“Love Faded Away.”
“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” Henry remarked to his wife as he settled at the kitchen table late in the evening.
Emily, his wife, wordlessly slid a reheated dinner toward him.
“Late again, were you?” she murmured.
“Had to take on extra hours… bonus at the end of the quarter.”
Henry, a well-built thirty-five-year-old banker who looked younger than his years, had just trudged home from work. Waiting for him were his wife and their three daughters—six, four, and a one-year-old. Lately—well, for the past two years, if he was honest—he’d been avoiding coming home, lingering at the office, wandering around London… only slinking back to the flat long after dark. He was utterly worn down by the shrieks, the chaos, the nappies, the onesies… the midnight crying fits and Emily herself—once so lively, now perpetually frazzled, slouching around in a tatty dressing gown, hair scraped into a messy ponytail, dark circles under her tired eyes.
When he’d married the radiant beauty from his department seven years ago, had he ever imagined family life would become such a burden… such a letdown? Not at first. The early years had been joyful—their first daughter arrived, and he’d pitched in, giving Emily weekends off to visit the hairdresser or get her nails done. A year later, she was pregnant again—they’d agreed to have two children close together, “get it over with,” so to speak. Their second daughter was a fussy baby, wailing through the night until she was six months old. Henry dragged himself to work exhausted, eyes bloodshot from sleeplessness. Eventually, she settled, life smoothed out, the girls started nursery, and Emily went back to work… Then came the surprise: another baby on the way.
He’d protested—fiercely. “Where would we even put another child?” he’d argued. “These two are still so little… There are modern solutions, quick procedures. Let’s just—”
But Emily had burst into crocodile tears, launched into hysterics. He’d caved in the end, secretly hoping this time for a son.
The pregnancy was rough. She was in and out of hospital while he juggled the girls—nursery runs, walks, laundry, cleaning. No help from family: her folks lived up in Inverness, miles away, and his own mother was elderly, unwell—she needed care herself.
The third baby was just as restless, fussing through the night unless cradled in Emily’s arms. She never put the child down.
Slowly, Henry realised he was dreading going home.
“What have I seen in seven years?” he stewed. “The first year, we went to the cinema, cafés, exhibitions—even managed a holiday in Spain. And then? Nappies, tantrums, babygros…”
He no longer desired his wife—the thought of intimacy with her repelled him. He returned late most nights, once the girls were asleep. He couldn’t stand to look at Emily—pitying her, yes, for the shadow she’d become of the woman he married… but mostly pitying himself. Something had to change. He couldn’t live like this.
At work, colleagues boasted about their holidays—Maldives, Ibiza—and ribbed him about when he’d take his brood to the seaside, given his decent salary. He’d shrug. How could he admit he fantasised about running away—just for a week, a month, forever?
“Harry… I’m pregnant again,” Emily whispered, sinking into a chair.
Henry froze, his spoon of soup hovering mid-air.
“Have you lost your mind? I don’t even remember the last time we—!” he roared.
“Twelve weeks along… too late to do anything,” she said softly.
“You’re out of your wits. That’s it. I’m done. This isn’t a life; it’s a nightmare! Look at yourself—when was your last proper haircut? You swore you were being careful! You look like something dug out of a crypt! I can’t bear it. I’m leaving. Stay here with the kids—do whatever you want!”
“Where will you go? What about us?” A single tear slipped down her cheek.
“Keep the flat, the furniture—take it all. I’m taking the car and moving in with Mum. I can’t stand the sight of you,” he bellowed, shoving back from the table and storming toward the door.
“Worse than my worst nightmares. Not a life—a prison sentence,” he spat, slamming the door behind him.
