The Useless Wife

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 9 minViews 1

This month the money just vanished, poof, nothing left I was pulling on my boots, perched on the stool by the hall, trying to make sense of it all.

Evelyn gave a halfnod while wiping the dust off the hallway mirror. I slipped the old vinyl onto the turntable.

We need to tighten the belt. And you might want to think about stopping the extra help you give your family.

Her rag hung in the air for a beat. Evelyn turned slowly toward me.

Really? Thats all you think we should cut?

I zipped up my jacket without looking up.

What else then?

The door behind me clicked shut.

I walked out of the kitchen like that, and a hot, heavy surge of anger rose in Evelyns chest. She tossed the rag into the bucket and drifted into the living room. Baxter, my massive Labrador, was sprawled on his little bed that looked more like a cot for a baby. He cracked one eye open, gave his tail a lazy wag, then went back to dozing. Evelyn stared at him and her fury grew with every second.

Five years of marriage five years of a joint budget where we never kept tabs on each others spending. Our salaries were pretty close she works as an accountant at a big firm, Im a sales manager. We always had enough for the bills and a bit of fun.

I never held back on my hobbies. Rockclimbing twice a week with a private coach cost me £250 a session, boxing with another trainer was another £150, plus gear that Im constantly updating. Then theres Baxter premium food, regular vet visits, grooming, toys that he shreds in a day. All told, it was at least £500 a month.

And Evelyn? She helped Mum with her medication a tiny pension and pricey bloodpressure pills. She also looked after her sister Claires little daughter, Maisie Claires husband left a year ago, shes getting pocketchange in child support. Thats about £350£400 a month. Plus her corporate gym membership, which is about £200 a year practically nothing.

It used to work. Each of us spent on what we thought mattered. Then last year we took out a mortgage on a twobed flat in a new development outside London. This year my sales dipped, bonuses were slashed, and Evelyns performance bonus was cut too. We could still keep up the mortgage, but holidays by the sea or new phones were out of the question.

A month ago Evelyn gently suggested we each trim a bit of our personal spending. I got defensive, pouted like a child, but I gave it some thought. And guess what? I decided the cuts should fall only on her side.

Evelyn grabbed her phone, about to call Claire, then changed her mind. Winding herself up further wasnt going to help. She figured a good cleanup would calm her nerves physical work always does.

Two days passed in a tense silence. I pretended nothing had happened. Evelyn let the anger snowball, rolling it stubbornly around inside her. On the third evening, as we were having dinner, I brought it up again.

Evie, have you given any thought about the expenses?

The fork clinked against the plate. Evelyn lifted her eyes to me.

Why are we only cutting my side? Youre not going to touch your climbing or your other fun, are you?

Thats a different story! I set my fork down. I spend on myself, so its a joint thing. Youre just pulling the rope the other way!

Joint? Evelyn gasped, half choking on her fury. What does my climbing have to do with it? And how much do you spend on Baxter each month, did you forget?

Its for my health! And Baxters part of the family!

And my mum and my sisters child arent part of the family?

Theyre not our family!

Evelyn slumped back in her chair, hands crossed over her chest.

Fine. Would you be happy if I started splashing £600£700 a month on spa treatments, a beautician, massages?

I jumped up so fast I nearly knocked the chair over.

Thats sabotage! Youve never done that before! Youre only saying it to be stubborn! I need my sport, you know? Its a need!

My need is to help my relatives! I still spend less on them than you do on yourself!

Thats different!

How so? Evelyn rose from the table as well. Explain why your boxing coach matters more than my nieces schoolbooks?

Dont twist it! Im just asking you to be reasonable with the money!

Reasonable means only I save? she retorted.

We stood on opposite sides of the table like boxers in a ring. Baxter whined, trotted over, and nudged his head against my knee.

Your spending doesnt help us!

And yours? What does the family get from you scaling walls like SpiderMan?

I turned a shade redder, stormed off to the bedroom, slamming the door. Evelyn was left standing by the table, the dinner growing cold.

The next morning Claire called.

Evie, I know everything. James rang me.

What? When?

Yesterday evening. He said youre having a tough time and asked me not to press you for money. He said well manage somehow.

Claire, its not about the cash. Its about principle. He wants me to fund the mortgage, food, his hobbies and the dog, while my family has to fend for themselves.

Maybe you two can talk it out?

Talk? About me becoming his unpaid maid?

After that call Evelyn decided enough was enough.

That evening, barely as I slipped through the front door, she met me in the hallway.

Were splitting the budget from now on.

What? I hadnt even taken my coat off. Evie, dont be ridiculous!

Im tired of arguing. From now on each of us pays half the mortgage, utilities, groceries. Whatevers left we can spend on whatever we like.

Thats unfair! Weve always had a joint budget!

Its about time it changed.

I tried to shout, to claim she was tearing the family apart, but she was unmoved. The next day she opened a separate bank account and transferred her salary into it.

The first week I put on a brave face. By the second week I was complaining about having to cut back. By midmonth my cash ran dry I missed two climbing sessions and had to switch Baxter to the cheaper kibble.

