Ian had gone off for a week to stay with his lover, saying he was reeducating Megan. He got back and found the hallway still a mess.
Ian was slumped on the sofa, phone glued to his hand, typing away. His face was tight, brows knotted. Megan was used to evenings like this he could sit on his phone for ages, never answering her questions, oblivious to everything around him.
Ian, are you having dinner? Megan asked, moving away from the window.
Later, he muttered, not even looking up.
Megan sighed and drifted into the kitchen. The twobed flat they lived in was the one theyd inherited from her parents in Manchester. Her dad had died five years earlier, her mum two years after that. The deed had been put in Megans name while her parents were still alive to avoid a long probate mess. When they married, Ian moved in; it made sense renting was pricey, and this place was roomy and handy.
The first few years were quiet. Ian worked as a project manager for a construction firm, Megan taught at a primary school. Evenings theyd stroll through Heaton Park, weekend trips out to the country, making plans together. Then things started to shift. Ian grew irritable, picking at the smallest things.
Why did you buy that yoghurt? he asked, opening the fridge. I told you I dont like the flavour.
You never said anything, Ian, Megan replied calmly. Ill get a different one next time.
Always your way, isnt it! he snapped, slamming the fridge shut.
Megan couldnt see where the complaint was coming from. Hed never bickered about yoghurt before, but now every little thing turned into a gripe.
Their relationship grew tense. Ian kept saying Megan was too independent, that she made decisions without him where to go on holiday, what to buy for the house, who to meet on the weekend. All of it seemed to set his teeth on edge.
You didnt even ask my opinion! he fumed when Megan mentioned shed bought tickets for a Saturday matinee.
I suggested that show a month ago, Ian, Megan said, surprised. You even said it sounded nice.
But you should have confirmed the date! he insisted. I might have other plans.
What plans? Megan asked. You were just going to lounge on the sofa and watch telly.
Ians face flushed and he stormed out, slamming the door. Megan stood in the living room, puzzled. He used to love surprises; now any initiative from her sparked his anger.
Things boiled over when it came to his mother, Valerie, who lived in a modest semidetached house on the outskirts of Bolton. She called often, inviting them over. Ian visited every weekend, and Megan would keep him company. Lately those visits felt like chores.
Valerie was always complaining about her health, asking for help with the garden, fixing the fence, moving things in the loft. Ian quietly obliged, Megan helped around the house. Weekends turned into workdays, and by Sunday night they were exhausted.
Megan, maybe we should just stay home this weekend? Ian suggested one Thursday.
What do you mean stay home? he snapped. Mums waiting for us.
Shes waiting every week, Megan replied tiredly. We could go next weekend instead.
No, Ian cut in sharply. Well go on Saturday, as usual.
But I dont want to, Megan said firmly. I just want to rest.
Ian rose slowly, his face reddening, fists clenching.
So youre refusing to go to my mum? he growled.
Im not refusing forever, she tried to explain. Just one weekend. You can go alone if you want.
Alone?! Ian exploded. Do you understand what youre saying? My mother is family! Youre supposed to be there with me!
Megan, please dont shout, she pleaded. We can talk this through.
Theres nothing to talk about! he shouted. Youve become uncontrollable! Doing whatever you like, ignoring everyone! You think because this is your flat you can boss me around?
Megan froze. It was the first time Ian had mentioned the flat. His irritation wasnt just about the visits to Valerie; he felt uneasy living in a place that wasnt originally his. That unease had been bubbling up into constant nitpicking.
Ive never tried to boss you, Megan, she said quietly. The flat isnt the point.
Its everything! he roared. You act like the lady of the house and Im just a guest! Maybe I should leave so you realise how bad it is without me!
Everyones free to do as they please, Megan replied evenly.
Ian stared at her, expecting tears or apologies. She just stood, arms crossed, a quiet strength in her posture. Inside she felt a sting, but refused to show weakness.
So what? You dont care? he hissed through clenched teeth.
I didnt say I dont care, she said. But threats wont change anything.
This isnt a threat! Ian shouted. Ill stay with someone else, maybe then youll see how miserable it is without me!
