**Wednesday, 12th May**
*”Would you like sausages or scrambled eggs?”* Emily asked, balancing baby Matilda on her hip. Across the table, David scrolled through his phone, barely glancing up.
*”Sausages. And none of your experimental seasonings this time,”* he muttered.
Emily exhaled sharply. Cooking with Matilda fussing in her arms was never easy.
*”Could you take her for a bit?”* she ventured.
*”In a minute, just let me finish this,”* he dismissed, waving a hand.
Matilda whimpered, squirming. Emily jostled her gently while flipping the sausages—one caught, edges blackening.
*”Burnt again?”* David wrinkled his nose. *”Maybe pay attention?”*
*”Maybe help, instead of criticising?”* she shot back, shoulders tense.
*”Here we go… I’ve been working all day, providing for this family.”*
*”And what am I doing? My job never ends—twenty-four hours, no weekends.”*
She slid his plate across the table without another word. Once, they’d been partners. Now, the weight of everything rested on her shoulders alone.
The weeks blurred into monotony. One evening, as rain tapped the windows, Emily steeled herself.
*”David, we need to talk. You’re always busy—work, your phone, football. What about me? What about Matilda?”*
*”Not this again, Em. I do everything for you two.”*
*”Money isn’t everything. A family needs care, attention—actual presence.”*
*”That’s your role,”* he shrugged. *”I’m knackered after work. I need time to unwind.”*
*”And when do I get that?”* Her voice cracked.
From the nursery, Matilda’s cries pierced the silence. David didn’t move.
Returning from maternity leave, Emily started a new job. Mornings began at five. David still didn’t lift a finger. One evening, stuck late at the office, she arrived home to a dim flat, dishes piled high. David lounged on the sofa.
*”Fancy making dinner?”* he said by way of greeting.
*”Seriously? You couldn’t even wash a plate?”*
*”I’m tired.”*
*”Where’s Matilda?”*
*”Asleep. Ordered her pizza.”*
Hands shaking, Emily retreated to the kitchen. Later, checking her savings, she found £500 missing—David had helped himself to a new gaming console.
*”Since when are your wages separate?”* he’d scoffed.
*”Shared money? Funny how that only works one way.”*
The final straw was Matilda’s birthday. Emily spent days preparing—David promised to leave work early.
*”Sorry, swamped. You’ll manage,”* he texted an hour before.
Something inside her snapped. That night, tucking Matilda in, she made her choice.
David returned late, tossing his coat aside. *”Iron my shirt for tomorrow. And where’s dinner?”*
Emily turned slowly. *”Do it yourself. Cook, clean, earn your keep—I’m not your maid.”*
She walked to the bedroom, lifting a pre-packed bag.
*”Where d’you think you’re going?”* David blocked the doorway.
*”Not going. Finally arriving. I’m done.”*
*”This is mad! We’re a family!”*
*”Are we? You’ve been a stranger for years. I’m just the hired help.”*
She swept past him, scooping a drowsy Matilda from her cot.
*”Stop!”* He grabbed her arm. *”We’ve got a child—”*
*”A family takes two. We lost that long ago.”*
The rented flat was small, quiet. David’s calls came in waves—angry, pleading. *”I’ll change,”* he vowed.
*”You don’t even know what needs changing.”*
Weeks passed. Emily settled in, waking without dread for the first time in years. David’s messages dwindled. Then, one day, he appeared at her office with roses.
*”Let’s try again. I understand now.”*
*”Too late,”* she said softly. *”Promises don’t fix years.”*
Slowly, she reclaimed herself—enrolling in courses, laughing with friends. Most of all, she learned to listen to her own voice. Now, in that tiny flat, she wasn’t lonely. She was free. And that was worth every fear along the way.
**(End of entry.)**
