While Emily was paying at the till, James wandered off. As she started packing the shopping bags, he walked right out of the shop. When Emily stepped outside, she spotted James smoking on the pavement.
“Love, grab the bags for me, will you?” Emily asked, holding out two heavy shopping bags.
James looked at her like shed asked him to do something criminal. “And what about you?” he shot back, surprised.
Emily was baffled. What did he mean, *what about her*? Since when did a man not help his wife carry the shopping? It was downright odd for her to struggle with heavy bags while he strolled ahead, hands in pockets.
“James, theyre really heavy,” she said.
“So?” he retorted, digging his heels in.
He could see she was getting annoyed, but he refused to budge on principle. He quickened his pace, leaving her behind. *”Carry the bags? What am I, a packhorse? Some sort of servant? Im a grown manIll decide if I lift a finger. Let her manageit wont kill her!”* Today, he fancied putting her in her place.
“James, where are you going? Take the bags!” Emily called out, voice cracking.
The bags *were* heavyhe knew, because hed stuffed the trolley himself. The flat wasnt far, just a five-minute walk. But weighed down, it felt endless.
Emily trudged home, blinking back tears. She half-expected James to turn around as a joke, but nohe kept pulling further ahead. She nearly dropped everything right there, but somehow, she kept going. When she reached their building, she sank onto the entrance bench, exhausted. She wanted to screamor crybut swallowed it down. Crying in public? Mortifying. But swallowing this? No. He hadnt just upset herhed humiliated her on purpose. And the worst part? Before they married, hed been *so* attentive. He knew exactly what he was doing.
“Alright, love?” A neighbours voice snapped her out of it.
“Ohhello, Mrs. Baker,” Emily managed, forcing a smile.
Mrs. BakerMargaret to her friendslived one floor down and had been close to Emilys late gran. Since then, shed been the only family Emily had left. Her mum lived up north with her new husband and kids, and her dad was well, absent. Mrs. Baker had stepped in.
Without a second thought, Emily decided to give her the shopping. At least hauling it hadnt been for nothing. Mrs. Bakers pension was tight, and Emily loved spoiling her with little treats.
“Come on, Mrs. B, lets get these upstairs,” Emily said, hefting the bags again.
In the older womans kitchen, she unloaded tinned salmon, pâté, peaches in syrupall things Mrs. Baker adored but couldnt afford. The sight made her eyes well up, and Emily felt a pang of guilt for not doing this more often. They hugged goodbye, and Emily headed upstairs.
When she walked in, James was in the kitchen, chewing on something.
“Wheres the shopping?” he asked, like nothing had happened.
“What shopping?” she replied coolly. “The ones you helped me carry?”
“Oh, dont be dramatic,” he joked weakly. “Youre not still mad?”
“No,” she said, eerily calm. “Just drawing my conclusions.”
James tensed. Hed expected shouting, tears, a row but this quiet certainty unnerved him.
“What conclusions?”
“I dont have a husband,” she sighed. “Thought Id married one, but turns out I married a prat.”
“Bit harsh,” he huffed, playing wounded.
“Is it?” She held his gaze. “I want a husband who acts like a *man*. And clearly, you want a wife who acts like *your* man.” Pause. “So what you need is a *husband*.”
James face flushed with rage, fists clenchingbut Emily didnt see. She was already in the bedroom, packing his things.
He fought it till the end. Refused to leave. Couldnt grasp how *carrying bags* could wreck a marriage.
“Its *shopping*! Whats the big deal?” he protested as she flung clothes into his suitcase.
“Your suitcasehope you can carry it *yourself*,” she said, tuning him out.
She knew this was just the first warning sign. If she shrugged off the disrespect, the humiliation would only grow. So she ended it, shutting the doorand himout for good.
