14December2025 Evening
David told me I was expected to look after his mates tonight, so I slipped out for a walk in the park.
Olivia, why are you dawdling? The lads will be here in half an hour and we havent even started the spread. Get a move on. Fry the potatoes with onions, the way they like them; fetch the pickles Mums old jars. Slice the bacon thinly, but make it look neat, not the ragged strips you did last time.
David stood in the kitchen doorway, already in his old jogging tracks and a threadbare Tshirt, glancing at his watch with a sour expression. I had just entered the flat with two heavy grocery bags, setting them down with a thud that reverberated off the tiles. My shoulders ached, my feet in winter boots felt like they were on fire the shop had been a nightmare, the preChristmas rush turning the aisles into a battlefield.
David, who are the lads? I asked quietly, unzipping my coat. My fingers were numb from the cold outside while I waited for the bus. Its Friday night. Im barely hanging on. I thought wed just have dinner and watch a film.
He rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. Barely hanging on, tired Everyones working, Olivia. Im not lounging by the fire either. Simon called; he, Tom and Victor are passing by, thought theyd drop in. Its been ages. How could I not let friends in? It would be rude, honestly.
Could you have told me earlier? A daytime call perhaps? I pressed.
It was spontaneous! Why are you making a mountain out of a molehill? All we need is a nibble. Theyre not there to eat, just to chat. We have a bottle of whisky in the bar fridge. Just get the table set quickly. A simple salad maybe a Waldorf or a crab mix, you know the drill. And definitely something hot. The fellas come home hungry.
A hot balloon of resentment swelled in the pit of my stomach the usual just like always. It meant I had to dash between the sink and the stove, chop salads, lay the table, then spend the whole evening clearing plates, refilling glasses, keeping the lads supplied with bread, and listening to their greasy jokes and loud guffaws. When they finally left after midnight, Id be left with a mountain of dishes, a smokefilled kitchen and a sticky floor.
David, I wont be cooking, I said firmly, meeting his gaze. Im exhausted. I need a shower and then sleep. If your friends are hungry, order a pizza or make the dumplings yourself.
Davids eyebrows shot up. What are you talking about, Olivia? Pizza? They want a proper homecooked meal. I promised theyd get a proper spread. Simon still talks about your pastry tarts. Dont embarrass me in front of people. What will they think? That I cant provide for my wife?
Provide? I echoed, feeling a chill run down my spine. Do you think Im a servant or a rookie in the army?
Dont twist my words! David snapped, his voice hardening. Youre a woman, the lady of the house. Its your duty to welcome guests. I earn the money, I bring the roof over our heads do I not have the right to enjoy a proper night out with my mates once a month? I expect you to make the place cosy, to serve, to look after everything. Thats not too much, is it? Just get the chicken in the oven while youre washing the potatoes; itll be ready when youre done. And put the whisky back in the freezer so it stays chilled.
He turned and stormed into the lounge, shouting over his shoulder, And tidy yourself up, you look like a scarecrow in a garden. If Victors new girlfriend is coming, I dont want you looking washed out beside her.
The TV droned on behind the kitchen door. David flopped onto the sofa, convinced the matter was settled. For him, the instruction was a green light to charge into the culinary battlefield.
I stood in the hallway, listening to the news anchors mumbling. My hair, wild and staticcharged, fell over my face. The words garden scarecrow rang in my ears. Twenty years of marriage. Twenty years trying to be the perfect housewife, the caring spouse, the understanding friend. Id endured his garage gatherings, his mothers endless advice, his scattered socks and his perpetual complaints that the soup was undersalted. Id believed that this was family life compromise, patience, smoothing the edges.
I glanced at the grocery bags. Inside lay the chicken Id planned to roast tomorrow for lunch, vegetables for a salad, milk, bread all heavy, all pulling at my arms.
Instead of unpacking them, I zipped my coat, pulled my hat down, tucked my scarf tighter, and slipped back into the kitchen.
David, I called.
He didnt look away from the screen, simply waved a hand. Anything else you need? Salts in the top drawer.
Im leaving, I said.
Where to? he finally turned, genuine confusion on his face. The shop? Forgot something? Did you get the bread, the mayo?
No. Im going for a walk. To the park.
The park? Its sevenoclock, dark, cold. The guests will be here in twenty minutes! Whos going to set the table?
You, I replied calmly. You invited them, you set it up. The potatoes are under the sink, the chicken is in the bag, the knifes in the holder. Youll find a recipe online.
