“Just keep things running,” James muttered, his voice dull as he kept his eyes glued to his phone. “Your job is to keep the home cosy. I put food on the table, you manage the house. Fair’s fair.”
I froze, the plate trembling in my hands. Twenty-three years of marriage had hardened me to many things, but this?
Across from me, Emily—my supposed best friend—snorted into her wine glass. “What’s so wrong with that? Plenty of women would kill to be in your shoes, Liv.”
My eyes darted to my son. Alex sat with his head bowed, his phone buzzing in his lap.
“James,” I set the plate down with a clatter. “Did it ever cross your mind I could be more than a glorified housemaid?”
“Here we go,” he rolled his eyes. “We agreed on this when you quit your job.”
“Or did you *convince* me it was for the best?”
Something in my tone made him finally look up. Our gazes locked, and for a split second—fear flickered in his eyes. Did he really think I hadn’t noticed? The glances, the “accidental” touches?
Alex suddenly stood. “Can I go? Got coursework for uni.”
“Of course, love,” I said softly, never looking away from James.
The front door slammed, echoing through the flat. Emily fled. James stacked plates in silence.
“Leave those. Sit down.”
“What’s the point of this?” He hovered by the sink.
“The point is I’m not your dishwasher. Remember who I was before you decided ‘kids need their mum at home’?”
“Not this again.”
“No. *Your* choice. Like always.”
His phone chimed. A text.
“Not answering? Emily messaging you?”
“Stop. You’re being irrational.”
“Irrational? Let’s talk about *rational*. Tell me about this *business project* with my best friend.”
A slap cracked through the air. Not from him. *From me.*
“Mum?” Alex’s voice from the hall made us both flinch. “Going to Tom’s. Alright?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
At three a.m., the front door banged shut. Alex?
“Where were you?” I stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.
He jumped, shoving something into his pocket.
“Alex. What’s going on?”
“I… I dropped out. Two months ago. Don’t want to be a programmer. *His* dream, not mine.”
“The money? Who do you owe?”
“Took a loan. Twenty grand. Photography course. Now they’re threatening to tell Dad.”
“We’ll sort it tomorrow,” I said.
The lock turned. James.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice was rough with whisky.
“Dad, I can explain,” Alex stepped between us.
“Explain what? That my son’s a liar? *Emily* told me. About uni.”
I stiffened. “*Emily*?”
“Yeah, imagine that. At least someone in this house respects me enough to be honest.”
“Enough,” I snapped.
“Enough? *You* did this to him!” He turned on me. “Speaking of lies—how’s Emily? Tired from all those *work meetings*?”
“Shut it,” James hissed.
“Or what? Hit me? In front of your son?”
Alex strode to the door. “I’m leaving. You two… bloody deserve each other.”
The door slammed.
“Happy now?” James’ voice shook.
Then—the doorbell rang.
Emily stood there. Mascara streaked, hair wild.
“We need to talk.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” James spat.
“Same as always,” she swept past him, slumping into a chair. “Wrecking lives. Know what, Liv? He promised *me* he’d leave too. Said I was special. Then I found out about Sarah from accounts. And Lucy from the gym.”
“Shut your mouth!” James slammed the table.
“No. Truth time. Your son’s uni dropout? *I* told his girlfriend. Poisoned her against him. She believed he’d dump her—started blackmailing him.”
“Why?” I finally choked out.
“Dunno. Maybe I wanted you all to feel what I did. Empty.”
She moved to leave but paused at the door.
“Funniest part? I really *did* think you were my best friend.”
The door clicked shut.
“Liv…” James stepped toward me.
“Don’t. Just go.”
“Let’s talk this through—”
“About *what*? It’s four a.m. Our son’s gone. Your mistress just confessed. And I’m… tired of *servicing* your life. Leave the keys on the side.”
He nodded slowly, dropped the keyring on the table. Hesitated.
“I’m sorry.”
The door closed. Silence. My phone buzzed. Alex: *Mum, I’m okay. Don’t look for me. Just let go.*
I typed: *Be safe. Love you.*
Then I scrolled to Emily’s contact. *Delete?*
My finger hovered. In the end, she’d done what I couldn’t—smashed the pretty lie to bits. I hit *delete* and smiled for the first time in years.
