Heating Up the Marriage — “Listen, Liz… what if we tried an open relationship?” Victor suggested cautiously. — “What?” Liz blinked, not quite sure she’d heard right. “Are you serious?” — “And why not? It’s perfectly normal,” her husband shrugged, trying to sound casual. “They do it all the time in Europe. Apparently, it really spices up a marriage. You always said a little treat while dieting doesn’t hurt—keeps you from binging. It’s just about variety.” Liz blinked, trying to process his words. Comparing a mistress to a chocolate bar was either spectacularly stupid, or shameless. — “Vic…” she began. “If you want to leave, just do it properly. I’ll give you your freedom, but don’t drag me into this nonsense.” — “Oh come on, Liz, why are you getting prickly? I love you. It’s just… the spark’s gone. We need a little fire, you know? Half the time we sleep back-to-back and only talk about food shopping and the energy bill. It’s all so dull—we both need a jump start. I’m not restricting you. Go have some fun, talk to other people, unwind a bit. What’s the harm?” Liz narrowed her eyes. Suddenly, she realized Victor was lying. Shifty eyes, nervous fingers tapping the table—he wanted freedom all right. And he wanted it yesterday, not tomorrow or today. — “Vic, be honest. You’ve already found someone, haven’t you? And now you want me to play along so you don’t feel guilty?” — “Here we go!” Victor rolled his eyes. “If that were true, would I even be having this conversation? Honestly, I regret bringing it up. You’re such a throwback! Forget it…” Victor stood in dignified silence and walked off, leaving Liz alone with her thoughts. Twenty-five years. She’d given him her best years, stuck through hard times, money worries, constant late nights at the office—which, with hindsight, looked very different… And now, here he was, well-fed and comfortable, inviting her to help sabotage their family. “Unwind”—what a convenient word. They slept in separate rooms that night. Well, “slept” was generous. Liz lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how they’d gotten to this point. Victor used to bring her armfuls of lilacs, work overtime just to pay for a beautiful wedding, and celebrate when their daughter was born. Now… she almost wished he’d just walked out. Where was the point of no return? When she stopped bothering with makeup at home, trying to look nice for him? When he first forgot their anniversary, blaming work? Did it even matter now? Divorce was tempting—a clean break, a fresh start. But could she really throw out half her life so easily? Maybe there had never been fireworks, but there was habit, a shared home, a well-oiled routine. Victor had always seemed reliable. Their daughter had moved out; retirement was looming. They’d nursed each other through illness, once even taken out a loan to help Liz’s mum. Not every man would do that. Inside, Liz simmered with hurt, fear, and anger. “Does he think I’d never find anyone?” she wondered. “That I’m a washed-up old lady, fit only to cook his dinner, knit socks for the grandkids and wait quietly until he feels like coming home?” No chance. — “Fine,” she told Victor the next morning. “Let’s do it your way.” — “Eh?” — “I agree to your open relationship.” Victor nearly choked on his tea. Expecting a scene, he got a serene “yes.” — “Well… that’s good, then. You might even like it,” he said. “By the way, I’ll be home late tonight.” Her heart twisted. That quickly? …The evening was dull and silent, and Liz felt used up and discarded. Like she’d been appraised and rejected, an outdated phone model. She examined herself in the mirror: tired eyes, wrinkles around the corners, skin not as flawless as before. But her figure was still trim, her hair thick. Maybe she was still attractive. Maybe Victor was the problem, not her. Other men certainly noticed her. There was Andrew from the office—the new branch manager, silver at the temples, slightly gravelly voice, twinkling eyes. Right away, he’d singled Liz out, making polite conversation, holding doors, bringing her coffee, even inviting her to lunch—and last week, dinner. — “Andrew, I’m on a diet called ‘married,’” she quipped. — “Lizzie, being married’s just a stamp, not a scarlet letter,” Andrew laughed. “But I won’t push it.” Victor wanted an open marriage? Wanted her to unwind? Why not. — “Evening, Andrew. Is your dinner invitation still open? I find I have some free time—and a craving to cheat on my diet,” she messaged. It wasn’t revenge. Liz just wanted to feel like a woman again. Wanted to breathe life into a “me” her husband had squashed these last two days. …Dinner went surprisingly well. Andrew was the perfect gentleman: pulling out