Evie, cant we just go back? I asked as she was cooking herself dinner. Youre acting like a child.

Im acting like an adult who controls her own money.

But were a family, Evie

Family doesnt mean I hand you access to my cash.

I gritted my teeth and left.

Another month went by. Things got worse. We barely spoke, slept in different rooms I moved onto the sofa in the living room. Baxter paced between us, whimpering at night.

When payday rolled around, I threw a fit.

Stop this circus! Lets go back to the joint budget like before!

Why? Evelyn was painting her nails.

Im broke!

Cut your costs.

I cant give up my sport! Its my health!

And I cant stop helping my family. My conscience wont let me.

Conscience? I shouted. Youre selfish! You only think of yourself!

Evelyn slowly stood, met my gaze.

Im selfish? Im the one who helps relatives. And you, who only cares about your muscles and fun, think youre being altruistic?

Youre useless! All you do is move money around!

And what do you do? Climb walls and feed the dog?

Why did I even marry you?

She turned, headed to the bedroom, and started packing a suitcase. I froze in the doorway.

What are you doing?

Im moving in with Claire. Ive had enough.

Evie, wait, lets talk calmly

Talk about what? You called me useless. Why would I stay?

She snapped the suitcase shut and walked past me, Baxter whining after her.

Claires onebed flat was cramped just her, me, and little Maisie but at least it was peaceful. No one kept asking where every pound went, no one called me useless.

A week later Evelyn filed for divorce. I called, texted, even showed up at Claires door, but they wouldnt let me in. I begged her to come back, promised things would be different. Shed already made up her mind.

The flat was sold quickly a good neighbourhood, fresh renovation. We split the proceeds, the furniture, the appliances. Baxter went with me.

Evelyn took out a modest mortgage on a cosy onebedroom in an old but charming terrace house. It needed a bit of cosmetic work, but no one was poking at her wallet.

In the first month after moving, she sent her mum to a care home something shed promised for ages. She bought Claire a new laptop for Maisies schoolwork and got herself a membership at a nice health club with a pool.

In the evenings she settled with a cup of her favourite tea. On her phone sat an unread message from me, something about finally understanding my mistakes and wanting to change. She deleted it without a reply.

That tiny flat was now entirely hers. The money was hers too, and she could spend it however she saw fit, without having to account for anyone else’s climbing sessions, dog food, or opinions about what was right or wrong.

Please… don’t leave me on my own again. Not tonight. Those were the final words whispered by 68-year-old retired officer Arthur Collins before collapsing onto his living room floor in a quiet English village. The only living soul to hear him was the same companion who’d heard every word over the last nine years—his faithful, aging K9 partner, Bramble. Arthur was never one to wear his heart on his sleeve—retirement and widowhood hadn’t changed that. Neighbours knew him as the silent widower, shuffling through evening lanes with his old German Shepherd, both matching each other’s measured pace, two war-weary souls burdened by time. To everyone else, they seemed to need nothing, nor anyone. Everything changed that chilly evening. Bramble, dozing by the radiator, snapped to attention at the thud of Arthur hitting the floor. He sensed the fear, the laboured breathing, and with aching joints made his way to his partner’s side. Arthur’s breathing was shallow, his hands grasping for something unseen. Bramble didn’t understand the words, but the meaning rang clear—fear, pain, goodbye. With a desperate bark, Bramble clawed at the door, his cries ringing out until Molly—Arthur’s young neighbour who often brought him warm scones—came running. She sensed the alarm in Bramble’s bark—a frantic, pleading call for help. Seeing Arthur through the window, Molly scrambled for the spare key hidden under the plant pot, her hands shaking. She found Arthur motionless, and Bramble whimpering at his side as she dialled 999 in terror. Paramedics soon filled the small cottage with urgent energy. Bramble, ever the guardian, refused to be parted from Arthur, growling softly until one paramedic—Tom—recognised the service dog’s badge and spoke gently. “We’re here to help your mate, pal. Let us through.” With narrowed eyes and a heavy heart, Bramble allowed them close, keeping his head against Arthur’s foot as they worked. As Arthur was lifted onto the stretcher, his hand fell limp, and Bramble let out a heartbroken howl that silenced the room. When the ambulance doors opened, Bramble tried to follow, collapsing on the gravel in despair. “We can’t bring the dog,” the driver insisted. But as Arthur whispered, barely conscious, “Bramble…,” Tom broke the rules. “Let him in. He’s part of this team.” Bramble was lifted into the ambulance, pressing close to Arthur as the machines steadied their beeps. Four hours later, in a softly lit NHS hospital room, Arthur awoke to the gentle sound of Bramble’s breathing. The nurse pulled back the curtain to reveal Bramble resting on a blanket—the hospital had made an exception. Every time Bramble was taken away, Arthur’s vitals had faltered. Even the doctor agreed—they belonged together. Tears filled Arthur’s eyes as Bramble limped to his side, resting his head by Arthur’s hand. “I thought I was leaving you behind,” Arthur whispered. Bramble gently licked the tears away. From the doorway, the nurse smiled through her own tears. “He didn’t just save your life, Mr Collins. I think you saved his, too.” That night, Arthur faced the darkness hand in paw with Bramble, his loyal friend—two old partners, together against the world, silently promising never to leave each other alone again. Let this story touch the hearts that need it most. 💖

