Taming the Husband. A Story
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After her hospital stay, Catherine was finally starting to feel herself again, ready to jump back into her daily routine right from dawn.
But that morning, as sunlight crept through the curtains, she felt a sharp jolt of resistance insidea quiet, steely voice telling her to pause.
Her husband, Peter, was already up, cracking his knuckles and stretching in the living room. Athletic as ever, he clung to old habits even in retirement. He began each day with his arthritis exercises, moving in careful, deliberate motions across the carpet.
Catherines mornings usually began with a rush to the cat, Mollyclearing out the litter tray before the day had truly begun.
Next, shed feed Molly and the loyal terrier, Dash, tidy up the hallway and kitchen, erasing any evidence of her pets nighttime mischief. Shed then whisk Dash outside for his morning walk, feeling the towns gentle hush settle around her.
Come afternoon and evening, Peter would join her for longer strolls through the leafy quiet of Victoria Park, the two of them soaking up the English peace. But in those busy hours before breakfast, while her husband attended to his health, Catherines tasks stacked up.
She would return home from the walk, quickly start their customary breakfast: cottage cheese with honey and sultanas, sometimes swapping it for a plate of golden scones, a classic omelette, or soft-boiled eggs.
Catherine told herself this morning bustle counted as her own form of exercise. But the doctors in St. Marys hospital disagreed. When they learned about her daily rituals, they insisted she needed proper, targeted movementhousekeeping didnt count.
After he finished his stretches, Peter would make the bed, always with a loud grumble about how real work was piling on his shoulders and how domestic chores were hardly a mans place. A couple of times a week, hed run the washing machine or vacuum the carpets, sometimes muttering about how Catherine never managed things properly. After breakfast, hed even wash the dishes, claiming this as the highest proof of his helpfulness.
Once the plates were done, Catherine would prepare lunch, then sink into her armchair with her laptop. She hadnt stopped working in retirementextra pounds meant freedom from counting out pennies.
Peter thought her bits of work were laughable, and what did they need new clothes for anyway? The wardrobe was bursting!
More often than not, Catherine let him win these little contests. She was never one to fuss about clothes, especially since Peter never failed to tell her how lovely she looked compared to their old friends. She kept quiet, too, when he brought home yet another power drill, or something else he fancied, spending her silly earnings as he liked.
But the illness had changed Catherine in ways she hadnt foreseenso much so, she startled herself.
Shed ended up in hospital after collapsing on the way to the corner grocer. The ambulance had whisked her away, doctors shaking their heads at her blood tests, barely believing shed managed to walk at all.
Even Peter had gone pale when they let him in to see his wife, drawn and pale under a drip. At home alone, hed struggled to stay on top of daily life. For the first time, he realised just how much there was to do.
He missed Catherine fiercely, waiting with anticipation for her to come homebecause, whatever his grumbling, he truly loved her.
The first few days back, per doctors orders, Catherine rested. Peter tended to her, coming in and out of the little bedroom, anxiously checking in.
Well, Catherine, are you feeling better today? Not quite? You look a fair bit brighter than before, at least. Just dont laze around too much, eh? Youll forget how to walk if youre not careful! Time for you to get back to the usual!
She agreedin part. This morning, though, something had shifted. She didnt want to leap out of bed and fall into that daily hurricane of chores.
She looked over at Peter, his brow furrowed in that familiar way as he repeated his morning stretchesexpecting her to step back into her own role.
And for the first time, she didnt see a loving, devoted husband. She saw a manperhaps unknowinglytrying to load her shoulders up again.
A surge of rebellion rose within her.
She remembered the doctors words, spoken with grave concern, echoing in her head:
You never put yourself first, and your husbands become used to it. He thinks you do it all easily, never tiring, always with a smile. Yet youre here now, an ambulance rushed you in with severe anaemia, your levels half what they should be. Do you even want to keep living?
In hospital, shed had her first transfusion, lying still as the crimson fluid flowed through the clear tubing into her veinfive times, from five strangers, until the numbers had crept back to normal.
Shed lain there thinking: Five separate lives have saved me now. Theres something of each of them inside me, something unfamiliarwhat if it changes me?
