**Diary Entry – A New Beginning**
The return was late—Emily had already made up her mind.
Andrew twirled his spaghetti with a sullen expression. Emily watched him, trying to mask her unease, but she couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Is it not good, Andrew?”
He frowned and kept eating without meeting her gaze.
“I followed the recipe exactly—”
“It’s fine,” he muttered.
“Then what’s wrong? What happened?”
Andrew shoved his fork aside, exhaled sharply, and paced the kitchen like a caged animal.
“I’m sick of it all!” he burst out. “Life’s turned into a bloody slog! Work, home, you in a dressing gown, porridge, the kid—it’s not a life, it’s a prison sentence!”
Emily froze. His words stung worse than a slap. He kept going.
“Look at you! You used to be beautiful, now you’re just… A tired housewife. Mark’s wife—now she’s got it together. Still fit after the baby, hitting the gym, even making extra money on the side!”
“They’ve got his mum helping, while you sleep in on weekends. I just don’t have the time,” Emily said softly.
“There’s always an excuse! The truth is, you’ve given up. I need space. A break. I’m moving out. Don’t know for how long—maybe for good.”
“What about Ben?”
“I’ll pay what I owe. I’ll visit too. You won’t be left high and dry.”
He stood to leave. Emily, snapping out of her daze, blocked his path.
“What about *my* break? Do I not get one? Why do you get to walk away?”
He stepped close, irritation sharp in his voice.
“You’re the mother. End of. Stay with your child.”
With that, he walked out, leaving thick silence behind. Emily stayed at the kitchen table, tears streaming down her face. Her mind raced—how would she manage? Andrew had been distant, but he was still *there*. Security, stability—all gone.
He didn’t even say goodbye to Ben. Clearly, he was off to his bachelor flat.
The first night, she didn’t sleep. But by morning, exhausted, she made a decision—she wouldn’t beg. She’d handle it alone.
And she did. Surprisingly, it got easier. No more picking up after a man, catering to his moods, washing piles of laundry. Andrew sent money—she budgeted, but they got by.
The pain was in her heart. Especially when she saw photos online—Andrew grinning, some woman at his side. Her best mate tried to console her: *“You’re better off without that sort.”* Then her mum came, taking time off work just to help. She never criticised, but sometimes her fists clenched at the mention of her son-in-law.
With her mum there, Emily breathed again. She went to the salon, updated her wardrobe. Even smiled. Little gifts from her mum reminded her—she deserved happiness.
Andrew, true to form, never visited Ben. Only his social media showed how well he was doing without them. Emily waited, hoping he’d come to his senses. But day by day, she realised—he wasn’t a man, just a coward running from responsibility.
Three months later, a knock at the door. Andrew. Bag in hand, like some triumphant hero.
“Hello, love! I’m back. What’s for dinner?”
Emily blocked the doorway.
“You don’t live here anymore.”
“What? I’m your husband!”
“Not anymore. I’ve filed for divorce. You’ll get the papers. You swore you’d see Ben—never did. Your things are packed.”
Andrew turned red.
“I’ve got rights to see my son!”
“Of course. The courts can sort that. I’ll tell them how you ignored him for months. And I’ll show them those party photos.”
He did see Ben eventually. The boy just stared—no joy, no excitement.
Andrew thought she was just trying to teach him a lesson. But Emily was done. Her mum’s support, her love for Ben, knowing her own worth—it made her stronger.
Now, she and Ben had a fresh start. And Andrew? Left with pans to scrub and shirts no one pressed. Some break.
