“Just keep things running,” David’s voice was flat. He didn’t even glance up from his phone. “Your job is to make the house cosy. I provide for the family, you handle the home. Fair’s fair.”
I froze with a plate in my hands. After twenty-three years of marriage, I’d grown used to a lot, but this?
Natasha, my best friend sitting across from me, snorted into her wineglass. “What’s wrong with what he said? Plenty would kill to be in your shoes, Liv.”
My eyes darted to our son. Alex sat with his head down. His phone buzzed.
“Dave,” I set the plate down. “Ever think I might be more than just a housekeeper?”
“Here we go,” he rolled his eyes. “We agreed on this when you left your job.”
“Or you talked me into it, saying it was best for everyone?”
Something in my tone made him finally look up. Our eyes met, and for a second, I saw fear flash in his. Did he really think I hadn’t noticed their glances, the ‘accidental’ touches?
Alex suddenly pushed back his chair. “Can I go? Got coursework for IT.”
“Of course, love,” I answered, still staring at my husband.
The slam of the front door echoed through the flat. Natasha made her excuses and left. David silently stacked dishes.
“Leave those. Sit down.”
“What’s this about?” he stalled by the sink.
“That I’m not your maid. Remember who I was before you convinced me ‘kids need their mum at home’?”
“Not this again.”
“No. *You* decided. Like always.”
His phone pinged. A text.
“Not answering? Natasha again?”
“Stop it. You’re being irrational.”
“Irrational? Let’s talk rationality. Tell me about this ‘work project’ with my best friend.”
The slap rang out sharp. But it wasn’t David who hit me—it was me, striking him.
“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’ve you been?” I stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.
He jumped, shoving something into his pocket.
“Alex, what’s going on?”
“I…dropped out uni. Two months back. Didn’t want to study coding—it’s *his* dream, not mine.”
“The money? Who’d you borrow from?”
“Five grand. Photography course. Now they’re threatening to tell Dad.”
“We’ll sort it tomorrow,” I said.
The lock turned. David.
“Can’t sleep?” His voice was rough, smelled of whisky.
“Dad, I can explain—” Alex stepped between us.
“Explain what? That my son’s a liar? Natasha told me. About uni.”
I went still.
“Natasha?”
“Yeah, surprised? At least *someone* in this house tells me the truth.”
“Enough,” I said to David.
“‘Enough’? *You* raised him like this?” He turned on me. “Speaking of lies—how’s Natasha? Tired of your ‘business meetings’?”
“Shut it,” David hissed.
“Or what? Hit me? In front of him?”
Alex strode to the door. “I’m done. You two—you deserve each other.”
The door slammed.
“Happy now?” David’s voice shook.
Then—the doorbell rang.
Natasha stood there. Mascara smeared, hair a mess.
“We need to talk.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” David snapped.
“Same as always,” she brushed past him, sat at the table. “Wrecking lives. Know what, Liv? He promised *me* he’d leave you too. Said I was ‘special’. Then I found out about Laura from accounts. And Steph from the gym.”
“Shut your mouth!” David slammed the table.
“No. Truth time. Your son’s uni drop-out? I told his girlfriend. Turned her against him. She believed he’d ditch her—started blackmailing him.”
“Why?” I finally spoke.
“Dunno. Maybe wanted you all to feel like I did? Empty.”
She moved to leave but turned back.
“Funny bit? I actually thought you were my best friend.”
The door clicked shut.
“Liv…” David stepped toward me.
“Don’t. Just go.”
“Let’s talk.”
“About *what*? It’s four a.m. Our son’s gone. Your mistress confessed. And I’m…tired of ‘keeping things running’. Leave the keys on the side.”
He nodded, slowly pulled out the keyring, set it down. Hesitated at the door.
“Sorry.”
Another slam. Alone. My phone buzzed—Alex: *”Mum, I’m fine. Don’t look for me. Just let go.”*
I typed back: *”Take care. Love you.”*
Then opened contacts. Natasha. *Delete?*
My finger hovered. In the end, she’d done what I couldn’t—shattered the pretty lie. I pressed *delete* and smiled for the first time in years.
