**A Husband, Not a Coat Stand**
—You bought the wrong bread again. I specifically asked for plain, no seeds—Emily dropped the loaf onto the table without so much as glancing at Daniel.
—It was the last one left—he replied, calm but weary. —What’s the fuss? It’s fine.
—Jack gets stomachaches from it. Easy for you to say, you’re not the one up at midnight giving him medicine.
Daniel shut his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly. He set the groceries by the window and sank onto a stool there, as if putting distance between himself and the family. He wanted to be closer—just didn’t know how.
The doorbell rang. It was Claire, arms full of treats and a bright smile. In her sister’s house, she always felt the same comforting déjà vu—chaos, but the warm, domestic kind. She craved it.
—Hello, family. Cozy and peaceful in here, I assume?
—Hardly. Just homework, dinner, baths left. Oh, and ironing tomorrow’s clothes—Emily muttered, unpacking bags. —Haven’t sat down since morning.
—Knees not creaking yet?—Claire grinned, shrugging off her coat.
Daniel gave her a quiet nod before retreating to the bedroom. He’d stopped trying to join in on the women’s talk long ago.
—Same as always?—Claire asked softly.
—Meaning?
—You’re here alone again. Daniel’s in the next room, quieter than a mouse.
Emily waved her off, rolling her eyes.
—Don’t start. We’ve got our roles. I handle the house and kids, he works. Normal stuff.
—Not what I meant. He’s been home for over an hour. Have you even spoken to him?
—Oh, sorry, should I be serving him candlelit dinners every night? We’ve got children.
The kitchen was cramped—a narrow table, chairs with faded tied-on cushions, a chipped chopping board. A neatly handwritten timetable of clubs and football practice hung on the wall.
—So kids mean no personal life?—Claire pressed.
Emily shrugged.
—I just don’t want them to have… well, what we had. Remember Mum leaving us alone half the day? Dad drinking while she slaved away? Not to mention the mess. I started cleaning just to use the loo without gagging.
—I remember—Claire sighed. —But I also remember us sprawled on the floor watching cartoons. When was the last time you did that with the boys?
Emily looked away. The answer was obvious.
—They need maths, swimming, English—not cartoons.
—And Daniel? Does he need nothing?
Emily glared down the hallway, jaw tight.
—He’s a grown man. He can wait for the family’s sake.
Claire fell silent, just studying her sister—the purple shadows under her eyes, the messy bun, hands forever in motion: open, shut, stir, tidy.
—Do you love him?—she blurted.
—Are you mad? Of course I do! Just… not the time for it.
—Over a decade ‘not the time.’ Since Michael was born.
Jack shuffled in, pyjama-clad and ruffled like a sparrow.
—Mum, Michael’s book’s torn. He says I did it. But I didn’t!
—I’ll sort it.
Emily was up and gone in a flash. Claire lingered until Daniel emerged, as if waiting for his wife to leave before daring to pour water.
—Rough day?—she asked gently.
—It’s fine. Just… sometimes I think if I vanished, she wouldn’t notice—he admitted quietly.
—She would. Maybe too late.
He shrugged, sighed, turned away.
—I love them. But here, I’m… furniture. Bring home the paycheque, then disappear.
Claire had no reply. Daniel didn’t expect one. He just left.
Emily never came back. She was lost between a ripped book, dusty windowsills, and haphazardly folded laundry.
Morning began not with coffee but a row by the coat rack. Emily, as always, was bundling everyone up.
—Michael, wear the hooded jacket.
—Mum, I’ll boil. We’re going to the mall.
—And the walk there? Who’ll wipe your nose after?
Jack fidgeted by the door, stuffing socks over shoes for ‘better grip.’ Emily snapped; he flinched, scrambled to change. Meanwhile, Daniel waited in the car. He’d offered help. The answer never changed: *I’ve got it. Don’t interfere.*
In the car, he tried.
