Katie thought she’d married a gentleman… While she settled the bill at the supermarket, Steve hovered nearby. As she packed the shopping bags, he wandered outside entirely. Katie emerged to find Steve casually smoking.
“Steve, grab these bags?” she asked, offering him two large groceries carriers.
He stared, as if she’d asked him to commit treason. “Can’t you manage?”
Katie hesitated. *What did he mean?* It was basic manners for a bloke to help. Normal couples didn’t involve a woman lugging heavy bags while her husband skipped alongside like a cocker spaniel at Crufts.
“They’re heavy,” she insisted.
“And?”
He saw her irritation but was stubbornly against carrying them. He marched ahead deliberately, leaving her trailing. *’Grab the bags’? Who does she think I am? Her skivvy? I’m a man, not a packhorse!* Today was apparently ‘train-the-wife’ day.
“Steve, where are you going? Take these bags!” Katie yelled, near tears.
The bags *were* heavy, and Steve knew it—he’d piled most into the trolley himself. Their flat was a five-minute stroll, but laden with shopping? It felt like trekking Cornwall to Newcastle.
Katie trudged home tearfully, hoping he’d double back. No chance. She glimpsed him shrinking in the distance. She almost abandoned the bags but trudged on in a daze.
Exhausted, she slumped on the bench in the building’s entryway. Resisting public tears felt as futile as weak tea. He’d have understood perfectly—he’d just chosen to humiliate her. Post-wedding attentive gentleman? Pfft.
“Hello, love!” Gran Mary’s voice snapped her from her funk. The downstairs neighbour and Katie’s late grandmother’s best friend gave her a warm smile. Since Gran passed, Gran Mary advised Katie through every life hiccup—and Katie spoiled her with treats like crumpets and custard creams.
Impulsively, Katie offered her the groceries. No sense wasting them—Gran Mary’s pension was sparse.
“Walk me up, pet?” said Katie, hoisting the dreadful bags again.
At Gran Mary’s door, Katie unloaded sardines, tinned peaches, cod liver, and other luxuries the pensioner rarely bought. Gran Mary’s misty-eyed gratitude made Katie vow to bring more, more often. They kissed cheeks warmly as Katie headed upstairs.
Steve ambled from the kitchen, mouth full. “Where’s the shopping?”
Katie parroted his indifference. “The bags you helped carry?”
“Don’t start,” he chuckled. “You sulking?”
“No,” she said calmly. “I’ve drawn conclusions.”
Steve tensed. Where were the tears? The shouting? This calm was unsettling.
“Conclusions?”
“I thought I had a husband. Turns out I married a fool.”
He feigned offence. “Pardon?”
“It’s simple: I want a man in my marriage. But you clearly want a man in yours. Perhaps you need to find one.”
Steve flushed crimson, fists clenching. Katie breezed past, gathering his things.
“This is daft! It’s just bloody shopping bags!” Steve protested as she casually flung jumpers into a duffel.
“Carry your own bag,” she snapped.
Katie knew: if she swallowed this, the training would escalate. So she shut the door firmly behind him.
I Thought I Found My Forever…
