“Man or What?”
“Those upstairs neighbors are at it again—how exhausting! It’s three in the morning!” Emily shook the peacefully sleeping Daniel awake. “Do you hear that? They’re shouting. Go sort it out!”
“Em, I was sleeping so well. Why wake me? I’ve got a haul tomorrow,” Daniel mumbled, half-asleep. “They’ll quiet down soon. Go back to sleep.”
Just as he was settling back into the warmth of the covers, his wife jabbed him sharply in the ribs with her elbow.
“Are you a man or what?” she hissed. “Go shut them up! I’ve got brunch with the girls tomorrow. Of all days, Jessica’s coming, and she’ll just gloat about her ‘lip fillers’ and ‘nose job.’ And what about me? Show up with my face all puffy from lack of sleep? Jessica’s hitting thirty, and not a wrinkle in sight!”
“Well, her husband’s a plastic surgeon, not a lorry driver, Em,” Daniel tried to soothe her. “And you’re beautiful without duck lips. Besides, you practically live at the beauty salon as it is.”
But Emily only grew angrier. She sat bolt upright in bed, glaring at him.
“Are you mocking me? A couple of spa visits a week is luxury to you? I want lips like hers—and a new nose! And what about that mink coat? When are you ever going to buy me one?”
“I just cleared the mortgage on your flat—the one you bought before we married. Still paying off your car loan, too. We agreed: car first, then the coat. Why the sudden meltdown?”
“And yet you bought your mum a winter coat!”
“That’s because her pension’s tiny, and all her savings went on meds. It wasn’t even that expensive.”
Daniel reached to hug her, but she was seething.
“You can’t afford a coat, can’t pay for my procedures—fine! But at least let me sleep! Go deal with those brats!”
Daniel knew there’d be no peace until he did. Guilt gnawing at him, he pulled on his tracksuit.
…Five years ago, none of his mates would’ve believed he’d marry Emily, his snobbish school crush. He’d fancied her since Year 9, but she’d always gone for richer, handsomer blokes. Even after college, when he landed a decent job, she barely glanced his way at the reunion—too busy bragging about marrying into money. He swallowed his pride and moved on.
Then, out of the blue, she called. Invited him for coffee. He’d been over the moon.
“You look good. Why didn’t I notice before? Fancy a bite?”
The table was already set with cakes and lattes. His heart dared to hope.
Coffee led to breakfast at her place. Two days later, she’d “ditched her rich bloke” for him.
“Something’s off,” his mum, Margaret, warned. “After years of her snubbing you? That nice girl Sophie from our block still fancies you—sweet, hardworking lass. But no, it’s Emily or nothing.”
“Mum, the heart wants what it wants.”
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Margaret saw right through her. Two months post-wedding, Emily announced she was pregnant. But the dates didn’t add up. When Daniel peeked at her medical notes, the truth hit him like a lorry.
“You were already pregnant when we first met!” he roared.
“I didn’t know! It was early!” she lied.
“So your ex dumped you, and I was dumb enough to raise his kid? Mum was right!”
“Oh, your mum always looks at me like I owe her a fortune!”
“She looks at you exactly as you deserve!”
Shame burned through him. Emily, though, was busy calculating the fallout. The thought of her married friends laughing at her? Unthinkable. So she clutched her stomach, wailing.
“It hurts! It’s your fault! I can’t stress—the baby!”
Panicked, Daniel rushed her to hospital. She secretly paid for a termination, then claimed a miscarriage.
“Forgive me,” he whispered later, clasping a gold bracelet onto her wrist. “Let’s start fresh.”
“Fine,” she said, eyeing the gift. “But I’ll need a car. Can’t rely on taxis when I’m pregnant *with your child*.”
Daniel smiled—the thought of a baby warmed him. “Alright. You’ll get your car.”
He quit his job, took up long-haul trucking, and worked extra shifts to feed her greed. Now, drowsy, he climbed the stairs to the third floor.
“Lads, turn the music down. We’re trying to sleep,” he said to the teens loitering on the landing, fags in hand.
“Or what, grandad?” sneered a lanky one.
“Where are your parents?”
“On holiday. Piss off.”
Daniel turned to leave—but they dragged him inside, shoved him onto the balcony, and pushed.
“Fly, grandad.”
He landed in a hydrangea bush. The music stopped. Emily, smiling, finally slept.
At noon, she strutted past gossiping neighbours.
“Look at her, no care her husband’s crippled!” one muttered.
Emily rolled her eyes. “Nutty old bats.”
Brunch with her unemployed pals was a riot—until she noticed Margaret’s ten missed calls.
“*What now?*” She called back hours later.
“Daniel’s in ICU,” Margaret said flatly.
“He crashed?”
“No. Your neighbours beat him. And *where were you* while they broke his spine? Doctors say he might never walk!”
Emily hung up, calculating: *No more coat. Unpaid car loan. Now a cripple for fun… Bad luck.*
She visited just once, three days later. Daniel, though paralysed, smiled—breaking Margaret’s heart.
“Coming tomorrow?” he asked weakly.
“Maybe.” She fled.
She never returned. Sophie—the girl next door, now a physio—helped him relearn to walk over agonising months.
“Push through the pain,” she urged. “You’ve got this.”
Margaret wept. “We owe you everything.”
Sophie shook her head. “It’s my job.”
…The divorce arrived during rehab. Emily’s scrawled note read: *”Can’t live with a cripple. Found someone else. Sold the flat. Don’t contact me.”*
Oddly, Daniel felt nothing. Just hollow. He signed the papers and handed them to her solicitor.
“Any message?” the man asked.
Daniel glanced at Sophie. “Tell her not to worry about me. I’ll heal by the wedding. *Man or what?*”
*Lesson: Love shouldn’t cost your dignity. Real strength isn’t putting up with those who take—it’s walking away to those who give.*