Perhaps it had. Because when she finally returned home, Catherine realised she simply refused to bend over backwards for Peter any longer.
Of course she loved himhe tried harder than most men, even if he exaggerated his own efforts and downplayed hers. Once, shed brushed it off, took pride in kindness. Now, though, there was a change flickering inside. She wanted to reclaim her own passionsperhaps dust off the old piano theyd struggled to find room for, or something else, some joy she hadn’t yet named.
That morning, she stood up and, to Peters utter surprise, began to exercise beside him.
He stared. Whats gotten into you, Catherine? Hospitals made you think about yourself at your age? But you look wonderful alreadywhy dont you just feed Molly and Dash, and get breakfast going? Were all starving, you know.
The doctor said I must, she answered, her voice striking a note Peter had never heardfirm, hard-edged. He said if I dont, I wont be around much longer. Is that what you want?
Peter looked shell-shocked at her bluntness. Perhaps he thought shed gotten a bit strange after the hospital; maybe the ordeal would pass. He didnt even protest when, after morning stretches, Catherine called the orders:
Right. Ill feed Molly and Dash, and youll take Dash out for his walk. While youre at it, Ill get breakfast readyfar more efficient.
Deep down, she was amazed at how quickly Peter agreed. Inside though, she was caught between bewilderment and resolve.
It was as if those five transfusions had sparked five new fires in her soul, telling her it was perfectly right to toss out worn old jumpers and buy the new dress she fancied, especially since she’d earned it herself.
To remind her that she deserved healthproper exercise, even music again.
She counted, in her mind, five clear new decisions, realising with a shiver: Of courseit was five sets of blood, from five donors. Maybe their strength and boldness had been passed onto her. Others spoke of heart transplant patients whod wake up with new cravings, new memories, newfound talents. Perhaps her transfusion had lit a similar flame.
Now, as she looked at Peter, her eyes held none of their former timidity. There was a confidence there, born both of the doctors seriousness and this unexpected burst of energy.
She watched Peter as he wrestled with the changes, suddenly uncertainthe world where Catherine was always quiet, always agreeable, now tipping beneath his feet.
You know, Peter, she began, no longer afraid of his response, I think I understand why you never thought I was doing much: you never really saw it. Never saw how hard I tried, how tired I got, how I did everything for you.
But now, I think youll see. So dont be surprised. The old cardigans and coats are going, and Ill buy myself new ones. Ill play the piano too, since you always teased that I only graduated music school to play Chopsticks and Greensleeves. Wellhave a listen…
She lifted the pianos lid, laid her fingers on the keys, and, almost to her own shock, played something achingly beautiful, something half-remembered from another life.
Peter could only stare, stunned, the admiration clear on his face. Cathy, how are you doing this? You never played like that before. Youre different youre someone else.
His look was a jumble of confusion and, maybe, a dash of fear. He was used to one Catherine, but here was anotherstronger, more determined. That terrified him, even as he marvelled at it.
Catherine smiled. It wasnt the old, apologetic smile, but one bright and alive, full of promise. She could feel, inside her, fresh energy sparked by those five borrowed livesan energy not meant just to survive, but to flourish.
She would live fully, with room for herself and her own wants. Perhaps even for a richer, healthier kind of love for Peterone built on respect, not self-forgetting sacrifice.
Catherine would never know who those five donors were, but they must have been bold, gifted souls. They hadnt only saved her lifetheyd made it worth newly living.
Peter continued to watch Catherine, a renewed sense of wonder in his gaze.
They say you shouldnt always ask why fate sends suffering or setbacks. Maybe lifes hurdles arent there to punish, but to give you the chance to realise how utterly beautiful life can be.
Spring, winter, rain, frostevery day is a morsel of miracle. The sky above, each slant of sunlight, every smile and stutter from those we love. And their flaws too, because we are, all of us, only human.
And perhaps, when a loving husband begins to grumble and groan, its time to put him back in his placeto remind him, gently, that he still must be a man.
While we can, lets snatch up every scrap of life and cherish all we havebecause to do any less would be a betrayal of our own hearts.
