“How Dare He? A Crack in the Marriage”
“That’s it, I’ve had enough!” Peter slammed his fist on the table, making the porcelain plates rattle. “Make sure I never see her again!”
“Are you serious right now?” Emily glared at her husband, her voice trembling with anger. “Or have you forgotten I live here too and have every right to invite who I want?”
“For now,” he growled.
“Oh, is that how it is?”
“I’ve said my piece,” Peter snapped, shoving his chair back so hard it toppled over. He stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.
Emily stood alone, her pulse pounding in her temples. His words stung like a slap. “For now”… How dare he?
Hannah had been her best friend since childhood. They’d grown up together in Bristol, hiding under the same umbrella during storms, sleeping over at each other’s houses, pulling each other out of scrapes they could barely remember without laughing. And now Peter expected her to cut Hannah out of her life?
Why? Just because Hannah wasn’t married? Because she didn’t bury herself in housework and stews but went on dates, laughed, actually lived? So what if she accepted gifts from admirers? That was her life, her rules.
Emily had told Peter all about their girlish escapades. He used to laugh too! Now suddenly he wanted to forbid it? On what grounds?
She marched into the living room, determined to settle this once and for all.
“Peter, we’re not finished. Explain why you’ve got such a bee in your bonnet about Hannah. What’s she ever done to you?”
“To me?” He scoffed. “As if I care! Just keep her out of our house.”
“Explain.”
“You really don’t get it?” He leapt up like he was ready to bolt outside in his slippers. “Your Hannah’s a featherbrain. Swaps men like socks. Lives off their wallets. And you’re fine with that. You’re friends with her. That means you approve.”
Emily blinked in disbelief.
“Peter, have you lost the plot? I love you—I don’t want anyone else!”
“Right. ‘Love you, can’t live without you.’ Meanwhile, you’re green with envy—of Hannah and your sister Lucy!”
Emily stiffened.
“What’s Lucy got to do with this?”
“Everything! She’s not welcome in my house either!”
Emily froze. It all made sense now. Lucy, her younger sister, had once been caught up in a scandal. She’d dated a man for years, hoping for a future, only to find out he was married with two kids. When the truth came out, the family was in uproar. Everyone judged Lucy. Then—surprise—the man moved his family away and left Lucy a flat. Small, but right in the city centre.
Suddenly, the family fell silent. Some even praised it: “At least he did right by her.” Of course, Emily had told Peter everything, and clearly, she hadn’t hidden her admiration.
“Go on, say something!” Peter barked, snapping her out of her daze.
“I’ll say this: Lucy’s a grown woman. She decides who she’s with and what gifts she accepts.”
“Of course! Got herself a flat and couldn’t be happier. And you? Don’t tell me you’re not jealous. Your eyes lit up when you talked about it!”
“Rubbish. Imagine if you had a mate who was always juggling women, wining and dining them. Then your brother, a father of two, gifts one of them a flat. Would you be pleased?”
“I don’t care. It’s their life, not mine,” Emily said quietly.
“Good. But those women aren’t setting foot in my house again. Not Hannah, not Lucy!”
Emily didn’t reply. She walked to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and cried—out of despair, helplessness, and the crushing realisation that the man she loved wasn’t just refusing to listen. He was judging her. Judging her by scraps of gossip, by his own twisted assumptions. He didn’t see the woman beside him every day, who supported him, cooked for him, listened, shared his life. All he saw was a reflection of other people’s choices.
What now? Divorce? Or stay silent, betraying the ones who’d stood by her for years? There seemed no good choice. But the thought of betraying herself—that was the worst of all.
