“If you think I do nothing for you, try living without me!” snapped Emily.
That evening, silence hung heavily over the house. Emily stirred the stew slowly, listening to the monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall. Once, the sound had irritated herback when the house was full of their sons laughter and the constant bustle of family life. Now, the ticking was her only companion in what had once been a lively home.
She glanced at her husband. James, as usual, was hunched over his phone, the screens glow reflecting oddly in his glasses. There had been a time when she found this endearingher husband, home and safe beside her. Now, it only stoked quiet frustration.
“Dinners ready,” she said, keeping her voice steady.
He nodded without looking up. She set the table with the good chinathe set she normally saved for special occasions. Though what were special occasions now? The boys rarely visited, and grandchildren were yet to come. It was just the two of them left in this big house, every corner whispering memories of better days.
She ladled the stew carefully, garnishing it with fresh parsley and thyme from the kitchen windowsillher little herb garden, grown just for his favourite meals. A freshly sliced loaf of bread sat beside his bowl.
James finally put his phone down and picked up his spoon. She held her breath, waiting. First spoonful. Second. On the third, he grimaced.
“Bland again,” he muttered, pushing the bowl away.
Something inside her snapped. Emily looked down at her handsred from hot water, skin roughened by years of housework. Shed spent the entire day on her feetwashing his shirts, ironing his trousers, making that blasted stew. His favourite tea still simmered on the stove, brewed just the way he liked it, because “otherwise it tastes off.”
Her gaze flicked to the neatly folded laundryevery item stacked perfectly, the way he insisted. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of folding shirts *just so* because “theyll crease otherwise.”
“You know what?” Her voice waverednot with tears, but anger. “If you think I do nothing for you, try living without me!”
He looked upreally looked at herfor the first time that evening. Surprise flickered in his eyes, as if he couldnt believe his quiet, obliging wife had raised her voice.
Emily stood abruptly. The chair scraped back loudly, but she didnt care. She grabbed her coatthe old one shed had for three years because “why do you need a new one? This still has years left.”
“Where are you going?” His voice held a note of alarm, but she was already out the door.
The cool evening air hit her face, and for the first time in years, Emily felt like she could breathe properly. She didnt know where she was going. Didnt know what shed do next. But for the first time in a long time, she wasnt afraid of the unknownonly exhilarated.
Her small rented flat on the third floor greeted her with an unfamiliar quiet. Not the heavy silence of home, but something lightalmost peaceful. There were no ticking clocks here, no judgmental glances, no endless demands.
She woke earlyold habits die hardbut today was different. Emily lay in bed, watching sunlight creep across the wall. No one rushed her. No one needed her.
“I can just lie here,” she whispered, laughing softly at the novelty of it.
But old routines lingered. Her hands itched to make the bed, wipe surfaces, start the usual chores. She stopped herself.
“No. Today, I do what *I* want.”
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a long time. When had she last really looked at herself? Not a quick check before leaving the house, but *really* looked? The wrinkles around her eyes had deepened. More grey streaked her hair. But her eyesher eyes looked alive again.
Outside, the crisp October morning smelled of fallen leaves and coffee from the nearby café. Shed passed this place countless times before, always in a hurry, always with groceries. “Waste of money,” James would say. And shed agreed, telling herself homemade coffee tasted better.
The bell jingled as she stepped inside. The air smelled of fresh pastries and cinnamon. Emily hesitated, feeling out of place in this cosy little world.
“Morning!” The young barista smiled. “What can I get you?”
“I” Emily faltered. Shed brewed coffee for others for yearsbut never considered what *she* liked. “What do you recommend?”
“Our caramel latte with cinnamon is lovely. And the almond croissants just came out of the oven.”
In another life, she wouldve said notoo pricey, too indulgent, what would James think? But today was different.
“Yes, please. And a croissant too.”
She sat by the window, watching people pass by. At the next table, a group of young women chatted animatedly, laughing without restraint. Emily wonderedwhen had she last laughed like that? Not politely, not out of obligation, but freely?
The first sip of coffee spread sweet caramel warmth over her tongue. She closed her eyes. My Godwas life really this delicious?
Her phone stayed silent in her bag. For the first time in twenty-five years, James would have woken to no breakfast, no ironed shirt, no packed lunch. Was he angry? Confused? Or had he not even noticed, lost in his phone?
“More coffee?” the barista asked as she passed.
Emily checked the timea deeply ingrained reflex. Normally, shed be back from shopping by now, starting lunch. But today
“Yes, please. And another croissant.”
The phone rang as she unpacked in the flat. “David”their eldestflashed on the screen. Her hand trembled. For the first time, she didnt want to answer her own sons call.
“Hello,” she said quietly.
“Mum, whats going on?” David sounded irritatedjust like his father. “Dad says you left. Whats this about?”
Emily sat on the edge of the bed. How could she explain to her grown son what she barely understood herself? The years of quiet despair, the feeling of invisibility, how shed slowly disappeared into endless service?
“David, I”
“Come on, Mum, stop this!” he cut in. “Youre an adult. So Dad criticised the stewhes always been like that. Is it really worth upsetting everyone?”
His tone was patronisingas if she were a child throwing a tantrum. A lump rose in her throat. Even her son, the boy shed carried, loved, raiseddidnt see her as a person with her own feelings.
“Its not about the stew,” she said softly.
“Then what?” Command crept into his voice. “Whats so terrible? Dads beside himself, you know. He cooked last nightcan you believe it? Took him ages.”
She pictured itJames clumsily chopping vegetables, swearing at the stove. Once, this mightve made her rush back. Now
“See?” She almost smiled. “Turns out he *can* look after himself.”
“Mum!” he spluttered. “Youre tearing the family apart! What will people think? Arent you ashamed?”
*People, people* The word echoed. Shed lived her whole life for these faceless “people.” What would the neighbours say? The relatives? Now even her son wielded the same guilt.
She stood by the window. A pigeon perched on the ledge, preening without a care. Free. Answerable to no one.
“Have you ever asked how *I* felt all these years?” Her voice strengthened. “Ever wondered what *I* wanted?”
“Whats that got to”
“Everything!” She surprised herself with her own firmness. “Twenty-five years, I lived for you. Cooked, cleaned, supported, sacrificed. And you you didnt even *see* me. I was just furniturealways there, always functioning, always ready to serve.”
Silence. Then David spoke carefully:
“Mum you *chose* this. You always said family came first.”
“It does,” she agreed. “But Im part of that family too. Im a person. And I wont *cant* be the hired help anymore.”
“But Dad”
“Im not coming back,” she said. “Not now. Maybe never. I need to learn how to live for *me*.”
After the call, she stood by the window a long time. The shopfront across the street reflected a womanspine straight, shoulders back, something new in her eyes. Resolve? Dignity? Freedom?
The phone rang againtheir younger son. Emily silenced it and thought, for the first time: *Theyre adults. Theyll manage.*
The doorbell rang days later. Her heart hammeredshed expected this. Through the peephole, James shifted awkwardly, just like when hed first met her parents years ago.
She took a breath before opening.
“Hi