Olivia, wait! David shouted, leaping up. What are you doing? Which park? Come back! Get dressed and go back to the kitchen! I told you
But I was already at the front door, slamming the heavy metal door shut. The lock clicked like a gunshot. I raced down the stairs, not waiting for the lift, fearing David would chase after me and drag me back into another shouting match. The stairwell was empty; he must have been too stunned by my sudden exit to follow.
Outside, a fine, prickly snow fell. The wind slipped under my collar, but I didnt notice. My heart hammered as adrenaline surged, a strange, longforgotten feeling of rebellious freedom. I hurried away from the lit windows of my flat, from the house that now seemed a stage for a drama I no longer wanted to act in.
The park was two blocks away a modest city park with wide paths and towering lime trees, now stripped of leaves and swaying in the wind. Only a few people were about: a couple with a dog, commuters hurrying home, and a teen pair glued to their phones.
I turned onto a side path where the street lamps flickered, casting odd shadows on the snow. My breath caught, my heart pounded in my throat.
What have I done? a panicked thought raced through me.
Id always feared conflict. From childhood Id been taught to be the easygoing one. Endure and youll be loved, Silence is golden, A husband is the head, a wife the neck. Mother always said, Olivia, dont argue, be wiser. Feed and praise your man and the house will run smoothly. And Id fed, praised, even when David sat on my neck with his demands.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. A photo of David with the caption David flashed on the screen. I let the call go to voicemail. A second call came, then another. I pressed the power button, pocketed the dark screen. Silence. Only the wind and the crunch of my boots.
I reached the pond. The water was black, not frozen, with ducks paddling. A thin sheet of ice clung to the edge. I leaned on the cold railing, looking down.
I remembered the last time his friends visited. Tom had gotten drunk and smashed my favourite vase a gift from my sister. David had laughed it off: Well, thats luck! Well buy a new one. We never did. And Simon, that night, while I was clearing dishes, slapped my thigh and winked, Lucky Dave, such a diligent wife, feeds and pampers. David pretended not to see it. Id wanted to crawl into the floor out of disgust, but I kept my smile tight and kept washing.
Never again, I whispered to the empty night.
I walked further down the lane, the cold biting my cheeks, oddly comforting. My stomach rumbled I hadnt eaten since lunch.
At the centre of the park a small kiosk glowed with a warm yellow light, advertising coffee and pastries. I stepped up to the window.
Good evening, the young lady in a knitted hat said, smiling. What can I get you? Something to warm you up?
A large cappuccino, please. And that cinnamonspiced scone. And a chicken sandwich.
Coming right up, she replied, sliding a tray over.
I cradled the steaming cup in my cold hands, feeling heat seep into my fingers. I took a seat on a bench beneath a lamp, watching the snow fall.
The sandwich was hot, the cheese stretching, the chicken juicy. It was the best meal Id had in years, not because it was gourmet, but because I ate it alone, in quiet, without anyone demanding anything from me. I watched the snow, sipped my coffee, and felt strangely alive.
An elderly couple shuffled past, arm in arm. The man told a story, his wife giggled, adjusting his scarf.
Dont go out in the cold, dear, she chided gently. Youll catch a chill.
Im fine, love, he replied with a wink.
I thought of David and wondered if wed ever be like that, strolling handinhand in old age. The thought frightened me. Likely, David would stay ahead, grumbling that I was too slow, while Id lug the grocery bags, muttering that his back hurt.
My smartwatch buzzed, showing Id hit tenthousand steps an ironic achievement for someone whod left home just to meet a step goal.
Two hours later, after looping the park three times, my legs ached not from fatigue but from the long walk. The coffee was gone, the scone eaten. The cold was seeping through my coat. I needed to head back; I wasnt planning to spend the night on a bench.
Approaching the flat, the lights glowed on every floor, the kitchen, the living room. I took the lift, fumbled for the keys, my hands trembling. I inhaled deeply, as if before diving into water, and opened the door.
A thick smell of burnt oil, tobacco smoke and cheap aftershave hit me. The hallway was littered with strangers shoes the guests had arrived after all. Jackets hung on the coat rack. From the kitchen came loud voices and laughter.
I tell her, dont get confused about the shore! shouted Simon. A woman should know her place! And Daves doing a great job, didnt lose his head!
I slipped off my boots, hung my coat, and walked into the kitchen.
The scene was both depressing and pitiful. The table was a mess: open tins of sardines and sprats, sliced brawn lying on a newspaper, a pan with blackened potatoes, an army of empty beer bottles and a halfempty bottle of whisky. David sat with his back to the door, brandishing a fork with a pickled cucumber speared on it.
She just ran to the shop, he lied, his tongue twisting. For delicacies. Ill set a royal spread soon. My Oliva is pure gold, just shy.
I cleared my throat.
The men turned, eyes widening.
