” Off to the kitchen with you! I heard from my husband and I couldnt take it anymore.
Emily stared at her phone screen. Andrew had texted for the fourth time in half an hour: *”Take the call, you daft woman.”*
She was behind the wheel of the learner car, her instructor explaining parallel parking. The phone buzzed again.
Can I answer? My husbands worried.
Go ahead.
Andrew, Im driving
Why arent you picking up? Ive been ringing!
I cant talk while
Right, got it. Passing your test is more important than your husband. When will you be home?
In an hour.
Whos making dinner? Or am I expected to fend for myself?
The instructor pretended not to hear, staring pointedly out the window.
Ill cook when I get back.
Good. Was starting to think I married a career woman now.
At home, Andrew scrolled through his phone on the sofa. Three months unemployedclaimed it was temporary, but the job hunt dragged on.
Hows driving school? Rocket science, is it?
The familiar smirk laced his voice.
Fine. Practised parallel parking today.
Oh, very serious stuff, then?
Emily walked into the kitchen. The sink was full of unwashed disheshis breakfast.
Andrew, maybe we could finally unpack those boxes? Its February, and were still living like we moved in yesterday.
He glanced up from his screen.
Whats there to unpack? You can manage.
We could do it together. And tidy up while were at it
Andrew stood, stepping closer. Something cold flickered in his gaze.
*Off to the kitchen with you.*
He said it quietly, but with perfect clarity. Not a shout. Just wordsand the silence that followed was worse than any yelling.
Emily froze.
What did you say?
You heard me. Go make dinner.
We were talking about the boxes
Talking? You were nagging. I said you can handle it yourself.
Something inside Emily snapped. Not from hurtfrom understanding. She remembered the New Years party at his mates, where hed been the life of the room. Flirting with every woman, cracking jokes, helping the hostess. Later, in the car, hed said:
Why were you so quiet all night? Embarrassed me.
Im *not* going to the kitchen!
His eyebrows shot up.
What?
I said no.
Emily, dont push me. We were having a civil chat.
Civil? When was the last time you spoke to me like a person?
Andrew set his phone down.
Whats your problem? I was joking.
Joking? *”Take the call, you daft woman”*thats a joke?
What, cant I text my wife?
You can. Just not like *that.*
Christ, whats the difference? You know I didnt mean it nastily.
I know. Thats why Ive stayed quiet all this time.
Emily sat on the edge of the bed.
Know what my instructor said today? *”Youve got steady hands.”* Fancy that. Steady. But at home, Im scared to ask for help with boxes.
Scared?
Andrew laughed.
Oh, come off it!
I *am.* Because I know youll find a way to make me feel useless.
Thats bollocks! Youre imagining things.
Am I? Remember when you told your mates I was *”playing at driving lessons”*?
It was a laugh!
For *you.* For me, it was humiliating.
Andrew sat beside her on the sofa.
Look, if you dont like how I talk
Then what?
The doors where its always been.
Silence. Emily studied him. No apology. No explanation. Just a nod toward the exit.
Fine.
She stood, pulled a suitcase from the wardrobe, and started packing.
Whatre you doing?
Taking your suggestion.
Wherell you go?
Sarahs.
Youll have a little strop, then come crawling back. Like always.
Like *always?*
Women love drama. Slam doors, cry to their girlfriends.
Emily tucked in her documents, toiletries, charger.
Then grovel home!
She pulled their wedding photo from a boxhappy, at the registry office.
Would you have spoken to me like *this* back then?
Andrew glanced at the picture.
People were watching.
And here? Whos here?
Family. Where I can *relax.*
Emily placed the photo back gently. Closed the suitcase.
Relax. Right.
Wait. Lets talk.
Whats to talk about? Youve shown me exactly who I am to you at home.
In the hallway, she tugged on her coat. Andrew stood barefoot in joggers.
Dont be daft! All couples row.
We werent *rowing.*
Emily gripped the door handle.
You just decided you could treat me like this now.
The door slammed. From behind her:
You wont get far!
Two weeks later, a text arrived: *”Meet me tomorrow, when I get a minute.”*
Her friend Sarah shook her head.
Why bother seeing him?
I need to be sure Im right.
A café by the station. Andrew was half an hour late.
Howve you been?
He sat without apologising.
Fine.
Wherere you staying?
Sarahs, for now.
The *”for now”* slipped outan old habit of softening things.
Place is a mess. Dishes piled up, laundrys not done. Thank God the neighbour helped with shopping.
A waitress approachedpretty brunette, mid-twenties.
What can I get you?
Two coffees, Andrew said, flashing her a grin.
Anything sweet to go with?
Your best cakes, love.
He slid off his wedding ring, placing it on the table.
Now that theres no one to nag about socks on the floor, Ill treat myself.
The waitress giggled.
Can you cook, then?
Course! Mans got to eat. Just nice not having someone moan about the mess.
Emily watched the ring.
Or demand help unpacking.
He carried on. In that moment, she realisedhe was turning their marriage into a punchline for a stranger.
So, he turned back to her, end of the performance? Its dull without you.
No.
What?
Im not coming back.
For the first time, Andrew actually *looked* at her.
Youre serious?
Yes.
She stood, leaving cash for her coffee.
Wait. You know what youre doing?
I do. For the first time in months.
Emily! Were *adults!*
Exactly why Im leaving.
Outside, sleet fell. Through the window, Andrew was explaining something to the waitressprobably complaining about his unreasonable wife.
A month later, Emily rented a flat. Passed her test. Started a new job.
Once, she spotted Andrew in Tesco with a younger woman. Laughing over groceries. She walked past unseen.
She wondered: *How long before he tells her, “Off to the kitchen with you”? A month? Two?*
That evening, Emily stood by her window with tea. Her phone lay silent on the table. No more texts from *”daft woman.”*
She thought of the women who stay. Who believe *”he doesnt mean it,”* *”all men are like that.”* And felt not judgment, but sorrow.
Her phone lit upa colleagues message about tomorrows meeting. Professional. Respectful.
Emily smiled, replied, then sank onto the sofain *her* home, where asking for help didnt mean bracing for ridicule.
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