**Diary Entry**
*She really does look lovely. And I’d stopped noticing.* The thought flickered through James’s mind as he watched Emily rush about the house.
The morning was as chaotic as ever. Emily had made breakfast, woken up little Sophie, and now James had commandeered the bathroom, forcing her to wash their daughter at the kitchen sink. A towel swiped clumsily across the counter sent a mug crashing to the floor. The noise brought James running. Emily handed Sophie over and knelt to gather the shards.
“Right, that’s everything.” She hurried off to get dressed.
“I’ve got to dash—you take Sophie to nursery. Big day today,” she called from the hallway, yanking up the zip on her boots. “My presentation’s this afternoon. If it goes well, they’ll put me in charge of the project—extra money, experience, and a solid reference.”
She threw on her coat, gave herself a final critical glance in the mirror, snatched her handbag, and bolted before James could protest.
He finished his toast and coffee while Sophie watched him with big eyes.
“Want some?”
She nodded.
“No, you’ll ruin your appetite for nursery.”
At the mention of porridge, Sophie wrinkled her nose.
“Plenty of things I don’t like either,” James muttered. “Like how Mum’s always racing out the door. Doubt that’ll change.” He dumped his empty mug in the sink.
Dressing Sophie was a battle—tights twisted, mittens went missing (until he found them drying on the radiator). Flushed and dishevelled, they finally made it outside, James scooping Sophie into his arms as he jogged down the steps.
At nursery, the carer started explaining something, but James cut in: “Sorry, running late!” and fled like a guilty man.
Only in the car did he exhale. A minute to recover, then off to work.
The drive was spent replaying how much simpler life had been when Emily stayed home. No mad dashes, no stress—just coming back to a tidy flat and dinner on the stove. *This can’t go on.*
Plenty of women would kill to be in her position, playing housewife. But no—she needed “independence,” a career. Why get married, then? Should’ve stuck to climbing the ladder. He’d talk her out of it tonight. The thought lifted his mood.
Work distracted him until lunch, when a text arrived: *Running late, can you fetch Sophie?*
Brilliant. There went his plans for a pint with the lads. His spirits sank.
That evening, Emily burst in, radiant, while James fried potatoes.
“You won’t believe it—my presentation killed! They’ve made me project lead!” She offered her cheek. He pecked it.
“Aren’t you happy for me?” She caught his expression.
“Thrilled. Wife’s career skyrocketing while our daughter forgets her face. Fantastic.”
“Oh, come off it! Jealous I’m succeeding while you’re stuck as a middle manager?”
“Jealous? You see Sophie for five minutes a day. Is my salary not enough?”
“Stop shouting. This isn’t about her—it’s your ego. Yes, I’ll earn more, and it burns you. I want to *do* something, not rot at home. You fell for me like this—or did you forget?”
James floundered. She wasn’t wrong.
“That was then. Now we’ve a child who needs her mother.”
“She needs a father too. Men love dumping everything on women. *You* step up.”
The row escalated. Neither backed down. They went to bed fuming, turning away. But in sleep, Emily’s hand found his chest, and his covered hers. Some love remained.
Next morning, James rose early, hoping to escape first. But Emily was already making breakfast. He sighed and went to shave. The chaos repeated—coffee spilled, Sophie tangled in her tights, Emily poised to leave.
James yelled he couldn’t collect Sophie today. The door slammed.
“Damn it!” He hurled his shirt onto the bed.
This wasn’t the family he’d imagined. His mum had stayed home—meals ready, no fights. Why couldn’t they have that?
At work, Margot cornered him. They’d had a fling years back, before Emily.
“You’ve been off lately,” she said.
“How?” He spooned instant coffee into a mug.
“Grumpy, dishevelled. Marriage not all sunshine?”
“It’s fine. Emily’s working, that’s all. Adjusting.” He avoided her gaze.
Her red lips curved. She looked straight out of *Vogue*.
“Let me help. I could fetch Sophie. You could… drop by after.” Her fingers brushed his collar.
James caught her wrist. “No. We’re done.” He walked out.
That evening, Emily was late again. Silence hung between them. She knew what this tension would cost. She didn’t want to lose him—but she loved her job. That night, she reached for him. He turned away.
*What do I do?* Quitting wasn’t an option—she was good at this. But if she waited years, would there even be a job left?
And yet—James wasn’t wrong. She spent weekends glued to her laptop. They hadn’t been out in ages. More money meant holidays without scrimping.
James was handsome. Women at work circled, Margot leading the pack. He’d told Emily about their past—no surprises.
*Other women manage both. So can I. No more late nights. Meetings moved to mornings. And why should I do it all? We’re a team.* Decision made, she settled into the pillow.
Next day, Emily appeared on TV, talking about her project. Asked how she balanced work and family, she smiled: “I’ve a brilliant husband who supports me.”
*She really does look lovely.*
Margot pounced later. “Saw your wifey on telly.”
“Enough,” James snapped, spotting the flash in her eyes.
She smirked. “Men like you shouldn’t be tied down.”
“Drop it. Alex fancies you—go bother him.”
His mum rang next. “So you’re cooking and cleaning now? Starving, I bet. A wife’s place is—”
“Stay out of it, Mum. Your way didn’t exactly work. Dad strayed because you were just ‘the housewife.’ I won’t make Emily that.”
A pause. “Maybe you’re right. Children should do better.”
The next evening, Emily collected Sophie herself.
“Project cancelled?” James teased.
“No. Just… trying to find balance. Though I’m itching to check emails.”
“They’ll manage.” The doorbell rang. His mum stood there, eyeing the tidy flat, Emily cooking proper food, Sophie “helping” with salad.
After dinner, while Emily and Sophie washed up, his mum murmured, “You’ve got it right. I’m proud.”
With time, things smoothed. Sophie dressed herself. Emily delegated more, saved weekends for family. James stopped sulking. They’d learned to listen.
A final thought: *Cherish your loves, men. Help them. And don’t walk away from your children.*
Happy holidays to all.