Megan felt her blood run cold. Someone else? It meant he really had a lover. All those hours on his phone, the constant irritability, the avoidance of time together it all clicked into place.
Fine, she said simply.
Ian turned, grabbed his bag, and with a harsh look slammed the suitcase shut.
Lets see how you manage when Im gone, he sneered, heading for the door.
Give it a week, then youll come round, he called over his shoulder as the door slammed.
The silence that followed felt heavy. Megan sat down on the couch, the quiet finally settling over the flat. The tension that had been choking her for months lifted a little, replaced by a strange, welcome calm.
Around ten that night her phone buzzed. It was her friend Olivia.
Megan, love, how are you? Olivia asked, worry in her voice.
Okay, Megan replied. Ians left.
I saw him at the café on Piccadilly. He was with a woman. At first I thought I imagined it, but then I saw him clearly.
Megan closed her eyes. So it wasnt just a threat hed really gone to his lover, showing off that he could live without her.
Did you hear? Olivia pressed.
Yes, thanks for telling me, Megan said. Im fine.
Are you sure? Olivia asked.
Absolutely. Goodnight, Olivia.
She hung up and set the phone aside. Ian hadnt gone to cool off; hed gone to his mistress, someone hed been chatting with for ages. All those secretive texts, the irritability now it all made sense.
Megan rose, opened the wardrobe and found half of Ians things still there. Hed only taken what he needed, assuming hed be back in a week, expecting a humbled, obedient wife.
She wasnt going to wait. She dialed a locksmith shed found online a 24hour service that could be there within an hour.
Good evening, a male voice answered.
I need a new lock on my front door today, she said.
Sure, could you give me the address?
She gave the flats number, and the man promised to be there in forty minutes. While waiting, she walked through the flat, noting what remained: Ians shirts in the wardrobe, his shoes in the hall, books on the shelf, a razor in the bathroom. Hed clearly planned to return and act as if nothing had changed.
When the locksmith arrived, a middleaged man with a toolbox, he inspected the old lock and fitted a sturdy new one. Megan watched, then slipped into the bedroom to pack Ians belongings into two large suitcases shirts, jeans, sweaters, shoes, books, razor, toothbrush. She did it quietly, methodically, trying not to think about anything.
Done, the locksmith said, handing her the new keys.
She paid, thanked him, and closed the door on the new lock. Ian wouldnt be able to get back in; his old keys were useless now.
Megan looked at the suitcases. Tomorrow shed take them down to the hallway for Ian to collect, if he ever bothered. For now she just wanted to lie down and sleep, to forget the days drama.
A week later life settled into a new rhythm. She went to work, came home, cooked a simple dinner just for herself, spent evenings with books and the series shed missed. No slammed doors, no shouting, no nagging about independence.
On Monday morning she carried Ians suitcases to the lift and placed them by the stairwell, along with a bag of his paperwork insurance policy, work documents, old receipts.
Their neighbour on the ground floor, Mrs. Patel, stopped her by the letterboxes.
Megan, whats with the suitcases? she asked.
Ians collecting his things, Megan replied briefly.
Oh dear, Mrs. Patel said, shaking her head. Young people these days, no respect.
Megan just nodded and went on to work. The day passed as usual lessons, marking, chats with colleagues. No one at home was waiting for Ian, and that felt oddly freeing.
That evening Olivia called again.
Megan, how are you? Any word from Ian?
No, and I dont need it, Megan said.
Did you get the suitcases out? Olivia asked.
Theyre still in the hall, Megan replied.
Sounds like hes not coming back, Olivia mused. Maybe he really did go to his lover for good?
Im not interested, Megan said. He can live wherever he wants.
Olivia laughed. Exactly. No point chasing him. He made his choice, now he has to deal with it.
Later, with a steaming mug of herbal tea, Megan watched the rain patter against the window. Autumn was in full swing, the kind of weather that used to make her feel gloomy, but now it just felt peaceful. No one demanding her attention, no one pulling her in different directions.
On Wednesday she stopped by the supermarket after work, buying only what she needed a small block of cheese, a packet of pasta, some salad veg. No longer did she have to buy double for Ians appetite.
