The Ideal Husband? When a Remark Shatters an Indifferent Marriage
“Youre the perfect husband, Romain”: how a single sentence ruined a marriage built on neglect
Emily trudged home, her arms loaded with two heavy bags. No sooner had she stepped through the door than a voice called from the living room:
Are you finally here? Is it already six?
Its seven, she replied, weary, heading toward the kitchen.
Three teacups on the table hinted at a recent visit. Her motherinlaw had dropped by, likely with her sister Agathe. Emily wasnt surprised; unannounced appearances, criticisms of her unfeminine habits, disapproving glances, and the lingering sense of an outsiders presence had become routine.
Where have you been all this time? Im starving, Romain shouted without looking away from his computer.
I stopped at the supermarket, she retorted sarcastically, to feed His Majesty. Anyway, we need to talk.
He brushed off her comment. She moved closer, turned her chair toward him, and said calmly:
We have to get a divorce.
Romain looked up, stunned:
What? Why?
Because I cant take it anymore.
Emily, why dont you make dinner first? We can discuss it afterward. Im dying of hunger.
No. Were talking now.
Listen, you know I dont drink, I dont go out, I dont hang around anywhere. I stay home, I work, I earn enough. I never ask you for anything. What are you missing?
She burst into a bitter laugh:
You live in my apartment, you dont pay rent or utilities I handle that. The shopping, the cleaning, the cooking all me. So whats the point of your salary?
Uh I bought a sweater. I downloaded an update for my game. I occasionally give something to Mom and Aunt Agathe. Thats normal, right?
Of course. Very normal. Except this morning I asked you to hang the laundry. Its still in the machine.
I was on a break
Changing activities is also a form of rest.
I dont know how. Mom and Agathe never let me touch the stove or the vacuum.
I get it. You dont know how to do anything. Handy, isnt it? From today on, if youre hungry, figure it out yourself. Im not cooking anymore. Some friends invited me to a café Id refused, but now Ill go. Good luck.
She stood, spread the laundry, flicked a sharp gesture toward the kitchen, and left. At the café, wine glass in hand, her phone buzzedher motherinlaws number. She silenced it and slammed the screen onto the table.
When she returned, Colette Michaux was waiting in the flat.
Emily! What were you thinking? A divorce?! Do you realize the kind of man you have? Men like him are rare! He doesnt drink, he doesnt cheat, he never leaves his socks lying around! Women envy you!
Emily stared at her calmly:
You praise him as if you were bragging about a welltrained dog. He does nothing wrongthats all you list. But can you tell me what he actually does for me?
He works.
I work too. In addition I clean, wash, iron, cook, lug heavy bags, pay everythingfor both of us. And what does he do?
He gives you gifts! I know! I help him pick them out!
Ah, thats why I got a foot bath tub for Christmas and a wool scarf for my birthday.
Maybe youd like gold? the motherinlaw sneered.
A spa voucher or a weekend by the sea wouldnt have been refused. But no. I get a scarf, contempt, and the endless I dont know how. Im done playing mother for him.
Thats just how he is. In our family men dont behave like that.
Exactly. You raised a man who expects everything to be served to him, and hes content with it. Not me.
Couldnt you try something before divorcing? Teach him
Sorry. Im not interested in teaching an adult man how to be a man. I tried for a year and a half. Not anymore. Gather his things youll leave together wherever it suits you. Im not cruel, just exhausted.
Half an hour later, a taxi parked in front of the building of the table.