her chair, topping up her wine, really listening, giving her that look—the kind that makes you feel you’re the only woman in the world. Liz felt guilty but alive, excited to finally be the star in her own life, not just the housewife who catered to Victor’s every whim. — “Shall we go back to mine?” Andrew suggested over dessert. “I’ll pick up a bottle of wine, we’ll watch something… make a night of it.” She nodded. Inside, something shrieked, “Stop!” But then she saw Victor’s face again, heard his “unwind.” They’d barely arrived at Andrew’s when her phone started buzzing—her husband. She rejected the call once, then again, but he wouldn’t give up. — “Yes?” she answered, struggling for composure. — “Where are you, then?” Victor exploded. “It’s ten at night! There’s nothing to eat, house is empty! Have you completely lost the plot?” Andrew tactfully withdrew to another room. The romance instantly evaporated. — “Honestly… I’m on a date, Vic.” — “What do you mean, a date?!” — “You want it spelled out? You suggested an open relationship, told me to meet new people and have a bit of fun. Well—I’m doing it. Don’t like the taste of your own medicine?” Silence, broken only by Victor’s indignant breathing. Then his dam of feigned calm burst. — “You actually went and did it? I was joking! I wanted to test you! Get it? Test you! And you just jumped at the chance, did you? Pouted for a day and raced off to the first bloke you found?” Liz was dumbfounded. — “And where were you tonight?” — “At work! That’s it,” Victor snapped. “I don’t want any, you know, diseases from your side. Either pack your bags, or I’m out. We’re getting divorced.” He hung up. Liz stared at the wall, horrified and humiliated. — “Are you alright?” Andrew’s voice came from behind her. — “Yeah… I’ll be fine,” Liz tried to smile, but couldn’t. — “Liz… Look, I think the mood’s changed. Maybe you should go, sort things out at home.” Cinderella’s ball was over. The carriage became a pumpkin, and her charming suitor just wanted to keep out of her drama. Fair enough—he’d signed up for a pleasant evening, not a family soap opera. Maybe she should’ve just filed for divorce straight away—but good ideas always arrive too late. That night, Liz didn’t go home. She booked a hotel. Facing Victor wasn’t an option, and she needed time to accept that things would never be the same. Three years passed… In that time, life slowly chiselled away anything unnecessary—even as it hurt. Victor acquired a new girlfriend suspiciously fast—even before the divorce was finalized. She vanished as soon as they’d sold the flat, taking his half of the money. Things with Andrew fizzled out. They still saw each other at work, but nothing more than bland pleasantries. Liz realized something: men happy to play “lover” roles quickly melt away when you need a companion for the hard days or a bit of moral support. Liz wasn’t looking anymore, anyway. When she finally had a place of her own, she discovered a sudden surplus of time and energy. Life had always been about Victor, about the chores, the drama. Now she invested in herself—not for anyone else, but for her. Mornings at the pool cured her backache. English classes kept her mind sharp. She cut her hair, revamped her wardrobe. Most important—she became a grandmother. Her daughter, Mary, had a baby girl, Sophie. At first, Mary had sided with Victor over the messy breakup—he’d painted Liz as the homewrecker, the cheater, the traitor. But time set things straight. Mary came to talk—ready to confront her mum, to look her in the eye. But instead of a “scarlet woman,” she saw a tired but honest woman. Liz told her side: Victor’s idea, his late nights at the office, the loneliness that had begun to eat her alive years ago. Mary—now married herself—understood. And once Victor showed his true colours, Mary stood firmly at her mother’s side. Now, Liz was sitting in Mary’s kitchen, holding baby Sophie as the tiny girl tried to snag her finger. — “Dad called again today,” Mary said, with a scowl. “He wanted to visit and see Sophie.” — “And?” Liz asked quietly. — “I told him we were out of town,” Mary sighed. “I don’t want him here, Mum. One minute he bad-mouths you, the next he wants us to patch you up. Every time I see him I get anxious. And I don’t want him turning Sophie against you, not even a little. Let him carry on with his ‘freedom’…” Liz just squeezed her granddaughter a little closer. Victor had gotten exactly what he wanted: total freedom. No one bothered him for attention, no one interrupted his TV shows, no one waited up for him at night. And yet, when he finally tasted freedom—he discovered it had the bitter tang of loneliness. But it was too late now.

