**”Are You Getting Divorced? I’ll Stay with Dad”**
Emily had suspected for a while that things between her and Oliver were crumbling. The warmth between them had faded, love replaced by routine, conversations reduced to nothing, grievances piling up. The air in their home hung heavy, thick with unspoken tension—like the stillness before a storm.
She waited, clinging to hope, telling herself things would improve. But digging deeper risked uncovering something she couldn’t ignore. And then what? They had a daughter. Grace’s future was on the line.
Emily kept the house running—cooking, cleaning, making sure Grace wasn’t out too late or neglecting her homework. Lately, Grace had secrets of her own. Teenage years, she supposed. As for Oliver… Oliver handed over his paycheck. That was the extent of his involvement.
These days, he barely looked up from his phone, hunched over it like a bored teenager.
Then Emily fell ill—fever spiking, head pounding, limbs aching. She asked Oliver to make dinner. Grace was out with friends again.
“Let’s just have tea and sandwiches,” he muttered.
Too weak to argue, Emily drifted in and out of sleep. Two days later, she dragged herself to the kitchen. The sink overflowed with dirty dishes, the bin brimmed with takeaway boxes, and his shirts clogged the washing machine. Sand crunched underfoot in the hallway. The fridge was bare. She scrubbed, cooked, and collapsed by evening.
After dinner, another tower of plates waited in the sink. Emily’s composure snapped.
“I’m not your maid. I work just as hard as you, then come home to this. Can’t you even rinse a plate?”
“You’d do it anyway,” Oliver said, unfazed.
“Take the rubbish out tomorrow before work. I’ll leave the bag by the door.”
“Fine.” He didn’t glance up.
“Not ‘fine’—just don’t forget. You used to help. I’m not asking for the moon—just take out the trash! Are you even listening?” Her voice cracked. “Put the bloody phone down!”
“What? I do enough.”
“Like what?”
“Christ, why the hysterics? You’re the woman—this is your job. I pay the bills. What more do you want? Two women in the house, and I’m supposed to wash plates?”
“You call our daughter a ‘woman’?”
“Speaking of—where is she? Your parenting—letting her roam around. Over a few dirty plates.”
“It’s not about plates! It’s about you not caring!”
“Enough. I’m done.” He stormed out. The bathroom door slammed.
Oliver’s forgotten phone lit up on the table. A name flashed before the screen went dark.
*Lily.*
There it was—the crack she’d sensed but refused to acknowledge. He returned, snatching the phone.
“Lily. Short for Lillian? Lila?” She fought to keep her voice steady.
Oliver froze. “You went through my phone?”
“It wasn’t locked. Something to hide?” *Lie to me. Just once, lie.*
“What if there is?” He met her glare. “Yes, there’s someone else. Let’s handle this like adults.”
“How?” Tears spilled.
“Oh, here we go. Play the victim if you want.”
Her world shattered. Thunder crashed; the downpour began.
“Go pack your things.”
“What? Where?”
“This flat’s mine. My parents bought it. I’m not selling.”
“And Grace and I—is this a joke?”
“No. Go to your parents’.”
“I’m not leaving,” Grace said from the doorway.
“Eavesdropping?” Oliver sneered.
“You were shouting loud enough for the neighbours. Are you getting divorced? I’ll stay with Dad.”
Oliver smirked. “And who’s the bad one now?” He left—probably texting Lily that the flat would soon be free.
“You can’t stay with him, Grace. He’s—” Emily choked. “He won’t be alone.”
“So? I’ve got my room. I’m not moving to Nan and Grandad’s—it’s miles away. My school’s here, my friends. I’m not going.” Grace fled to her room.
Panic swallowed Emily. What now? A family, a home—gone. Like a hurricane had spat her out, breathless and broken.
Grace’s betrayal stung worst. She locked herself in the bathroom and wept. Later, a pillow and blanket waited on the sofa. Oliver was texting again.
“What’s this?”
“Do I need to explain?”
The sofa was too small, too stiff. She lay awake all night. A good wife, a good mother—yet she’d failed at both. Humiliation? No. Forgiveness? Impossible. The flat wasn’t worth fighting. But Grace—Grace was.
At dawn, she left. At work, her colleague frowned.
“I’ve got no family, no home. Nowhere to go.”
“That bad?”
“Worse. I need a place.”
“Well… I’ve got a flat. Tiny, needs work. My dad’s old place. Stay as long as you like. Just cover the bills.”
“Thank you.”
“See it first. It’s a dump.”
The flat was small, dated. But she scrubbed it clean, sneezing at dusty curtains. Grace wouldn’t have liked it. No one called that night.
Her colleague helped her move while Oliver was at work. She bought wine, drank, and grieved.
Grace’s calls grew shorter. “Lily moved in. She’s cool. Gave me jeans and makeup…”
Everyone was happy—except Emily.
Outside Grace’s school, she saw her daughter caked in makeup. “Don’t come again,” Grace said. Emily cried all night.
She took a second job—stocking shelves at a hardware store. Nights ended with mopping, pay was decent. By year’s end, she’d scraped together a mortgage deposit. Maybe Grace would come back someday.
The new flat had a mattress, then a wardrobe. David, a coworker, helped build furniture. Over bangers and mash, he admitted he was divorced too. His wife had left him for someone richer.
“Oliver kept Grace to make kicking you out easier,” he said. “She’ll see the truth when she’s older.”
David started visiting—fixing lights, hanging shelves. One night, he stayed. Then moved in. He proposed; she refused. She was waiting for Grace.
Years dulled the pain. David kept her steady. “If Grace stays away, she’s happy. Let her go.”
Then—a knock.
“Grace!” Emily hugged her. “Look at you! David, she’s here!”
Grace eyed the flat. “It’s all right.”
Over tea, Grace admitted she’d flunked her A-levels. Oliver wouldn’t pay for uni.
“Lily said they need the money. They’re going on holiday. Mum, can you help?”
“I’ve got nothing left. Maybe next year—”
David cut in. “Your mum worked two jobs for this flat. We’ll get you a job at the store. Save up.”
Grace pouted. “Mum!”
“I can’t, love. David’s right.”
Grace huffed. “I won’t waste a year!”
Emily barely recognized her.
David sighed. “It’s late. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Grace glared. “I’ll sleep *here*? On the *floor*?”
“Just tonight—”
“I’m going home.” She left without a note.
Emily called, frantic. “Grace, where are you?”
“I’m not staying where some bloke’s more important than me. Don’t call.”
David held her. “She came for money. She’ll be back when she needs you.”
Six months later, Grace called. Pregnant, married young. The husband partied; Lily refused to help. “I waited years to get rid of you,” Lily had spat.
David negotiated with the in-laws—a flat for Grace and the baby in exchange for their son’s freedom.
Now, Emily spends evenings helping Grace with the baby. And somehow, she’s happy.
