An Ordinary Day—And a Divorce
Emily set the kettle on the stove and absentmindedly wiped the counter, though it was already spotless. Just part of her morning routine. William had left for work without a word, as had become the norm these past months. Just the slam of the front door—no goodbye, no kiss on the cheek, no whispered endearments. Not like before. Now they lived like strangers sharing a house, barely speaking unless necessary.
The kettle whistled. Emily poured boiling water into her favourite rose-patterned mug, the one William had given her for their first anniversary. Thirty-two years ago. God, how time flew.
“Mum, where’s my blue jumper?” Natalie, their eldest daughter, stormed into the kitchen. At twenty-eight, she still lived at home, saving money on rent. “I asked you to wash it yesterday!”
“It’s drying on the line. Nat, love, don’t you think it’s time you moved out? You’re a grown woman now…”
“Mum, not this again! My head’s pounding already.” Natalie poured herself coffee from the pot Emily had brewed earlier. “Besides, Dad’s acting weird. Last night he was whispering on the phone for ages, and as soon as I walked in, he hung up.”
Emily stiffened. She’d noticed it too. Not just last night—for weeks now.
“Probably something important for work,” she lied, to Natalie and herself.
“Oh, come off it, Mum! What work calls happen at eleven at night? He’s not a surgeon.” Natalie shrugged and dashed off to get ready.
Left alone, Emily’s thoughts churned. William *had* changed. He used to tell her everything—about his job, his colleagues, their weekend plans. Now he barely spoke, guarding his phone like a teenager hiding a bad mark.
That evening, she made his favourite shepherd’s pie. Maybe over dinner, they’d talk properly, like they used to. Natalie was out with friends—just the two of them, a chance to reconnect.
William came home late, past nine. Emily had phoned twice, but he hadn’t picked up.
“Where were you? I was worried!” she greeted him in the hallway.
“Got held up at work. Urgent reports.” He didn’t even glance at her, heading straight for the shower.
“Will, I made shepherd’s pie. Your favourite. Fancy some?”
“Not hungry. Tired.” His voice was muffled through the door.
Emily lingered in the corridor before returning to the kitchen. The pie sat cooling in the dish. She sat at the table, poured tea, and cried silently, careful not to let him hear.
When William emerged, he walked straight past the kitchen without a glance. She heard the bedroom door click shut—*locked*. For the first time in thirty-two years of marriage.
That night, she lay on the sofa in the living room, staring at the ceiling. Wondering when it had all gone wrong. Wondering why they’d become strangers. Wondering if it was time for something drastic.
The next morning, William left for work earlier than usual. Emily didn’t even hear him go—just the slam of the front door jolting her awake.
“Mum, what’s going on? Why’d you sleep out here?” Natalie stood in the doorway, hair ruffled, still in her pyjamas.
“My back was sore. The sofa’s softer.” Emily folded the blanket, avoiding her daughter’s eyes.
“Mum, don’t lie. Did you and Dad have a row?”
“Nat, it’s not your business. Go have breakfast.”
“Not my business? I *live* here! And I can see what’s happening!” Natalie sat beside her. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
Emily studied her daughter—grown, independent, sharp-eyed. Maybe it *was* time to confide in someone.
“Your father and I… we’ve become strangers, love. He avoids me, won’t talk. I don’t know what to do.”
“Have you tried confronting him properly?”
“Of course. He shuts down or walks away.”
“D’you think… there’s someone else?” Natalie whispered it, but Emily heard.
The thought had crossed her mind, but she’d shoved it aside. William wasn’t that sort. A family man, decent. Except… people change.
“Don’t be silly,” she murmured.
“Mum, I’m not a kid. Things happen between men and women. Especially after this many years.”
Emily stood, moving to the kitchen to start breakfast. Natalie followed.
“Listen, Mum. If Dad’s changed this much—if he won’t even *talk* to you—maybe it’s time to think about… well, a divorce.”
“Natalie!” Emily spun around. “How can you say that?”
“Why not? Living with someone who ignores you? Pretends you don’t exist? That’s not a life—it’s torture!”
“We’ve been together thirty-two years!”
“And if those years mean nothing to him, why cling to them?”
Emily paused. Her daughter was right. What was the point of holding onto something already gone? But the thought of restarting at fifty-four was terrifying.
That evening, she steeled herself. When William returned, she blocked his path.
“Will. We need to talk.”
“About what?” He didn’t look up from his phone.
“About us. Our marriage. Whatever’s happening between us.”
“Nothing’s happening.” He tried to sidestep her, but she stood firm.
“*Stop*. I’m talking to you!”
William finally met her eyes. Exhaustion, irritation—or was it guilt?
“Emily, not now. I’m tired.”
“You’re *always* tired when it comes to us. But I can’t live like this anymore! We’re strangers! You avoid me, sleep separately—”
“What do you want me to say?” he snapped. “That everything’s fine? That we’re happy? We’ve got *nothing* left in common! You nag, you complain—”
“*I* complain?” Her voice trembled. “Thirty-two years I’ve looked after you! Cooked, cleaned, raised your children! And you call *me* ungrateful?”
“Yes! And that sour face all the time! Always blaming me!”
“For *what*? For you ignoring me? For acting like I don’t exist?”
“Enough!” William waved a hand. “I’m sick of it! Sick of this house, these *talks*!”
“Sick of *me*,” Emily said softly.
William said nothing. His silence was answer enough.
“Fine,” she nodded. “Let’s get a divorce.”
“What?” He gaped.
“You heard me. If you’re so miserable, if you’re sick of me—let’s end it. Why suffer?”
“Emily, have you lost it? A divorce? At our age?”
“Is there an age limit?” She felt an odd relief. The words were out; the decision made. “You’re right, Will. We *are* strangers. No point pretending otherwise.”
“But… Natalie—”
“Natalie’s grown. She’ll understand. And if she doesn’t, she’ll learn to.”
William sank into an armchair, rubbing his face.
“Em… maybe we shouldn’t rush this. Maybe we could try again?”
“Try *what*? You said it yourself—you’re sick of it all. Well, guess what? So am I. Sick of feeling invisible in my own home. Sick of living with someone who looks right through me.”
“I do notice you—”
“When? When was the last time you said something kind? Had a proper chat? Held me just *because*?”
William stayed silent. There was nothing to say.
“See?” Emily smiled sadly. “I remember all those things. I remember the man you *were*. But that’s not you anymore. And I won’t live with this version.”
Natalie appeared in the doorway, drawn by the raised voices.
“What’s going on?”
“Your father and I are getting divorced,” Emily said calmly.
“*What*?” Natalie sank onto the sofa. “Mum, are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“Dad? What do you say?”
William lifted his head.
“I don’t know, love. I just… don’t know.”
“Well, *I* know,” Natalie spat, sudden anger flashing. “Mum’s *right*! I’ve watched you two for months! You treat her like a *maid*! She cooks, cleans, does everything—and you can’t even say *thanks*! And *yes*, I’ve seen you whispering on the phone! Deleting texts! Think I’m blind?”
“Natalie—”
“No, *Dad*! If there’s someone else, just *say it*! Don’t drag this out! Mum *deserves* better!”
William stood.
“I’m going for a walk. Need to think.”
“Think all you like,” Emily said. “I’ll see a solicitorA year later, she sat by the window of her new flat, sipping tea with honey, watching the autumn leaves drift past—utterly, perfectly content with the quiet life she’d claimed for herself.