The week rolled on. She got used to the quiet, to waking up without tripping over Ians shoes, to returning home to a clean sink. Evenings were for a good book, not for arguing about who left the lights on.
Saturday she gave the flat a deep clean mopped the floor, dusted, washed the laundry. By dusk it sparkled. She took a quick shower, brewed coffee, and sank into the sofa with a novel as the street lights flickered on.
Meanwhile, Ian was staying with his lover, Claire, in a flat in Shoreditch, nursing a glass of whisky and bragging to her.
Youll see, in a week shell call me, begging for me back, he said smugly.
Claire rolled her eyes. If she does, good luck. Im not staying here forever. Im bored of his complaints.
The week dragged, and Ian grew weary of Claires indifference. He packed a bag and headed back, convinced Megan would be a wreck, ready to apologise and promise to change. He imagined herself at the door, tears streaming, him begging forgiveness.
He got off the bus near his old block, climbed the stairs to his flat, and fumbled for his key. He turned it nothing. The lock wouldnt budge. He tried again, same result. The new lock was there.
What the hell? he muttered, stepping back. He looked at the door, the number was right, but the lock was brand new and shiny. Megan had changed it.
He stared at the two suitcases propped against the wall, his own belongings neatly packed. Inside were his insurance papers and receipts.
He stood there, stunned, while the hallway was silent. Then the intercom buzzed and a voice called, Ian? It was Mrs. Patel, opening the door.
She gave him a halfsmile. Late, love. Times up.
What? Ian stammered.
Youve had a week. Now sort yourself out, she said. Megan did well changing the lock. Folks like you need a good lesson.
Ian tried his phone, called Megan. It went straight to voicemail. He texted, Open the door, we need to talk. She read it, didnt reply.
He knocked harder, shouting, Megan, open up! Im back!
Silence. Finally the hallway lights flickered and the door stayed shut. Ian sank onto one of his own suitcases, hands trembling. The quiet pressed in, the reality that he was now truly out.
Back inside, Megan was in the kitchen with a coffee, hearing his shouts through the thin wall. She didnt move. The week without him had shown her how much lighter life could be no fights, no nagging, just peace.
The phone on the kitchen counter buzzed with missed calls from Ian. She stared at them, then turned the phone off and blocked his number. Let him keep his own mess.
She got up, rinsed her cup, and walked to the living room, switched on the floor lamp, settled into an armchair with a book. For the first time in a long while she felt calm, the house quiet, the world outside just a gentle rain.
The next day Ian tried again from work, Megan, I need my things. She replied, The suitcases are in the stairwell. Take them. He begged for a meeting, she said, No, I have nothing to say to you. He kept calling from different numbers, she ignored them.
A week later Megan filed for divorce. She gathered the papers, went to the registry office, and signed the form. There were no children, the flat was hers outright, so the split was straightforward. The divorce was final a month later.
Ian kept trying to reach her through mutual friends, begging for another chance. Megan stayed firm. Hed shown his true colours using a lover to teach her a lesson. She wasnt interested in that kind of relationship.
Six months passed. Megan settled into her solo life work, weekends in the countryside, coffee with friends, reading. No one nagged her about independence, no weekly trips to Valeries, no yoghurt arguments.
Olivia visited one afternoon, delighted by the change.
Megan, youre glowing! she said, pouring tea. Its been ages since Ive seen you this happy.
Because I finally live for myself, Megan smiled. No more trying to please anyone.
Is Ian still contacting you? Olivia asked.
Nope. He vanished after the divorce. Heard he was renting a flat in East London, but that didnt last Claire tossed him out after two weeks.
Olivia laughed. Well, thats a proper lesson. He tried to teach you, and ended up on his own.
Megan shrugged. Ians fate no longer mattered. Hed made his choice, and now hed face the consequences.
That evening, after Olivia left, Megan sat by the window with another cup of coffee. The rain drummed softly, leaves clung to the pavement. Autumn was still here, but it no longer brought melancholy just a quiet comfort.
She took a sip, smiled. Ian had tried to reeducate her, to prove how badly shed fare without him. In the end, it was she who learned the most how good life can be without constant arguments, accusations, and manipulation. And that was the most valuable lesson of all.
