Emily stood by the window, watching as James zoomed around the driveway in his brand-new car. Mrs. Jenkins from next door had already peeked out her front door three times—probably because the engine noise was drowning out her telly show. But James kept circling like a kid who’d just unwrapped the toy he’d been begging for.
“Dad, can I have a go?” asked fourteen-year-old Lily, peering over her mum’s shoulder.
“Ask him yourself,” Emily replied tersely, stepping away from the window.
Lily frowned. “Mum, what’s wrong now? He bought the car for *us*!”
“For us…” Emily let out a bitter laugh. “Do you know how much that thing cost? Meanwhile, we’re scraping together pennies for your school trip, and the summer house needs repairs.”
“But we *need* a car!” Lily flopped onto the sofa, tucking her legs under her. “Remember when we took the bus to Gran’s? Three changes, packed like sardines…”
Emily leaned against the wall and shut her eyes. Oh, she remembered. But she also remembered the six months of arguments with James. She’d wanted something sensible, secondhand. He’d dug his heels in: “Either we get a proper car or nothing at all.” And now? A five-year loan they’d be paying off till retirement.
The front door slammed, followed by cheerful footsteps.
“My girls!” James burst in, grinning. “Lily, fancy a spin? Em?”
“I’m not *Em*,” his wife snapped.
James faltered, his smile fading. “What’s the matter *now*?”
“Everything!” Emily turned on him. “You bought that car without asking me! Took out a loan we’ll be stuck with for years!”
“We *talked* about it—”
“We talked about *a* car, not this flashy thing that cost forty grand!”
Lily shrank back and slipped out of the room. She was used to her parents’ rows, but she always hoped *this* one wouldn’t blow up.
“Flashy?!” James’s face reddened. “It’s a *safe* car, top reliability! I wanted the best for my family!”
“Did you ever think to *ask* your family?” Emily dropped into the armchair, exhaustion rising. “James, we agreed on a *budget*—”
“Agreed, agreed!” He paced, waving his arms. “And then what? Drag shopping bags on the bus? Or have you forgotten how your back ached last time?”
Emily *had* remembered—hauling veg from her parents’ allotment, her back sore for days. But now that seemed trivial next to the mountain of debt.
“Know what?” She stood. “We’ll talk tomorrow. When you’ve cooled off.”
“I *won’t* cool off!” James shouted after her. “Because I’m *right*! And you—you’re never happy!”
The bedroom door slammed. James stood alone, staring at the car keys in his hand.
Morning came early for Emily. James was still asleep on the sofa—clearly, he’d stayed there all night. She flicked the kettle on, watching the drizzle outside match her mood.
“Mum?” Lily hovered in the doorway. “Can I skip school?”
“Why?”
“Headache.”
Emily studied her daughter—pale with shadows under her eyes.
“Because of us?”
Lily nodded.
“Sweetheart,” Emily hugged her, “grown-ups argue sometimes. It doesn’t mean we don’t love you.”
“Are you getting divorced?”
The question was so simple it stole Emily’s breath.
“What makes you think that?”
“Sarah Carter’s parents did. They fought about money first.”
Emily turned to the window. *Divorce.* She *had* thought about it—when James made decisions without her, when they felt more like flatmates than a couple.
“Mum?”
“Go get ready. The headache’ll pass.”
Lily sighed and left. Emily stayed, clutching her cooling tea.
“Morning,” James mumbled, dishevelled in the doorway.
“Morning.”
“Listen… can we talk properly?” He rubbed his face. “I know I messed up—”
“You bought a car without *asking* me.”
“Em, but we *needed* one! And—I’m the one earning—”
“And I don’t contribute?” Emily whirled around. “Or does my salary not count?”
“It does! But—”
“But you think *your* money means *your* decisions?”
His silence said more than words.
“Right.” She slammed her cup down. “Then *you* pay the loan.”
“How’s that fair? We’re a *family*!”
“Families *talk*, James. You decided, you bought—now I’m left cleaning up.”
He stepped closer. “Em, when did you become so… cold? Twenty years together—”
“Exactly! *Twenty years*, and you still don’t *listen*!”
She left him standing there.
At work, Emily couldn’t focus.
“Rough night?” Claire, her colleague of ten years, nudged her.
“Just… family stuff.”
“James again?”
“Bought a car. Fancy one. On finance.”
“Oof.” Claire winced. “Been there. Mark once bought a *robot vacuum* for £800—‘to help me’, he said. Like I couldn’t push a hoover myself.”
“Claire…” Emily set down her files. “Did you ever… think about leaving?”
Claire blinked. “Who hasn’t? But at our age? Starting over’s terrifying.”
“It’s not about age.” Emily sighed. “It’s about feeling *unheard*.”
“Or maybe *you’re* not hearing *him*?”
The question caught Emily off guard. When *had* she last truly listened?
That evening, the house smelled of roast—James was cooking, a rare sight.
“Mum, Dad’s making *Yorkshire puddings*!” Lily beamed.
“Proper ones,” James added proudly. “Like your mum makes.”
Emily washed her hands silently, catching her reflection—tired eyes, greying roots. Forty-three. Half a lifetime. Nearly half of it with James.
Dinner was quiet. James was uncharacteristically subdued, Lily chattering to fill the silence.
“Lily, homework,” Emily finally said.
“But I’m not—”
“Go on, love,” James murmured.
Once alone, James fiddled with his teaspoon.
“Em… I’ve been thinking. About us.”
She paused.
“And?”
“How distant we’ve become. And… maybe it’s my fault.”
She turned. He wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“I never meant to upset you. I just… wanted to surprise you. Make things better.”
“James,” she sat opposite him, “it’s not the car. It’s you deciding *for* me. Like my opinion doesn’t matter.”
“It *does*!”
“Then why didn’t you *ask*?”
He finally looked up—lost.
“I… dunno. Scared you’d say no? I just wanted…”
“Wanted what?”
“For us to be… *normal*. Trips to the coast, visits to your parents… Not buses and aching backs.”
Emily saw it then—not stubbornness, but a man fumbling to say *I wanted us to be happy*.
“Do you know what *I* want?” she whispered.
“What?”
“To be *part* of decisions. Not just your wife—your *partner*.”
He nodded. “I get it. Truly. So… what now? Sell the car?”
Emily stared. She’d expected fights, not this.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. Em, I don’t want to lose you. Or Lily.”
“Who said anything about losing us?”
“Lily did. Said you’d been thinking about it.”
Emily walked to the window. The car sat there—shiny, expensive, the root of it all.
“I *have* thought about it,” she admitted. “Sometimes… it feels easier.”
“And love?” His voice cracked.
“What love, James? We’re just… used to each other.”
“Well *I* still love you.”
She turned. He held out his hands.
“Let’s try again. *Properly*. I’ll listen. I promise.”
“You’ve promised before.”
“But now I *know* I could lose you. And that… terrifies me.”
His eyes were raw. The weight of years—of silence, of missed chances—felt suddenly unbearable.
“Okay,” she breathed. “We’ll try.”
He hugged her, and she didn’t resist. His old cologne, the warmth—it smelled like *home*.
“We’ll keep the car,” she murmured. “But no summer holiday. We’ll pay the loan.”
“Deal. But we *are* driving to your parents’.”
“Deal.”
Lily appeared in the doorway.
“Making up?” she asked hopefullyThe three of them sat down to tea, and for the first time in months, the house felt warm again.
