“Just keep things running,” David’s voice was matter-of-fact. He didn’t even look up from his phone. “Your job is to make the house cozy. I provide for the family, you manage the home. Fair’s fair.”
I froze, a plate in my hand. After twenty-three years of marriage, I’d grown used to a lot—but this?
Across the table, my best friend Natasha snorted into her wine glass. “What’s so wrong with that? Plenty of women would kill to be in your shoes, Liv.”
My gaze flicked to our son. Alex sat with his head down. His phone buzzed.
“David,” I set the plate down. “Did it ever occur to you I might be more than a housekeeper?”
“Here we go,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “We agreed on this when you left your job.”
“Or you convinced me it was best for everyone?”
Something in my tone made him finally look up. Our eyes met, and for a split second, I caught a flicker of fear. Did he really think I hadn’t noticed—the glances, the casual touches?
Alex suddenly pushed back his chair. “Can I go? Got a coding assignment.”
“Of course, love,” I murmured, not taking my eyes off David.
The sound of the front door slamming echoed through the flat. Natasha made a quick exit. David silently gathered the plates.
“Leave them. Sit down.”
“What’s this about?” He hesitated by the sink.
“That I’m not your maid. Remember who I was before you decided ‘the kids need a mother at home’?”
“Not this again.”
“No. *You* decided. Like always.”
His phone chimed softly. A message.
“Not replying? Natasha again?”
“Stop it. You’re being irrational.”
“*Irrational?* Let’s talk rational. Tell me about this *business project* with my best friend.”
The sound of a slap cut through the air. But David hadn’t hit me—I’d slapped *him*.
“Mum?” Alex’s voice from the hallway made us both flinch. “Can I go to Jake’s?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
At three in the morning, the slam of the front door startled me awake. Alex?
“Where’ve you been?” I stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.
He flinched, shoving something into his pocket.
“Alex. What’s going on?”
“I… I dropped out of uni. Two months ago. I don’t want to code—that’s *Dad’s* dream, not mine.”
“And the money? Who do you owe?”
“Took out a loan. Twenty grand. Photography course. Now they’re threatening to tell Dad.”
“We’ll sort the money tomorrow,” I said.
The lock clicked. David.
“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was rough, reeking of whiskey.
“Dad, I can explain—” Alex stepped between us.
“Explain what? That my son’s a liar? Natasha already told me. About uni.”
I stiffened.
“*Natasha?*”
“Yeah, imagine that. At least *someone* in this house tells me the truth.”
“Enough,” I said flatly.
“*Enough?* You raised him like this?” He turned to me. “Speaking of lies—how’s Natasha? Tired from all those *business trips*?”
“Shut up,” David hissed.
“Or what? You’ll hit me? In front of *him*?”
Alex moved toward the door. “I’m leaving. You two… you deserve each other.”
The front door slammed.
“Happy now?” David’s voice shook.
Then, the doorbell rang.
Natasha stood there, mascara smudged, hair wild.
“We need to talk.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” David snapped.
“What I always do,” she said, brushing past him. “Ruining lives. Y’know, Liv, he promised *me* he’d leave too. Said I was special. Then I found out about Laura from accounting. And Steph from the gym.”
“Shut your mouth!” David slammed his fist on the table.
“Oh no. Truth time now. That uni story? I told his girlfriend. Made her think he’d dump her. So she started blackmailing him.”
“Why?” I finally managed.
“Dunno. Maybe I wanted you all to feel what I did? Empty.”
She headed for the door but turned back.
“The funny thing? I really did think you were my best friend.”
The door slammed.
“Liv—” David stepped toward me.
“Don’t. Just go.”
“Let’s talk—”
“About *what*? It’s four in the morning. Our son’s gone. Your mistress just confessed. And I… I’m tired of *servicing*. Leave the keys.”
He nodded, slowly pulling out the keyring and setting it on the side table. Paused at the door.
“I’m sorry.”
The door closed.
Alone now. My phone buzzed. A text from Alex: *”Mum, I’m fine. Don’t look for me. Just let go.”*
I typed back: *”Take care. Love you.”*
Then opened my contacts. Natasha. *Delete?*
My thumb hovered. In the end, she’d done what I never had the courage to—shattered the pretty lie. I hit *Delete* and smiled for the first time in years.
*Sometimes the wreckage of an old life is just the foundation of a new one.*
