**The Perfect Wife**
Even as a student at university, Daniel had decided he’d marry a calm, level-headed woman. Those were the reliable ones. Yet he dated others—bubbly, chatty girls who demanded flowers, gifts, and café dates straight away. But where was a broke student supposed to get the money? So he figured out who was who among them.
Near graduation, he dated Emily—a clever, composed, meticulous girl. You could tell just by looking at her that she kept everything in order.
“Tom,” Daniel said to his mate one day, “I reckon it’s time I settled down. You’re the married one now, and with a little one on the way.”
“Blimey, Dan, what took you so long?” Tom grinned. “So, you’re thinking of popping the question to Emily from my course? Do it—she’s brilliant, clever, gorgeous, and most of all, steady. Never seen her lose her cool. And tidy? Her lecture notes were pristine—I copied half of mine from hers!”
“Yeah, Em’s the best choice I’ve got,” Daniel laughed.
Before finishing uni, he proposed, and she said yes.
Emily and her younger sister had often been left alone as kids. Their dad was a lorry driver, gone for weeks, and their mum worked late. Once Emily was old enough, she took charge—cooking for her sister, checking her homework. Their mum never pushed her, but it was just in her nature.
Visiting Aunt Margaret, her mum’s elder sister, always left Emily in awe.
“Her house is spotless,” she’d think, wandering the rooms. “Hand-stitched lace doilies, gleaming china—it’s like no one actually lives here.”
But she didn’t realise then she’d inherited that very trait. At home, she strived for the same order, though it wasn’t always possible. Her desk and lecture notes, though? Impeccable. Always neat, always prepared.
After marrying Daniel, they moved into his small two-bed flat.
“Dan, you’ve landed well,” Tom would say, half-jealous. “Your own place right away, a stunning wife. Meanwhile, we’re stuck renting some mouldy corner with no hope of a mortgage yet.”
Emily decided to craft her perfect home—just like Aunt Margaret’s. She chased cleanliness, became a proper perfectionist.
No one told her a wife and mother’s first duty was to her family, not the illusion of perfection. It took life’s hard lessons to teach her that.
She and Daniel were opposites. He was loud, sociable, always surrounded by mates—a proper livewire. Emily? Quiet, reserved. If Daniel loved camping trips, fishing, and barbecues, she preferred embroidery, knitting, or a good book.
Before their first son was born, she’d humour his outdoorsy whims—never thrilled, but she went along to support him.
Every summer, Daniel would light up.
“Em, we’re camping by the lake this weekend—fishing, firepit, the lot. Pack your things.”
“Daniel, I *loathe* camping. Just feeding mosquitoes and sleeping on rocks. It’s filthy out there,” she’d protest, but she knew he’d never back down.
Once heavily pregnant, she refused—and he didn’t push it. Instead, she nested. Scrubbed, organised, obsessed over organic meals. Their flat was pristine, just as she wanted.
“Your place is like a show home,” her uni friend Sophie marvelled during a visit. “You’re the perfect wife. How d’you manage it? Mine’s chaos—two boys wrecking everything. I don’t even dare bring them here. But my husband’s a gem—gives me breaks, takes them to the park so I can breathe.”
Daniel was impulsive. Sometimes he’d drag her to bed midday, and she’d resist.
“The laundry’s not ironed yet—it’ll crease.”
“Em, I couldn’t care less if the sheets are pressed,” he’d mutter, pulling her close. “Sometimes this flat feels like an operating theatre. Sterile. Too clean.”
“Don’t you like living tidy?”
“Didn’t say that. But you take it too far.”
One evening, he announced, “Lads are heading to a cottage this weekend—skiing, snowmobiling. There’s a sauna, barbecue. Even if you skip the sauna, fresh air’s good for you. A night in a rustic lodge—proper cosy, woodfire and all.”
“Are you mad? I’m six months pregnant, and you want me out in the freezing countryside?”
“Christ, Em, you’re such a killjoy.”
When little James arrived, she nearly lost her mind over sterility. She *knew* it was absurd, but couldn’t stop. By the time he was three, she returned to work—briefly.
“Daniel… I think I’m pregnant again.”
Next day, he drove her to the GP.
“Definitely,” she beamed afterward, sliding into the car.
“Could tell by your face when you bounced out,” he chuckled.
After daughter Lily was born, she dove back into scrubbing, steaming, sanitising. Even Daniel cracked.
“Em, you’re turning into a bloody cleaning drone. Kids, bleach, steamed veg—that’s *all* you care about. Can’t you just fry something?”
“Fried food’s terrible for the kids!”
“Or *me*?”
These spats became routine. He hated the sterility.
“Let’s get away—just us. Rent a lakeside cabin. Kids can stay with Mum.”
“Your mum’s got *two dogs and a cat*. The fur, the dirt—it’s not safe!”
“For God’s sake, Emily! Other wives go out with their families. Ours is…” He sighed.
By the time Lily started nursery, Emily felt Daniel drifting away. She couldn’t fathom why.
“Why don’t we talk anymore? Share things? I’ve been the *perfect* wife.”
She even told him once—she was ideal, rare. He snapped:
“Yeah. Perfect. And *dull as ditchwater*. You never come anywhere with me.”
He took trips without her now—fishing, lads’ weekends. She stayed home, scrubbing. Then came the regret.
A man away every weekend… She never considered another woman might notice him. Daniel was tall, handsome, quick to laugh—exactly the type women fancied, wedding ring or not.
He fell for Anna without realising. Tom’s wife had brought her along on trips, and Anna had noticed Daniel straight off. One riverside camping trip, she made her move.
Their affair lasted nearly a year before Emily suspected. She only sensed the distance. Finally, she confronted him over dinner.
“Daniel, we need to talk. I’m not happy.”
“Neither am I,” he said bluntly. “Actually, I’m leaving tomorrow. Moving in with Anna.”
Her fork clattered.
“What? But our home—”
“—is spotless. But I need a wife who *lives* with me, not just cleans. You’re a great mum. A tidy wife. But I want *more*.”
He left. Emily sat stunned, replaying her life.
*What did I spend years on? Sterility, steamed fish, and pointless order? I missed us entirely.*
Time passed. She adjusted to solitude. Daniel stayed involved—taking the kids weekends, cinema trips, park runs.
Once, she spotted him and Anna at the mall—laughing, hands linked, her eyes bright.
*She’s everything I’m not. My life’s tidy. And empty.*
Then James mentioned offhand, “Dad’s at Gran’s now. He left Anna—said it didn’t work out.”
Months later, Lily burst in: “Mum! Dad’s invited us all fishing—*you too*! Please say yes!”
Emily almost scoffed, *”I’d rather eat bugs,”* but stopped herself.
*No. That’s the old me.*
“Alright. Let’s go.”
The weekend flew by. She lay awake that night, stunned.
*God, I was so wrong. Waking at dawn in a tent, birds singing, diving into icy water… Sunset over the lake. How did I miss this?*
She finally understood. They went mushroom foraging next, then park picnics, ice creams. Daniel seemed to be waiting—they’d never divorced.
Emily knew now: happiness meant living *for* her family, not just *around* them. And soon—she could feel it—that happiness would come home.
