“Go to the kitchen!” I heard my husband sayand I couldnt take it anymore.
Emily stared at her phone screen. Thomas had messaged her for the fourth time in half an hour: *”Take the call, you daft woman.”*
She was sitting in the drivers seat of the learner car, her instructor explaining parallel parking. The phone buzzed again.
“May I answer? My husbands worried.”
“Of course.”
“Thomas, Im driving”
“Why arent you picking up? Ive been calling!”
“I cant talk while”
“Right. Getting your licence is more important than your husband. When will you be home?”
“In an hour.”
“Whos making dinner? Or do I have to do it myself?”
The instructor turned away, pretending not to hear.
“Ill cook when I get back.”
“Good. Thought Id married a career woman now.”
At home, Thomas lounged on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. Hed lost his job three months agoclaimed it was temporary, but the search dragged on.
“Hows driving school? Tricky business?” His voice carried that familiar smirk.
“Its fine. Practised parallel parking today.”
“Oh, very serious. Proper science, is it?”
Emily walked into the kitchen. Unwashed dishes filled the sinkhis breakfast.
“Thomas, could we finally unpack those boxes? Its February, and we might as well have 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”
Thomas stood and stepped closer. Something cold flickered in his eyes.
“Go to the kitchen.”
He said it quietly, but sharply. Not a shout. Just wordsand the silence after was worse than any yell.
Emily froze.
“What did you say?”
“You heard. Make dinner.”
“We were talking about the boxes”
“Talking? You were nagging. I said youd manage alone.”
Something inside Emily snapped. Not from hurtfrom realisation. She remembered the New Years party with his friends, where hed charmed everyone, flirted with the women, helped the hostess. In the car afterward, hed said:
“Why were you so quiet all night? Embarrassed?”
“I wont go to the kitchen!”
He raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“I wont!”
“Emily, dont push me. We were having a civil chat.”
“Civil? When was the last time you spoke to me civilly?”
Thomas set his phone down.
“Whats your problem? I was joking.”
“Joking? Take the call, you daft womanthats a joke?”
“What, cant I text my wife?”
“You can. Just not like that.”
“Christ, does it matter? You know I dont mean it.”
“I do. Thats why Ive stayed quiet.”
Emily sat on the edge of the bed.
“You know what my instructor said today? Youve got steady hands. Imagine that. Steady. At home, Im afraid to ask for help with boxes.”
“Afraid?” Thomas laughed.
“Dont be ridiculous!”
“I am. Because I know youll find a way to make me feel worthless.”
“Dont be dramatic! Youre imagining things.”
“Am I? Remember when you told your friends I was playing at driving school?”
“That was funny!”
“For you. For me, it was humiliating.”
Thomas 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.
“Alright.”
She stood, pulled a suitcase from the wardrobe, and began packing.
“What are you doing?”
“What you suggested.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Jessicas.”
“Youll storm off, have a cry, then come back. Like always.”
“Like always?”
“Women love drama. Slam doors, sob to their mates.”
Emily packed her documents, toiletries, charger.
“And come crawling back!”
She reached for the wedding photo box, pulled out a picturethem at the registry office, happy.
“Would you have spoken to me like this then?”
Thomas glanced at it.
“People were watching.”
“And here?”
“Here, its just family. I can relax.”
Emily placed the photo back carefully, zipped the suitcase.
“Relax Right.”
“Wait. Lets talk.”
“Whats to discuss? Youve shown me who I am to you at home.”
In the hallway, she pulled on her coat. Thomas stood barefoot in pyjamas.
“Oh, come on! All couples argue.”
“We werent arguing.”
Emily gripped the door handle.
“You just decided you could.”
The door slammed. His voice followed:
“You wont get far!”
Two weeks later, a text arrived: *”Ill come tomorrow when Ive got time.”*
Her friend Jessica shook her head.
“Why even meet him?”
“I need to be sure Im right.”
The café near the station. Thomas was half an hour late.
“Howve you been?” He sat without apologising.
“Fine.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Jessicas, for now.”
*For now* slipped outan old habit of softening things.
“The flats a mess. Dishes piled up, laundry not done. Lucky the neighbour helped with shopping.”
A waitress approachedpretty, brunette, mid-twenties.
“What can I get you?”
“Two coffees,” Thomas said, smiling at her.
“Anything sweet to go with?”
“Our cakes are lovely”
“Bring the best youve got.”
He slid off his wedding ring, set it on the table.
“Now that no ones tidying up at home, Ill treat myself.”
The waitress giggled.
“Can you cook?”
“Of course! A mans got to eat. At least no one nags about socks on the floor now.”
Emily stared at the ring.
“Or begs for help unpacking.”
He carried on. In that moment, she realisedhe was turning their story into a joke for a stranger.
“So,” he turned back to her, “end of the act? Its dull without you.”
“No.”
“No?”
“Im not coming back.”
For the first time, Thomas really looked at her.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Emily stood, left money for the coffee.
“Wait. You know what youre doing?”
“I do. For the first time in three months.”
“Emily! Were adults!”
“Exactly why Im leaving.”
Outside, sleet fell. Through the window, she saw Thomas chatting with the waitressprobably complaining about his unreasonable wife.
A month later, Emily rented a flat. Passed her test. Started a new job.
Once, she spotted Thomas in the supermarket with a younger woman. They laughed, picking groceries. Emily walked past unseen.
She wondered: *How long before he tells her, Go to the kitchen? A month? Two?*
That evening, Emily stood by her window, tea in hand. Her phone lay silent on the table. No more messages calling her *daft*.
She thought of women who stay, who believe *he doesnt mean it, all men are like that*. She felt no judgementonly sorrow.
The phone lit upa colleagues message about tomorrows meeting. Polite. Respectful.
Emily smiled and replied. Then she sat on her sofain her own home, where she could ask for help without fear of mockery.
Sometimes, walking away isnt defeat. Its the first step toward reclaiming yourself.
