feel nostalgic. I felt something worse: the sense that I’d achieved everything without asking myself if it’s what I wanted. I began to notice things I always accepted as normal. No one asked how I was. Even when I came home exhausted, I was the one to solve things. If my husband didn’t want to go to a family gathering, that was fine, but if I didn’t want to go, it was still expected that I would. My opinion existed, but didn’t hold much weight. There were no rows or drama, but there was also no space for me. One night at dinner, I mentioned wanting to resume my studies or try something different. My husband looked puzzled and said, “Why now?” It wasn’t said unkindly. He just couldn’t understand why something that had always worked needed to change. The children said nothing. Nobody argued. No one forbade me. Yet I saw that my role was so clearly set that stepping outside it was uncomfortable. I’m still married. I haven’t left, packed my bags, or made drastic decisions. But I’m no longer fooling myself. I know now that for over twenty years, I’ve lived to keep a structure going where I was needed, but never the main character. How do you rebuild yourself after something like that?