A Typical Day Takes an Unexpected Turn

Just an Ordinary Day—And a Divorce

Emily set the kettle on the stove and absentmindedly wiped down the countertop, even though it was already spotless. Another morning ritual. Oliver had already left for work without so much as a goodbye—just like he’d been doing for months now. Just the slam of the front door. He used to kiss her cheek, say something sweet. Now? They lived like strangers sharing a house.

The kettle whistled. Emily poured boiling water into her favourite rose-patterned mug—the one Ollie had given her for their first anniversary. Thirty-two years ago. God, time flew.

“Mum, where’s my blue jumper?” Their eldest daughter, Sophie, burst into the kitchen. At twenty-eight, she was still living at home, saving for a place of her own. “I asked you to wash it yesterday!”

“It’s drying on the line. Sophie, love, maybe it’s time you moved out? You’re a grown woman now…”

“Mum, not this again! I’ve got a splitting headache as it is.” Sophie poured herself coffee from the cafetière Emily had prepared earlier. “Dad’s been acting weird, by the way. Last night he was whispering on the phone for ages, and when I walked in, he hung up.”

Emily flinched. She’d noticed, too. And not just last night.

“Probably work, love,” she lied—to Sophie and herself.

“Oh come off it, Mum! What kind of work call happens at eleven at night? He’s not a surgeon.” Sophie shrugged and dashed off to get ready.

Emily was left alone with her thoughts. Ollie *had* changed. He used to tell her everything—work drama, weekend plans. Now he barely spoke, like he’d swallowed his words. And his phone? Guarded like a schoolboy hiding a bad grade.

That evening, she made his favourite—steak and kidney pie. Maybe over dinner they’d talk properly, like they used to. Sophie was out with friends. The house was quiet.

Oliver came home late, close to nine. Emily had called twice; he hadn’t picked up.

“Where were you? I was worried!” She met him in the hallway.

“Got held up at work. Urgent report.” He didn’t even look at her, just headed straight for the shower.

“Ollie, I made pie. Your favourite. Fancy supper?”

“Not hungry. Knackered.” His voice was muffled by the bathroom door.

Emily lingered in the hall before retreating to the kitchen. The pie sat cooling. She poured tea, then cried—quietly, so he wouldn’t hear.

When Oliver emerged, he walked right past the kitchen without a glance. The bedroom door clicked shut—locked. For the first time in thirty-two years.

That night, she lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Wondering when things had shifted. Why they’d become strangers. Whether it was time for something drastic.

In the morning, Oliver left earlier than usual. Emily didn’t even hear him go—just the slam of the door.

“Mum? Why’d you sleep out here?” Sophie stood in the doorway, still in her dressing gown, hair a mess.

“My back hurt. The sofa’s softer.” Emily folded the blanket.

“Mum, don’t lie. You and Dad had a row, didn’t you?”

“Sophie, it’s not your business. Go eat your breakfast.”

“Of course it’s my business! I *live* here! And I can see what’s happening!” She sat beside her. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”

Emily studied her daughter—grown, independent. Maybe she *should* talk.

“Your dad and I… we’ve drifted apart. He avoids me. I don’t know what to do.”

“Have you tried *talking* to him?”

“I have. He shuts down or walks off.”

Sophie hesitated. “Mum… could there be someone else?”

The thought had crossed Emily’s mind—but she’d shoved it away. Ollie wasn’t that sort. Except… people change.

“Don’t be silly,” she muttered.

“Mum, I’m not a child. Things happen. Especially after so many years.”

Emily stood abruptly and busied herself with breakfast. Sophie followed.

“Look—if Dad’s changed this much, maybe you should… think about a divorce.”

“Sophie!” Emily whirled around.

“Well? You’re miserable. He ignores you. That’s no way to live.”

“We’ve been married thirty-two years!”

“And what? If it means nothing to him, why cling to it?”

Emily paused. Sophie was right. But starting over at fifty-four? Terrifying.

That evening, she steeled herself. When Oliver got home, she blocked his path.

“Ollie. We need to talk.”

“About what?” He didn’t look up from his phone.

“Us. Our marriage. Whatever’s happening between us.”

“Nothing’s happening.” He tried to step past, but Emily stood firm.

“Stop! I’m talking to you!”

Finally, he met her eyes—exhausted. Guilty?

“Em, not now. I’m shattered.”

“You’re *always* shattered when it comes to us! But I can’t live like this! We’re strangers! You avoid me, you won’t talk—”

“What d’you *want* me to say?” Oliver snapped. “That everything’s fine? It’s not! We’ve got *nothing* left! You nag, you complain—”

“*I* complain?” Her voice shook. “I’ve spent *thirty-two years* looking after you! Cooking, cleaning, raising our children! And you call *me* ungrateful?”

“Yes! You’ve always got that pinched look! Always *on* at me!”

“For *what*? For wanting you to *talk* to me?”

“Enough!” He waved her off. “I’m *sick* of it! Sick of this house, these *conversations*!”

“Sick of *me*,” Emily whispered.

His silence said everything.

“Fine,” she nodded. “Let’s get a divorce.”

“*What*?”

“You heard me. If you’re so miserable, let’s end it.”

“Em, have you lost it? At our age?”

“Is there an age limit?” She felt strangely calm. The words were out. “You’re right. We’re done pretending.”

“But Sophie—”

“Sophie’s grown. She’ll cope.”

Oliver sank into a chair, rubbing his face.

“Love… maybe we can fix this?”

“Fix *what*? You said it yourself—you’re sick of it all. Well, so am I. Sick of feeling invisible.”

“I *see* you—”

“When? When did you last *choose* to talk to me? Hug me?”

He had no answer.

Sophie appeared in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

“Your dad and I are getting divorced,” Emily said evenly.

“*What*?” Sophie gaped. “Mum, *seriously*?”

“Dead serious.”

“Dad—say something!”

Oliver sighed. “I don’t know, Soph.”

“You know *what*?” Sophie’s voice turned sharp. “Mum’s *right*. I’ve *watched* you treat her like a maid for *months*! She cooks, cleans, and you can’t even say *thanks*! And yeah—I’ve seen you *delete texts*!”

“Soph—”

“No! If there’s someone else, just *say it*! Stop stringing Mum along!”

Oliver stood. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Do that,” Emily said. “I’ll see a solicitor tomorrow.”

When he left, Sophie hugged her. “Mum, you’re *brave*.”

“I’m *terrified*. I haven’t worked in decades—how will I manage?”

“I’ll help. And honestly? It’s *your* turn to live. You’re brilliant. You’ll meet someone who *deserves* you.”

Emily laughed weakly. “At my age?”

“Life’s not *over* at fifty-four!”

Oliver returned late. Emily was already in bed. The next morning, he sat at the kitchen table, grey-faced.

“Em… maybe you’re right. Maybe we should end it.”

“Alright,” she nodded. “I’ll see the solicitor today.”

“Just… let’s keep it civil. No fighting. For Soph’s sake.”

“Obviously.”

A pause.

“Ollie?” Emily said softly. “It’s funny—I feel lighter already.”

“…Me too,” he admitted.

Sophie appeared. “So? Decided?”

“We have,” Emily said. “We’re divorcing.”

“Good!” Sophie poured coffee. “And *I’m* moving out. Found a flat near work.”

“Soph—”

“Mum, *please*. You *both* need space.”

That afternoonSix months later, Emily sat by the fire in her new flat—smaller, but entirely hers—and smiled to herself, realizing she hadn’t felt this free in decades.

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A Typical Day Takes an Unexpected Turn