“You’re just sitting at home, doing nothing!”
“Mum, let’s play cars—you promised!” five-year-old Oliver pleaded, poking his head into the kitchen yet again.
Emily glanced at her son, then at the mountain of unwashed dishes and the patient chicken waiting on the chopping board. She looked back at him. He stared up at her, silent but persistent, waiting for an answer that was more demand than question.
“Ollie, just hold on a bit longer, love. Mummy will come soon, all right?” she murmured, as if trying to convince herself as much as him.
“But you always say that, and then you never come! I don’t want to play alone!” he wailed before storming off to his room.
The noise woke little Sophie, who immediately signalled her displeasure with an ear-splitting cry. Emily slumped onto a chair, cradling her head as if shielding herself from the chaos. She shut her eyes for just a second.
…Emily had always wanted children. She adored them. But right now, she’d give anything to be alone—somewhere without endless chores, nappies, speech therapy appointments, walks, bath times, bedtime stories—just quiet.
Plenty of women lived like this, sure. But most had grandparents who helped, husbands who pitched in. Emily’s situation was different. Her parents were miles away, her mother-in-law was too busy with her own life to bother with grandchildren, and her husband, James, barely made it home before the kids were asleep. He’d eat, then disappear behind his laptop or telly. Never lifted a finger.
Lately, things between them had grown tense—like a rubber band stretched too thin.
“Muuuum!” Sophie’s sleepy voice drifted from the nursery.
“Coming, sweetheart!” Emily forced herself up.
She wrangled the kids, tidied up, took Oliver to his speech therapy session, then killed time at the playground with Sophie until it was time to go home.
By evening, she’d bathed them, fed them, skipped dinner herself, and glared at the chicken, sentencing it to another day in the fridge. Instead, she boiled some frozen dumplings for James.
He stomped in past nine, already in a mood.
“I’m home! Anyone even care?” he bellowed from the hallway.
“James, please—Sophie’s asleep,” Emily said, keeping her voice light, like tiptoeing around a sleeping bear.
“Brilliant. What a welcoming home,” he grumbled, heading straight for the loo.
She set the table—dumplings on a plate, a side of sour cream, sliced bread, and a cuppa ready to pour.
“Seriously? Discount dumplings again? Am I doomed to eat rubbish until they’re gone?” James sneered.
“Just for tonight. I’ll do the chicken tomorrow,” she said, already bracing.
“Unbelievable! Had them Monday, now again. I refuse to touch these tomorrow!” He stabbed at his food, never once asking if she’d eaten at all.
“James, put the phone down for five minutes. How was work?”
“Same as always. I’m knackered, and you want me to talk about it?” He scowled at his screen.
“Fine. Enjoy your dinner. I’ll check on the kids.”
“Go on, then.”
She tucked them in, switched off the light, and returned to the kitchen.
“I’m off to bed,” James muttered, eyes glued to his phone as he walked out.
“Night,” she whispered to the empty room.
There’d been a time when he kissed her goodnight, wished her sweet dreams. They used to talk for hours after Oliver fell asleep, sharing tea and stories before curling up with a film. Now? Silence.
Lately, James was absorbed in something—work, maybe. Or something else.
Meanwhile, Emily was drowning. She’d hoped to get Oliver into nursery, but the speech therapy group was full, so she juggled his private sessions while caring for Sophie.
She glanced at the clock—10:30 PM. Dishes to wash, teeth to brush, then maybe—just maybe—sleep.
By the time she crawled into bed, James was already snoring. His phone buzzed—a message.
“Who texts this late?” she wondered but shrugged it off as a bill reminder.
The alarm blared at 5:30 AM. Had she even slept?
Coffee. Breakfast. Chaos.
“Oatmeal *again*?” James griped the second he stepped into the kitchen.
“Good morning to you too,” Emily muttered.
“My mum used to make pancakes or fry-ups. Now I’m stuck choking down this slop!” He shoved the bowl.
“It’s quick, it’s healthy—”
“I don’t care! At least scramble some eggs!”
“I forgot to buy eggs,” she admitted.
“Unbelievable! You sit at home all day and can’t even manage the basics? No wonder I hate coming back. My mum was right—”
Sophie’s wail cut him off.
“Ah yes, your mum—the one poisoning you against me,” Emily snapped.
“Don’t you dare drag her into this! Go deal with your kids!” He slammed the door on his way out.
Emily bit back tears. Another pointless row.
The day rolled on—breakfast, cleaning, lunch prep, playground trips.
“Mum, let’s go to the swings!” Oliver tugged her toward the park.
“All right, love.”
“Emily! Long time no see!” A voice called from behind.
“Lucy! Look at your lot—they’ve grown so much!” Emily ruffled Lucy’s son’s hair.
“And you’ve lost weight—you okay?” Lucy frowned.
“Just tired. Two kids, you know…”
“Love, you need to take time for yourself. Doesn’t James help? I make Dave pull his weight—we made these monsters together!” Lucy laughed.
“James works late…”
“So does Dave! Honestly, come with us—they’ve got a new play zone at the mall.”
“Oh, we shouldn’t—”
“Nonsense! My treat!”
At the mall, the kids raced off while Emily, Lucy, and Sophie settled in a café.
“Emily, you’re jumpy as a cat. What’s going on?” Lucy eyed her.
“Just exhausted,” Emily deflected.
“Right. Well, tell James to step up. He’s not a…” Lucy trailed off.
“What? What is it?”
“Isn’t that James… with another woman?”
Emily turned. There he was—kissing someone. Right in public.
Lucy gasped. “The *nerve*! If that were Dave, I’d—”
Emily covered her face.
*****
“Texting your girlfriend?” Emily asked that evening as James devoured his chicken.
“What? You mad?”
“I saw you today. At the mall. Buying her presents?”
A pause. Then—
“You were *spying* on me? No wonder nothing gets done here! Yes, fine, there’s someone else. So what? Look at you—would *you* want to be seen with you?”
“I want a divorce.”
“Don’t be daft! You’d never manage!”
But she did. The court granted her full custody. She moved back to her hometown, lived with her parents, then found work and a mortgage.
“You can’t take them away!” James yelled when she left.
“I can. You’re free to visit—though we both know you won’t.”
He had no reply. For once, words failed him—because she was right.
