Time to Grow Up Thats What I Told My Husband. His Response Left Me Speechless
How do you feel about living with a perpetual teenager trapped in the body of a forty-year-old man?
Imagine this: you ask, Ben, could you go to the school meeting? and he shrugs, Cant got a Call of Duty tournament tomorrow.
Or you remind him about the council tax he nods, grins, and a week later, the hot waters off because he forgot. Lost track of time playing his precious FIFA.
Or your twelve-year-old son asks for help with his science homework, while dads next door, headphones on, roaring, Get on the flank, you muppets!
Ive lived with this for seventeen years. Seventeen. You try that on for size.
We met at uni Ben was the classic charmer, centre of every party, always with his guitar and a loaded quiver of jokes. As for me? I was the bookworm, straight-A student, but I fell for his lightness, his laugh, the way life never seemed to weigh him down. He lived, he didnt just exist.
It seemed ideal balance at its finest: I was serious, he was carefree. Yin and yang.
Turns out, I just ended up pulling the cart, while he sat on top kicking his heels.
After the wedding Ben did work, here and there manager, administrator, sales consultant any job where he didnt have to break much of a sweat. The salary was always rubbish, but there was forever an excuse: Its just for now, Liv. Things will settle soon.
They never did.
Meanwhile, I worked my socks off at HMRC steady, reliable, dull as dishwater. I paid the mortgage, bought the groceries, ferried Ethan to the doctors, checked his homework. Ben, meanwhile, recovered from work.
On his PC. Every night till three a.m.
Ben, Id say, drained, can you go to the parents evening, just this once? I cant keep missing work.
Not a chance, Liv. Ive got an important meeting tomorrow.
Which, translated, meant pints with an old mate down the local.
Ben, can you pay the broadband? Well get cut off.
Yeah, yeah.
He wouldnt. I always had to pay. Again.
I became more like his mother than his wife. A manager, a bloody prison warden. Anything but a partner.
When Patience Runs Out
One evening, Ethan perched over his textbook, eyes red-rimmed.
Mum, I dont get this problem. Dad, help?
Ben lounged in his armchair, headphones on, glued to his screen.
Dad! Ethan shouted.
I walked over, tugged off his headphones.
Didnt you hear your son?
Huh? He turned, scowling. Liv, Im busy.
Busy? I glanced at the monitor tanks, explosions, all sorts of colourful language. You call this busy?
Dont start. Please.
Your son is asking for help! And youve been glued to this trash for hours!
Its DOTA, he corrected, as if that mattered. And Ive got a ranking.
I stared, incredulous. I dont give a toss about your ranking.
Ethan quietly slipped away. He knew, by now, when to keep his head down and steer clear.
I stood there, facing Ben. With his beer belly and boyish smirk, he looked utterly ridiculous.
Ben, I said, voice trembling, its time you grew up.
He shot out of the chair so fast it rolled back.
What?!
I flinched.
Grow up?! Im sick of you bossing me around! Telling me how useless I am! That Im irresponsible!
Ben
Shut it! He grabbed his coat. Im off. Live how you like!
The door slammed.
I stood, utterly still in the middle of the room.
When Your Son Knows More Than You
I spent that night at the kitchen table, staring out at the street, thinking.
Ben didnt come home. Didnt answer calls. Didnt reply to messages.
For the first time in seventeen years, I didnt go chasing. Didnt ring round his friends. Didnt panic.
Morning came. Ethan shuffled in, sleep-mussed and bleary.
Mum, wheres Dad?
Hes gone, I replied, keeping it short.
Another row?
Not exactly.
He poured himself some tea and sat with me, silent for ages.
Then, quietly, Mum, did you know Dads selling the car?
My blood ran cold. What?
He told me not to say anything, but… since you argued… He was gathering all these documents I saw him. Making copies of passports, wedding certificate, and some other papers.
Cold crept up my spine.
When did you see this?
A week ago. He said its just in case. That we shouldnt worry.
I got up, went to Bens bedroom hed been sleeping on the sofa for half a year, claiming it was better for his back.
I rifled through his desk junk, stray bills.
At the bottom a folder.
When I opened it, my world tilted.
It was a guarantee contract.
Clear as day: Ben Anthony Fletcher agreed to guarantee a loan of £40,000.
The borrower? His brother Sam Anthony Fletcher.
His brother. The same brother who racked up debts five years ago, sent their parents to hospital with the stress and then vanished for two years until the creditors stopped calling.
£40,000.
I sank onto the sofa, reading on.
Security our family car. The one wed only just finished paying for. And even a draft for using our flat the modest one-bed we all lived in as collateral.
Oh my God, I whispered.
So thats why he lost his temper, why he ranted about being under my thumb and fed up. He knew Id find out soon, tried to jump ship before I did. Play the victim.
And all that immaturity not laziness, not mere irresponsibility. It was running away. Hiding. He lost himself in games and beer to avoid facing reality.
I picked up my phone and rang Ben.
He declined.
Rang again.
What? he snapped.
Come home. Now.
Im not coming. Ive nothing to say to you.
But Ive plenty to say. About Sam. About the loan. About how youre about to ruin your own family for a brother who barely remembers you.
You found the papers?
I did. Come home, or Ill go straight to Sam myself and tell him exactly what I think.
An hour later, he walked through the door.
When Immaturity Is Just Cowardice
He looked dreadful stubble, creased shirt, booze on his breath.
Ethan sat in his room. Id told him to stay put.
Sit, I said, as calmly as I could manage.
