**Monday, 12th June**
*”Fancy some sausage or scrambled eggs?”* Charlotte asked. James sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone.
*”Sausage. Just no weird spices this time,”* he muttered without looking up.
Charlotte sighed. Little Emma dozed in her arms, making cooking a juggling act.
*”Could you hold her for a minute?”* she asked carefully.
*”In a second, just finishing this,”* James waved her off.
Emma began to fuss. Charlotte bounced her gently while flipping the sausages. One caught and blackened at the edge.
*”Burnt again?”* James wrinkled his nose. *”Maybe pay attention?”*
*”Maybe lend a hand?”* she snapped back.
*”Here we go. I’m the one working all hours to keep us afloat.”*
*”And I’m off the clock, am I? Try twenty-four-seven, no breaks.”*
She slammed his plate down. Once, they’d been partners—sharing chores, sharing laughs. Now it felt like she carried everything alone.
The weeks blurred. One evening, Charlotte finally stood her ground.
*”James, we need to talk. You’re always buried in work or your phone. What about me? What about Emma?”*
*”Not this again. I provide, don’t I?”*
*”Providing isn’t just money. It’s showing up. Helping. Caring.”*
*”That’s your job,”* he shrugged.
*”I want a husband, not a lodger. I’m tired of doing it all.”*
*”I’m knackered too, Char. I need time to unwind.”*
*”And when do I?”* Her voice cracked.
From the nursery, Emma’s wails pierced the air. James didn’t stir.
When Charlotte returned to work, mornings started at five. James never lifted a finger. One evening, she came home late to a dark flat, dishes piled high. He lounged on the sofa.
*”Dinner sorted?”* he asked instead of hello.
*”Seriously? You couldn’t even wash a plate?”*
*”I’m wiped.”*
*”Where’s Emma?”*
*”Asleep. Got her pizza.”*
Her hands shook as she gripped the counter. Later, checking her account, she spotted £500 missing—James had taken it for a new laptop without asking.
*”Since when is it just yours?”* he scoffed. *”We share everything.”*
*”Do we? Funny how that only works one way.”*
The final straw was Emma’s birthday. Charlotte spent days preparing. James promised to help, then texted last minute: *”Stuck at work. You’ll manage.”*
Something in her broke. That night, tucking Emma in, she made her choice.
James stumbled in late. *”Iron my shirt for tomorrow. And where’s dinner?”*
She turned slowly. *”Do it yourself. Cook, clean, pay bills—I’m not your maid.”*
She walked to the bedroom, pulled out a pre-packed bag.
*”Where d’you think you’re going?”* he blocked the doorway.
*”Nowhere. I’ve just woken up.”*
*”What’s your problem? We’re normal!”*
*”Normal? Two strangers under one roof? You checked out years ago.”*
She scooped up sleepy Emma.
*”Stop!”* He grabbed her arm. *”We’re a family!”*
*”Are we?”*
The rented flat was small, quiet. His calls came in waves—anger, then pleading. *”I’ll change,”* he swore.
*”No. You don’t even see what needs changing.”*
Weeks passed. Charlotte unpacked, breathed. For the first time in years, mornings felt lighter.
James turned up at her work with flowers. *”Let’s try again. I get it now.”*
*”Too late,”* she said softly. *”Promises don’t fix neglect.”*
She enrolled in courses, met friends, rediscovered herself.
Now, falling asleep in that tiny flat, she wasn’t lonely. She was free. And that—after all the fear—was worth every step.
*Lesson learned: Love shouldn’t mean vanishing into someone else’s shadow.*