—Listen, maybe just us tomorrow? Cinema, café. Like we used to?
—Tomorrow? Who’ll mind the kids?—Her surprise twisted into irritation. —We can’t just leave them!
—They’re twelve and five. Michael can make sandwiches.
—And burn the kitchen down. Daniel, be serious. They can’t even tie laces properly.
At the mall, the boys veered towards the food court. Emily barred their path like a tollgate.
—Soup’s at home. Burgers mean heartburn.
—Mum, it’s Saturday—Michael groaned. —Not every day.
—No discussion. This isn’t a democracy.
Twenty minutes later, Jack whined about hunger. Michael refused to try on clothes, so Emily shouted—sharp, brittle—killing his words mid-throat. He just scowled harder.
This wasn’t new. But today, Daniel cracked.
—Do you even hear yourself?
—Do you?—She wheeled on him. —Or just your video games?
—I hear you ordering everyone, endlessly. Even when it’s pointless.
—Because without me, it all falls apart!
—It already has, Emily.
They left early. Daniel drove in silence. Emily stared out the window. The boys plugged in headphones, drowning the tension.
Daniel didn’t park. Just stopped outside the house. He didn’t get out.
—You’re going somewhere?—Emily frowned.
—Need to think. Alone. Don’t wait up.
—What?—Panic and hurt tangled in her voice. —You’re leaving us?
—No. I just can’t breathe on a schedule anymore. I’m a husband, not a coat stand.
She watched the car leave, dumbstruck.
Home. Michael vanished into his room. Jack glued himself to the PC. Emily drifted to the kitchen. She set the kettle on the stove—forgot to turn it on. A shopping list lay nearby. She stared blankly, the words blurring into nonsense.
For the first time, she was alone. *Now what?*
No plan covered this.
…Two weeks of silence. Rare calls. Daniel stayed at his parents’, eyeing flats. Emily cooked soups out of habit, ironed on autopilot, wiped already-clean surfaces. The house grew quiet. Too quiet.
On day three, Jack asked when Dad was coming back. Emily said ‘soon,’ though she didn’t know. Michael asked nothing, just holed up in his room, eyeing her warily, waiting for the next shout.
Claire visited Saturday evening, bearing shop-bought pie and oranges—though she knew Emily had nervously overstocked the fridge.
—Have you eaten today?—Claire asked, settling in.
—Yes. I… made mash and burgers.
—That’s not an answer. *You*. Did *you* eat?
Emily shrugged. Couldn’t recall.
—You look like the world’s ending tomorrow.
—I just… don’t know what to do with myself. Something’s missing.
Claire poured tea, sliced pie, nudged it towards her.
—You forgot how to live for yourself. For Daniel. It’s just the kids and ‘must-dos’ you piled on yourself.
—I thought that’s how it’s meant to be. Caring, being there…
—Daniel wanted you *with* him, not just nearby. He’s not just a shopping buddy. He’s human.
—I know—Emily whispered, eyes down. —But I thought… just a bit longer. The boys will grow up, and we’ll settle.
Her hands folded on the table. No commander now—just a woman running on empty. She reached for her phone, didn’t touch it.
—I want to talk. Properly. Calmly.
They met at a café. Daniel arrived in dark navy knitwear and jeans Emily had once picked for him. Tired but composed—freshly shaved, hair trimmed, faint citrus cologne. Even white socks.
—Hi—he said, sitting.
—Hi.
Silence, thick with unsaid *sorry*s.
—Let’s just say it—Emily began. —I… really didn’t see you fading from our life.
—Em… I tried hinting. You kept looking away—pain threaded his voice.
—I got used to being needed. First Claire, then you, then the boys. Without it…Daniel moved back in on Saturday, and though the house still ran on schedules and packed lunches, there were now unscheduled moments—stolen laughter over burnt toast, a shared crossword on Sundays, and at last, the quiet certainty that they were learning to fit together again, imperfectly but willingly.