Warmed-Over Marriage

“Listen, Liz… How about we try an open relationship?” Richard ventured, his voice treading carefully.

“What?” Elizabeth blinked, slow to register. “You can’t be serious?”

“Why not? Its perfectly normal,” he replied with forced calm, shrugging. “Loads of people do it in Europe, you knowits quite common. They say it actually spices up a marriage. Didnt you say a little chocolate on a diet doesnt hurt, keeps you from binging? Its the same thing, isnt it? Variety is important in everything.”

Elizabeth stared at him, blinking hard as his words sank in. Comparing a mistress to a bar of chocolate was astoundingly stupidor perhaps brazen.

“Rich…” she started. “If you want to leave, just go. Ill give you your freedom, but dont drag me into this sort of mess.”

“Liz, come on, dont get prickly! I love you. Its just… the fireworks are gone. Maybe we need a bit of a spark, something to shake things up. We sleep back-to-back, only talk about shopping and bills. Its dead dullI reckon we both need a jolt. Im not keeping you caged, am I? You could see someone else, have a bit of fun. Whats the harm?”

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. Suddenly, the truth was obvious: he was lying. Those darting eyes, the drumming fingers on the tablehe needed his freedom. Only, it wasnt today, or tomorrow. If she had to guess, hed wanted it yesterday.

“Rich, just be straight with me. Have you already found someone? And now you want to pitch this so you wont feel guilty?”

“Oh, here we go!” Richard waved it off. “Why would I come out and ask you if that was the case? Im starting to regret saying anything at all. You’re such a Victorian lady sometimes. Look, forget I mentioned it…”

And with that, he rose, affecting the air of a wounded saint, and vanished into the next room. Liz was left alone, lost in thoughts.

Twenty-five years. Shed given him the best part of her life, endured his highs and lows, the grim days of counting pennies, and his constant late nights at worknow seen in a whole new light. And now here he sat, fat and satisfied, offering her a partnership in what felt like some sordid crime against their home. To “have a bit of fun,” as he put it. What a convenient phrase.

That night, they slept in separate rooms. Or, ratherElizabeth didnt sleep at all, staring at the ceiling, then the window, then back to the ceiling, wondering how theyd come to this. Once upon a time, Richard would shower her with big, fragrant bouquets of lilacs, worked himself to the bone to give her a proper wedding, beamed with pride at the birth of their daughter. Now she almost wished hed just left her.

Where had things gone so wrong? Maybe when she stopped putting lipstick on at home, wanting to look nice just for him. Maybe when he first forgot their anniversary and blamed a crisis at work. But at this pointwhat did it matter?

Part of her just wanted to file for divorce and be done with it. Another part knew it wasnt so simple to throw away almost half a lifetime.

Thered never been a grand passion, but there was routine, a house built up together, a way of life. Richard had always seemed the safe harbour. Their daughter had moved out long ago; old age was looming. Through illness and hardship, they’d always managedonce, hed even taken out a loan to help her mother. Not every man wouldve done that.

Elizabeths chest was heavy with a tangled mess of hurt, fear, and fury. “Does he think Im too old to find anyone else?” she wondered bitterly. “That Im a washed-up housewife, waiting at home with his dinner and knitting socks for grandchildren until hes done gallivanting?”

Noabsolutely not.

“Fine,” Elizabeth announced the next morning. “Lets do it your way, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I agree. Open relationship it is.”

Richard nearly choked on his tea. Hed braced himself for a storm, but she simply said yes.

“Well Good then. Maybe youll even enjoy it,” he tossed off. “Oh, Ill be late tonight, by the way.”

A sharp pain pierced her chest. So soon?

Evening came grey and quiet. She felt broken and discarded, as if shed been sized up and tossed aside, like an outdated mobile phone.

She stood before the mirror. Tired eyes, laughter lines, not the skin of her youth. But her figure was still trim, her hair still thick. Maybe she was still attractive. Maybe the problem wasnt her.

Other men had noticed her. Take Andrewfor instancethe head of a neighboring department, transferred from another office a month ago.

A handsome man, flecks of grey at his temples, a husky voice, an impish smile. Hed taken a shine to her straight away: offered compliments, held doors, brought her coffee. Asked her to lunch a couple times. Last week, offered to take her out for dinner.

“Im on a diet,” shed dodged, “called being married.”

“Ah, Lizzie, marriage is a stamp in a passport, not a chain around your neck,” he grinned. “But, I wont push if you dont fancy it.”

Richard wanted her to have a bit of fun? To mingle”? Why not?

“Evening, Andrew. Still up for that dinner? I seem to have both the time and the appetite for breaking my diet,” she messaged him.

It wasnt about revenge. Elizabeth simply needed to feel like a woman againto breathe some life into the self her husband had trampled over the past two days.

The rest of the evening was a mix of guilt and excitement. Andrew was the perfect gentlemanpulled out her chair, topped up her wine, hung on her every wordand the way he looked at her as if she were the only woman in the place.

