“If you think I do nothing for you, try living without me!” Emma snapped.
That evening, the silence in the house felt heavier than usual. Emma stirred the stew slowly, listening to the monotonous ticking of the wall clock. Once, the sound had annoyed herback when the house was filled with her sons voices, laughter, and constant activity. Now, the ticking was her only companion in the empty space of what had once been a lively home.
She glanced at her husband. William, as usual, was hunched over his phone, the screens glow reflecting off his glasses. There was a time shed found that comfortingproof he was home, beside her. Now, it only deepened her quiet frustration.
“Dinners ready,” she said, forcing her voice to stay even.
He nodded without looking up. She set out the platesfine china shed saved for special occasions. But what were special occasions now? The boys rarely visited, and there were no grandchildren yet. Just the two of them in this big house, every corner whispering memories of better days.
Emma ladled the stew, carefully garnishing it with fresh parsley and thyme from the kitchen windowsill, where she grew herbs just for his favourite meals. A freshly sliced loaf of bread sat beside his bowl.
Finally, William put his phone down and picked up his spoon. She held her breath, watching. First bite. Second. On the third, his face twisted.
“Tasteless again,” he muttered, pushing the bowl away.
Something inside her snapped. She looked at her handsred from hot water, skin rough. All day shed been on her feet: washing his shirts, ironing his trousers, cooking this damned stew. On the stove, his favourite tea simmeredshe always brewed it just so because “otherwise its rubbish.”
Her gaze flicked to the pile of ironed laundryeach item folded perfectly, the way he liked. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years shed folded those bloody shirts a certain way because “otherwise they crease.”
“You know what” Her voice trembled, not with tears but anger. “If you think I do nothing for you, try living without me!”
He looked upreally looked at her, for the first time that evening. Surprise flickered in his eyes, as if he couldnt believe this quiet, obedient woman had raised her voice.
Emma stood abruptly. The chair screeched back, but she didnt care. She grabbed her coatold, bought three years ago because “why do you need a new one? This ones fine.”
“Where are you going?” His voice held a note of alarm, but she was already gone.
The front door slammed behind her. The cool evening air hit her face, and for the first time in years, Emma felt like she could breathe deeply. She didnt know where she was going. Didnt know what came next. But for the first time in too long, she wasnt afraid of the unknowninstead, she felt a dizzying, intoxicating sense of freedom.
The small flat on the fifth floor greeted her with an unfamiliar quietnot the heavy silence of home, but something light, airy. No ticking clocks counting down her life, no disapproving stares, no endless “why havent you”
She woke earlythe ingrained habit of rising at six to make breakfast, iron shirts, pack lunches. But today was different. Emma lay in the unfamiliar bed, watching sunlight creep across the wall. No one rushed her, demanded her attention, expected her service.
“I can just lie here,” she whispered, laughing softly at the thought.
But old habits didnt let go easily. Her hands itched to make the bed, dust the shelves, fall into the familiar rhythm of chores. She stopped herself.
“No. Today, I do what *I* want.”
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, studying her reflection. When had she last really looked at herself? Not a quick glance before leaving, but properly? The lines around her eyes were deeper, her hair more silver than blonde. But her eyes they looked alive.
Outside, the October morning smelled of fallen leaves and coffee from the café down the street. Shed passed it countless times before, rushing to the shops. “Waste of money,” William always said. And shed agreed, telling herself home-brewed was better.
The bell above the door jingled. Inside, the air was rich with the scent of pastries and cinnamon. Emma hesitated, feeling like an intruder in this cosy space.
“Morning!” The young barista smiled. “What can I get you?”
“I” Emma faltered. Shed brewed coffee for others for years but 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 the past, shed have refusedtoo expensive, too indulgent, what would William say? But today was different.
“Yes, please. And a croissant too.”
She sat by the window, watching people pass. A group of young women at the next table burst into laughter over some shared joke. When had Emma last laughed like thatnot out of politeness, but with real joy?
The first sip of coffee spread caramel warmth across her tongue. She closed her eyes, savouring it. Goodness, could life really be this delicious?
Her phone stayed silent in her bag. For the first time in twenty-five years, William would wake to no breakfast, no ironed shirt, no packed lunch. Was he angry? Bewildered? Or had he even noticed, lost in his phone?
“More coffee?” the barista asked.
Emma checked her watchan old habit. Normally, shed be back from the shops by now, starting lunch. But today
“Yes, please. And another croissant.”
The phone rang as she unpacked her few belongings in the rented flat. “James” flashed on the screenher eldest. Her hand shook. For the first time, she didnt want to answer her own childs call.
“Hello,” she said, softer than usual.
“Mum, whats going on?” James sounded irritated, just like his father. “Dad says you left. Whats this about?”
Emma 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 dissolved into endless care for others.
“Jamie, I”
“Mum, enough!” he cut in. “Youre a grown woman. So Dad criticised your cookinghes always been like that. Is this really worth a tantrum?”
His tone was patronisingthe way one speaks to a sulking child. A lump rose in her throat. Even her boy, the child shed carried and loved, didnt see her as a person with her own feelings.
“Its not about the stew,” she said quietly.
“Then what? Dads beside himself, you know. He tried cooking last nightcan you imagine? Took him hours.”
She pictured it: William fumbling with vegetables, swearing at the stove. Once, that image wouldve sent her rushing back. Now
“See?” She smiled, surprising herself. “Turns out he *can* look after himself.”
“Mum!” James sounded scandalised. “Youre breaking up the family! What will people say? Arent you ashamed?”
*People, people* The word echoed. All her life, shed lived for these faceless “people.” What would the neighbours think? The relatives? Now even her son pressed the same buttons.
She stood by the window. A pigeon perched on the ledge, preening its feathersfree, owing nothing to anyone.
“Have you ever asked how *I* felt all these years?” Her voice steadied. “Ever wondered what *I* wanted?”
“What does that”
“It *matters*,” she said, firmer now. “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 serving.”
Silence. Then James spoke softer, coaxing:
“Mum, you *chose* this. You always said family came first”
“Yes, family comes first,” she agreed. “But *Im* part of that family too. Im a person. And I cant wont be just the help anymore.”
“But Dad”
“Im not coming back,” she said. “Not now. Maybe never. I need to learn to live for *me*.”
After the call, she stood by the window a long time. The shop across the street reflected a womanback straight, shoulders squared, something new in her eyes. Resolve? Dignity? Freedom?
The phone rang againher youngest. Emma silenced it and thought, for the first time: *Theyre adults. Theyll manage.*
A knock at the door made her jump. Her heart hammered. She peeked through the peepholeWilliam, shifting awkwardly, just like when hed first come to meet her parents decades ago.
She didnt open it immediately. First, she breathed deeply.