Look whos graced us with her presence! boomed Simon, his smile greasy. Our hostess! Did you dash off for brandy?
Davids face flushed, eyes cloudy. When he saw me, he first looked frightened, then tried to assert his owner role.
What are you doing out there?! he barked, trying to stand, wobbling back onto his chair. The lads are waiting! No food! The potatoes are burnt! Youve set me up, Olivia!
I stared at the spilled beer, the cigarette stub in my favourite mug turned ashtray.
Good evening, gentlemen, I said, voice icy. The banquet is over.
The what? stammered Tom. Weve just started. Olivia, come on, make us an egg or something. The potato is killing Daves stomach.
I said, everyone out, I raised my voice. Its ten oclock. I have work tomorrow. David, see them out.
You you cant tell me what to do! David slammed his fist on the table. The fork clattered to the floor. This is my house! My friends! Who are you to throw them out? Get back in the kitchen and cook! Otherwise
Otherwise what? I stepped forward. Hit me? Fine. Ill call the police. Ill file for divorce tomorrow. Is that what you want?
Silence hung heavy. Even Simons grin faded. Hed never seen Olivia like this the quiet, compliant woman turned steelwire.
Dave, muttered Tom, rising. Maybe its time. The wifes worried too.
Sit down! roared David. No ones leaving! Olivia will fix everything. Ill count to three. One
Count to a million if you like, I replied, flinging the kitchen window open. A rush of frosty air tore through the smokefilled room. It smells like a barn in here.
Youve lost your mind? David tried to rise, toppling a chair. I fed you, dressed you, and you
Fed? I laughed bitterly. I work two jobs, David, so we can pay the car loan. Remember the coat I bought with my bonus? You never gave me a penny for it.
Simon and Tom, sensing the tension turning sharp, slipped out, pulling their jackets on. Well be off then. Cheers, Oliva. Sorry about everything. The front door slammed shut behind them.
David and I were left alone. He leaned on the table, breathing heavily. The bravado that had filled the room evaporated with the departing crowd.
What have you achieved? he asked, voice tinged with wounded pride. Youve embarrassed me in front of the lads. Now Ill be called a henpecked husband.
And you are a henpecked husband, David. Not by me, but by your own ego and your friends opinions. You care more about what Simon thinks than the fact your wife is collapsing from exhaustion.
I thought you loved me cared for me
I loved you. I cared. But care is a twoway street. Ive been playing the same side for twenty years.
I glanced at the heap of dirty dishes, the ash in the mug, the stains on the tablecloth.
Clear this up, I said.
What? Davids eyes widened.
Clear everything. The floor, the dishes. Air it out. By morning, the kitchen should sparkle.
And if I dont? he tried to pose a threat, but it sounded pitiful.
Then youll be sleeping on your mothers sofa. Im not joking. This flat came from my grandmother; youre listed as a tenant, not an owner. Ive tolerated this long enough. You called me a garden gnome and sent the chicken to the oven instead of asking how I felt.
I turned and shut myself in the bathroom, turning on the shower and standing under the hot water, washing away the nights grime, the tobacco smell, the lingering guilt. When I emerged, wrapped in a towel, the kitchen lights were still on, the clatter of dishes faint.
David was at the sink, muttering, awkwardly scrubbing a plate. He was angry, he was drunk, but he was washing.
I made my way to the bedroom, pulled my husbands pillow and blanket onto the sofa in the living room.
Youll sleep there, I told him as he passed.
He gave me a hostile glance and said nothing.
Morning arrived quiet. Saturday. No work. I stretched, feeling my body finally relax. Usually Id be at the stove preparing pancakes or cheese scones at this hour, but today I took my time, applied a face mask, brewed fresh coffee.
The kitchen was relatively tidy the floor still had a few streaks, the stove bore some grease marks, but the dishes were washed and stacked. David was curled up on the sofa, his head resting on his arms.
I sat at the table with my cup, looking out at the snowcovered courtyard and the park beyond, the very place where, yesterday, Id made the most important decision of my life to choose myself.
David shuffled in, his face swollen, reeking of yesterdays drink. He cast a guilty glance at me, then at the empty stovetop.
Olivia breakfast? he asked, voice hoarse. Some broth? Or maybe a bit of tea?
I took a sip of coffee, savoring the taste.
The fridge has eggs, David. The pans clean you washed it yesterday. You can manage that, I replied calmly.
You still raging? he asked, sitting heavily on the edge of the sofa. I overdid it last night, I admit. Too much. Who doesnt? Lets make peace. I love you, you silly thing.
He reached for my hand. I withdrewI smiled, set down my cup, and walked out the door, knowing that the future would be built on my own terms.