Elizabeth felt a blend of shame and long-lost thrill. At last, there was something besides marriage and Richards muddy socks.

“Fancy coming back to mine?” Andrew suggested as she finished dessert. “We can pick up a bottle of wine, find a filmcarry on the evening.”

She nodded. Part of her screamed, “Dont!” but she pictured Richards facehis little speech about variety and having a bit of fun.

Theyd barely made it to Andrews when her phone buzzed relentlessly. Richard. She ignored it. He called againand again.

“Yes?” she picked up coolly.

“Where the hell are you?!” Richard exploded. “Its ten oclock! Theres nothing to eat, youre not hereI cant believe you! Have you lost your mind?”

Elizabeth froze. Andrew, hearing the row, discreetly slipped out of the room. The romantic mood evaporated instantly.

“Im on a date, Rich.”

“A what?!” he raged. “A date?!”

“Do I need to explain it to you? You told me yesterday to give open relationships a tryto ‘mix things up.’ So here I am, trying. Whats wrongdoesnt the shoe fit on both feet?”

Silence. Just his heavy breathing. But then, the dam burst.

“You You actually went to someones place? I was joking! I wanted to test you, for heavens sake! Test you! And youbarely waited a day, clearly all you needed was a green light!”

Elizabeth was stunned.

“And youwhere were you tonight?” she snapped.

“Nowhere! At work, thats all,” Richard huffed. “Listen I dont want you bringing any nonsense back home. Either you pack your things, or Im off. Your choice. Were getting a divorce.”

He hung up. Elizabeth stared at the wall, numb with humiliation.

“You alright?” Andrews soft voice drifted in.

“Yeah Just silly stuff.” She tried to smile, but couldnt.

“Liz It looks like tonights not the night for thisyou should probably go, tie up some loose ends.”

The spell was broken; the carriage had turned back into a pumpkin, and her polished date didnt fancy becoming embroiled in someone elses family soap opera. She couldnt blame him. Hed wanted a sparkling evening, not domestic disaster.

She shouldve filed for divorce straightaway, but, as always, hindsight arrived too late.

Elizabeth didnt go home that night. She checked into a hotel insteadreturning to her furious husband held no appeal. She needed time to process that things would never be the same.

Three years passed.

During that time, life, like a seasoned sculptor, cut away the unnecessary, sharply and thoroughly.

Richard found a new companion at record speedbefore the divorce papers were even dry. She lasted only as long as it took to sell the family home, then made off with his share of the proceeds.

Things with Andrew fizzled too. They still crossed paths at workno banter now, just obligatory hellos. Elizabeth soon realised: the men so eager to play lovers bolt the minute you so much as hint at needing a partner, let alone a shoulder.

But she wasnt looking for anyone else. As soon as she settled into her own flat, Elizabeth discovered she suddenly had time and energyonce devoured by household duties and pampering Richards whims.

She started spending mornings at the local poolher back pain eased. Evening adult classes kept her mind sharp. She cut her hair short, modernised her wardrobe, andbest of allbecame a grandmother.

Her daughter, Mary, had a baby half a year ago. At first, when the divorce scandal exploded, shed sided fiercely with her father. Richard played the victim marvellouslyhad Mary convinced her mother had strayed, shattered the family, put a lover before her long-suffering dad.

But time revealed all. Mary eventually came to see her mother, ready to confront herto look her in the eye and demand answers. She found not a loose woman, as Richard had painted, but a tired, honest soul.

Elizabeth told the plain truth: Richard had started these games. Hed been coming home late for years; shed felt alone long before any talk of new partners. Mary, now married herself, understoodespecially once Richard paraded his new girlfriend. From then on, she firmly sided with her mother.

Now, Elizabeth sat in Marys kitchen, cradling her granddaughter. Little Sophie gripped at her finger with delight.

“Dad rang again,” Mary pulled a face. “Wanted to pop over. To see Sophie.”

“And what did you say?” Elizabeth asked calmly.

“I told him were away for the weekend,” Mary sighed. “I cant have him here, Mum. Some days he slags you off, other days begs me to help patch things up. Its stressful every time he visits. And I wont let him fill Sophies head with rubbish about you. Let him stew in his own precious freedom…”

Elizabeth said nothingjust hugged her granddaughter a little closer.

Richard got exactly what he said he wanted: total freedom. Now, no one needed his attention, no wife to nag, no distractions from the telly. But in the end, he tasted his freedomand discovered it had the bitter tang of loneliness. And by then, it was far too late.