**Diary Entry**
“Just do your job,” James said flatly, eyes glued to his phone. “Your role is to keep the home comfortable. I provide for the family; you manage the house. Fair’s fair.”
I froze, a plate balanced in my hand. After twenty-three years of marriage, I’d grown used to a lot—but those words cut deeper.
Across the table, my best friend Elizabeth scoffed into her wineglass. “What’s so wrong with that? Plenty of women would kill to be in your shoes, Liv.”
My gaze flickered to our son. Jack sat hunched over, eyes downcast. His phone buzzed.
“James,” I set the plate down carefully. “Did it ever occur to you 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 you convinced me it was for the best?”
Something in my tone made him finally look up. Our eyes locked, and for a second, I saw a flicker of fear. Did he really think I hadn’t noticed their exchanged glances, the ‘accidental’ touches?
Jack abruptly stood. “Can I go? I’ve got coding coursework.”
“Of course, love,” I said, still staring at James.
The front door slammed, echoing through the flat. Elizabeth made a hasty exit. James wordlessly stacked plates.
“Leave them. Sit.”
“What’s the point of this?” He lingered by the sink.
“The point is, I’m not your dishwasher. Remember who I was before you decided the kids ‘needed their mother at home’?”
“Not this again.”
“No. *You* decided. Like always.”
His phone pinged softly. A message.
“Not answering? From Elizabeth?”
“Stop. You’re being irrational.”
“Irrational? Let’s talk about irrational. Tell me about this ‘work project’ with my best friend.”
The slap cracked the air—but it wasn’t him hitting me. It was me striking him.
“Mum?” Jack’s voice from the hallway made us both flinch. “Off to Tom’s, alright?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
At 3 a.m., the front door banged shut. Jack?
“Where were you?” I stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.
He startled, shoving something into his pocket.
“Jack. What’s going on?”
“I… dropped out. Two months ago. Don’t wanna be a programmer—that’s *his* dream, not mine.”
“The money? Who do you owe?”
“Took a loan. Ten grand. Photography course. They’re threatening to tell Dad.”
“We’ll sort it tomorrow,” I said.
A key turned in the lock. James.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice was rough with whisky.
“Dad, I can explain—” Jack stepped between us.
“Explain what? That my son’s a liar? Elizabeth told me everything. About uni.”
I stiffened. “Elizabeth?”
“Yeah, surprising, isn’t it? At least *someone* here respects me enough to be honest.”
“Enough,” I snapped.
“Oh, *now* it’s enough? This is how you raised him?” He turned on me. “Speaking of lies—how’s Elizabeth? Tired of your ‘business meetings’?”
“Shut up,” James hissed.
“Or what? Hit me? In front of our son?”
Jack grabbed his coat. “I’m leaving. You two… you deserve each other.”
The door slammed.
“Happy now?” James’s voice shook.
Then—the doorbell.
Elizabeth stood there, mascara streaked, hair a mess. “We need to talk.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” James demanded.
“The usual.” She brushed past him, dropping into a chair. “Ruining lives. Liv, he promised *me* he’d leave you too. Said I was special. Then I found out about Sarah from accounts. And Gemma from the gym.”
“Shut your mouth!” James slammed his fist on the table.
“Oh no. Truth time. That uni story? I told Jack’s girlfriend. Convinced her he’d dump her. She panicked, started blackmailing him.”
“Why?” My voice finally worked.
“Dunno. Maybe I wanted you all to feel as hollow as I do.”
She stood to leave but paused at the door. “Funny thing? I really did think you were my best friend.”
Another slam.
“Liv…” James reached for me.
“Don’t. Just go.”
“Let’s talk.”
“About *what*? It’s 4 a.m. Our son’s gone. Your mistress just confessed. And I… I’m tired of ‘just doing my job.’ Leave the keys on the sideboard.”
He nodded, slow. Dropped the keyring. Hesitated. “I’m sorry.”
When the door closed, I was alone. My phone buzzed—Jack: *”Mum, I’m okay. Don’t look for me. Just let go.”*
I typed back: *”Be safe. Love you.”*
Then, I opened my contacts. Elizabeth. *Delete?*
My thumb hovered. In the end, she’d done what I couldn’t—shattered the pretty lie.
I hit *Delete* and smiled for the first time in years.