He flopped into a chair, eyes on the floor.
Youre risking £40,000, our car, and our home for Sam. The same Sam who did this five years ago.
You dont understand, Ben mumbled.
So explain.
Hes in trouble, all right? His business tanked, loan sharks on his back. Hes my BROTHER. How could I say no?
I almost laughed.
How about asking me before gambling our future?
Youd never let me.
Too bloody right. Because this is madness! Weve got a son, a mortgage for another ten years, and barely scrape by each month. But you want to go and guarantee a loan for forty grand?
Hell pay it back.
Like he did last time? I stood. Do you even remember? Your folks nearly died of worry! You swore you were done bailing him out.
People can change.
No, Ben. People like Sam dont! Your brothers a professional scrounger hes always lived off someone else. And youre lining up to be his next ATM.
He sat there, hunched, like a school kid facing detention.
When You Have to Choose Between Your Brother and Your Family
Ben sprang up again.
I just… I couldnt say no! Hes my brother!
And what are Ethan and I? Just background noise?
Youre my family. But so is Sam!
I shook my head. Family means responsibility. Sam is a grown man of forty-three whos always lived beyond his means. And you, once again, are propping up his reckless dreams.
He stared at the floor.
I grabbed my laptop, logged onto the bank.
What are you doing? he asked, suddenly tense.
Changing the passwords for all our joint accounts. The ones where my salary goes in. The ones you wanted to use to pay off Sams loan.
You cant!
I can and I am. Thats my money, Ben. Ive earned every pound, while youve floated between jobs and brought home the odd tenner for half a decade.
The blow landed. But it was the truth.
Ben looked pale.
Liv
Im meeting a solicitor tomorrow, I said, still changing the passwords. Ill find out how to protect the flat if you sign that guarantee. And if I have to, Ill file for divorce, split assets, get legal protection.
Youre blackmailing me?!
Im protecting myself. And Ethan. From you.
Ben snatched his coat.
You know what? Do what you like! Im off to Sams now. Ill sign the papers and thats that. You and your spreadsheet life can carry on without me!
If you sign, I file for divorce. That day.
He froze, halfway through the door.
Youre serious?
Completely. Seventeen years, Ben. Ive carried this family on my back paid the bills, raised Ethan, worked till I dropped. You played games. I turned a blind eye because, well, at least you didnt drink, didnt cheat, didnt hit me. But now you want to pull us all under because of your brother. Well, this is my line in the sand.
But he asked for help!
And so does everyone. Sams always asking. Five years ago, ten years ago hes a champion at guilt trips. And you still take the bait.
He promised hed pay back.
Ben, I took a step closer, open your eyes. Sam never pays anyone back. He only ever takes, and when the wells dry, he disappears.
This times different.
Different how? The debts bigger? Or is it because this time hell sink us, not your parents?
When Truth Hurts More than Love
Ethan came quietly in from the hall.
Mum… Dad… whats going on?
We went quiet.
He looked back and forth between us, fear wide in his eyes that numb dread children feel when their whole world teeters.
Dad, he almost whispered, are you really going to take out a loan for Uncle Sam?
Ben winced.
You… heard?
I heard everything. Dad, if he doesnt pay it back, do we lose our flat?
No Ben lied.
Yes, I cut in. Ethan, go to your room.
But Mum
Go, please.
He left, shoulders hunched.
I turned to Ben.
See that? See how your sons afraid? At twelve, he should worry about school, about friends, not about losing his home.
Ben flopped back onto the sofa, hands to his face.
I dont know what to do.
You do, I said, coldly. Choose. Your brother or us. Right now.
Liv, it isnt
Its that simple. Ring Sam and say, Sorry, cant help. I have a family. Thats it. Three sentences.
And if something happens to him?
It will. Sooner or later. Sam only knows one way to live bigger debts, more lies, more loans. Hell drag down anyone who stands near. The question is, do you want to drown with him?
Ben said nothing.
I slid my phone across the table.
Youve got twenty-four hours. By tomorrow night, either you say no to Sam or I see a solicitor about the divorce. No third option.
Ben called the next evening.
I sat with the solicitor, a no-nonsense woman in her fifties, calmly explaining how to shield our flat from guarantees.
The phone buzzed. Ben.
Yes? I answered.
I called Sam.
Silence.
And?
I said no.
I closed my eyes. Let the tension slip from my shoulders.
How did he take it?
Called me every name under the sun. Said Im a traitor. Says were not brothers anymore. Bens voice broke. Im worried about him, Liv. What if
Hell cope. He always does finds another mug, I said, steady as I could.
Ben got home an hour later, solicitor gone, folder of documents left on the table.
He looked tired really tired for the first time in years. Like the real world had finally caught up.
Ethan asleep? he asked.
Yes.
We sat at the kitchen table.
I laid the documents from the solicitor in front of him.
Were starting over, Ben. Youll get a proper job not a stopgap. Youll split the bills. Youll help with everything for Ethan clubs, homework, meetings. Its all shared now. No secrets, no behind-my-back business.
Ben nodded, after a long pause.
Alright. Ill try.
Three Months Later
Ben landed a job as a site manager for a building firm.
I let go of the reins a bit. And you know what? He learnt to cook a passable dinner. He helped with homework. He even went to the school meeting on his own, without a single nudge.
Sam vanished. Changed his mobile. Never rang again.
And, for the first time in seventeen years, I felt like I wasnt dragging life behind me.
I was living it. With a man who finally grew up.
