UNGRATEFUL
“Sophie, we’re starving! Stop lying around!” came the irritated voice of her husband, James, right by her ear.
Her head throbbed, her throat burned, and her nose was completely blocked. She tried to sit upher limbs felt like lead. No wonder she was ill. The entire week had been scorching, but yesterday evening, sleet had poured down without warning. Spring in Englandunpredictable as ever.
Shed tried to call a cab, but in that weather, it was hopeless. Shed ended up crammed into a packed bus after a half-hour wait, then walked a fair distance from the stop in the freezing rain. Shed even asked James to pick her up on his way home.
“Sorry, loveTommy and I popped round Mums. Well be late,” hed replied.
Typical.
By the time Sophie made it home, she was soaked and shivering.
Now, glancing at the clock8 AM on a Saturdayshe swallowed hard.
“James, could you fetch the thermometer, please?” she rasped.
“What? Youre ill?” He sounded surprised. “What about breakfast?”
“Could you manage yourselves?” she asked weakly.
“Ourselves?” He frowned. “What about Tommy?”
“Hes ten! And youre a grown man. Make some scrambled eggs? Let him helpIve taught him before.”
“You taught him to cook?” James scoffed.
“Yes. Whats the issue? Hes glued to his phone all daywont lift a finger otherwise.”
“Are you delirious? Hes a lad! Men dont cookthats womens work!” James snapped. “Right, fine. Well go to Mums since youre in no state. Well be back Sunday night.”
In minutes, he and Tommy were out the door, leaving her alone.
Sophie dragged herself up, found the thermometer, flicked the kettle on, and stared blankly.
*When had things changed? When had James stopped being the man whod cook for her when she was ill? When had she become the sole caretaker?*
The thermometer beeped39.2°C.
She took painkillers and crawled back into bed.
Her phone buzzed laterher mother, Margaret.
“Sophie, whereve you been? You always call in the morningsI was worried!”
“Just a bit poorly, Mum. Took medicine and went back to sleep.”
“A *bit*? And wheres James? Off to his mums again?”
“Yeah. Didnt want to catch it,” Sophie mumbled.
“You believe that? More like didnt want to lift a finger!”
Sophie sighed. She knew.
“Did you take your temp?”
“High this morning. Feeling a bit better now, just weak.”
“Stay put. Your dads coming to fetch you. No one should be ill alone. Wait there.”
Sophie forced herself up, washed her face, packed a bag with her laptop, and waited.
Her father, Richard, gasped when he saw her.
“Dad! Are you alright?” she panicked.
“Bloody hell, girlyou look like death warmed up!” He took her bag. “Thin as a rake, exhausted Your mums rightits like youve been enslaved. No offence, but you look dreadful.”
She didnt argue. She was too tired.
At her parents, it was warm, cosy, and safe. By evening, Margarets care had her feeling slightly better.
She called James to say she wasnt home.
“What dyou want? Cant bring you medshad a pint with Dad. Its Saturday, innit? Watching the match. Oh, Mum wants a word.”
The phone passed to his mother, Patricia.
“Sophie! Youre a wife! You cant just abandon your men to starve! What matters most? Keeping them fed, warm, and undisturbed! And you? Too busy being *ill*? A pill and thats it?”
Margaret snatched the phone.
“Patricia, is your son infirm? Ill? Or just useless? A real man cares for his wife*especially* when shes sick!”
“Useless? Hes a family man! Thats how they all are!” Patricia huffed. “James, whats going on?”
Richard cut in. “Looking after my daughter, since your son cant be bothered! Cant even fetch medicinetoo busy drinking! Wifes ill, and hes thrilled!”
“Ridiculous! The boys left to give her *peace*,” Patricia sneered. “Princess wants medicine and coddling! Healthy girl, just lazy. Neglecting her men! *Theyre* her family! Fine*Ill* care for my boys. Your daughters a failure!”
Margaret hung up, seething.
“Sophie, loveyoure young. This is beyond the pale.”
Then James texted:
*”Soph, transfer some cash? Ran out before payday. Spent loads on Tommy. Had to cover his clubs and clothes myself!”*
*”I paid all the bills and groceries this month. Fair, is it?”* she fired back.
*”Course! Flats yours! Just send itIm at the shop!”*
*”No money. Spent it on medicine.”* (A lie.)
*”What? Your illness costs a fortune! Ask your parents.”*
*”Ask your mum.”*
*”Shed ask where my wages went!”*
*”So would I.”*
*”Im a grown man! Ive got needsdont answer to you or her! Send it now!”*
*”No.”*
Cue a barrage of texts*selfish, ungrateful, terrible wife and mother*from James and Patricia. Sophie muted her phone.
Sunday morning, as her family breakfasted, James called.
“Soph, were staying at Mums. Unlike you, she *cares* for us. She was rightI shouldnt have rushed marrying you. Who knows what kind of mother shell be?shouldve listened. Youre useless. A failure.” Click.
“Good riddance!” Richard growled. “Well?”
“Divorce. I dont want this.” She stared at her fluffy omelette. Her mind was made.
But it hurt.
Richard left abruptly. “Back latermight miss lunch.”
“Sophie, take your meds, mute your phone, and sleep,” Margaret urged.
She obeyed. Sundaywork tomorrow. Rest was vital.
By afternoon, Richard returned.
“Here. Toss these.” He dropped a new set of keys in her palm.
“What?”
“Changed the locks at yours. Packed James and Tommys thingsdropped them at Patricias. Stay with us awhile. And dont answer your phone.”
Margaret bustled in the kitchen, triumphant. Theyd waited for this.
Sophie filed for divorce.
The backlash was brutal*fool, homewrecker, heartless mother, ungrateful*but for the first time in years, she was happy.
It was quickno shared kids or assets. James had only moved Tommy in to dodge child support. His ex-wife hadnt cared.
But hed forgotten to ask Sophie. Forgotten she and Tommy clashed. Forgotten kids cost money. Forgotten the flat was *hers*. Forgotten *her*. Convenient, wasnt it? He was the *man*. The *father*.
And Sophie? Just *ungrateful*.
But the court fixed that. The court James had naively initiated.
Now, he and Tommy lived with Patriciathree men, one house. A nightmare.
Sophie? Thriving.
Bought herself a carno more falling ill in bad weather.
And at 27, post-divorce?
Simple. Learning to love herself.