Dad’s Always Better – Max, we need to talk. Olga fussed nervously with the tablecloth, smoothing out imaginary creases with trembling fingers betraying the worry hidden behind her steady tone. Max sat opposite, nose buried in his phone, thumbs darting across the screen in exaggerated focus. Deliberate ignoring – his favourite weapon. – Son… I need to explain something important. No response. Just clicks from the touchscreen. Olga took a deep breath, summoning courage for words she’d put off for a week. – When your dad and I divorced… it was six months before I introduced you to Steve. I didn’t rush, you see? I wanted to be sure it was serious. Max’s fingers froze above the phone. The teenager looked up slowly, outrage burning so fiercely in his eyes that Olga recoiled. – Serious? – he spat through clenched teeth. – You think it’s really serious with him, with some random guy? He’s not even worth Dad’s little finger! Dad’s still the best! Memories of that first meeting flashed sharply before Max’s eyes. The tall stranger on their doorstep, Mum’s nervous smile, the scent of foreign cologne in the hallway. An invader brazenly occupying Dad’s sacred place. – He’s not a stranger, – Olga protested gently. – He’s my husband. – YOUR husband! – Max slammed his phone down. – He’s not MY anything! My dad is Dad. This one… He left the rest unsaid, but the contempt in his voice said everything. Steve really tried. Oh God, did he try. Every evening, he disappeared into the garage, bending over Max’s battered bike. Blackened hands, a sweat-streaked brow, and that stubborn smile of a man determined to win at any cost. – Fixed the frame, – he’d say, wiping his hands. – You can ride it tomorrow? Silence in reply. Cold, ringing silence. At night, Steve sat with Max at the desk, explaining equations in simple terms. – Here, if you move the x over here… – I get it, – Max cut him off, though he clearly didn’t. Just wanted him gone. Each morning, the kitchen filled with the smell of fresh pancakes and honey – the boy’s favourite treat. Steve stacked them neatly and set them before his stepson. – Dad made them thinner, – Max said after barely touching them. – And he bought real honey. Not this cheap stuff. Every caring gesture crashed against a wall of icy indifference. Max seemed to collect reasons for sarcasm, turning every detail into grounds for comparison. – Dad never shouted. – Dad always knew what I liked. – Dad did everything right. Olga and Steve’s wedding shattered the fragile truce. Max took the marriage certificate as betrayal – final and absolute. Home became a minefield: tense silence every morning, doors slammed every night. Max morphed into a secret agent, tracking every stepdad’s misstep like a detective. A harsh word at dinner – noted. An impatient sigh over homework – remembered. A tired “not now” after work – stashed with grievances. – Dad, he screamed at me again – Max whispered into his phone, locked in his bedroom. – Really? – Andrew on the other end clucked in exaggerated sympathy. – My poor boy. Remember when we went to the park every weekend? – I remember… – That was a real family. Not like this. Andrew painted their ordinary spats as dramas, crafting an idealised past where the sun shone brighter, the grass was greener, and Dad never made mistakes. Steve felt like an unwanted guest in his own home. Every glance from Max shouted: you don’t belong. You’re taking someone else’s place. You’ll never be family. The pressure built, heavier each day, until it all snapped at dinner. – You have no right to tell me what to do! – Max exploded when Steve asked him to put his phone away. – You’re nothing to me! NOTHING! Olga froze with her fork in mid-air. Something inside her cracked. The hatred Max shot at Steve made the air thick. – Dad’s better than you at everything. And you… you just… Dad says you ruin everything! I’d be better off with him! – Enough, – Olga said quietly. – That’s enough. The next morning, she dialled her ex-husband, hands trembling but resolute. – Andrew, – her voice level, – since you say you’re the better parent, take Max. For good. I’ll pay maintenance if needed. The silence dragged on forever. – Well… see… right now… – Andrew stammered. – Work’s tough, business trips… Of course I’d love to, but… He hesitated, papers rustling on his end, coughing awkwardly. – And, well, Natasha… my girlfriend… she’s not ready for a kid in the flat. We just moved in together, you know… The pitiful excuses spilled from the same man who stoked their son’s discontent by phone each night, poisoning every spark of unrest. Now it was a one-bedroom flat. Renovations. Natasha’s not ready. – I understand, Andrew, – Olga said, calm. – Thanks for being honest. She hung up before he could respond. That evening Olga called Max into the lounge. He slumped into the armchair, face set in defiance, but something in his mum’s expression made him fall silent. – I spoke to your father today. Max leaned forward, tense. – And what did he say? Olga sat down opposite. – He’s not willing to take you. Not now, not ever. He’s got a new life, a new woman, and you’re not part of it. – You’re lying! You always lie! – Max flared. – Dad loves me! He said so… – Saying it’s easy. – Olga’s voice was quiet but firm. – But when I asked him to take you, he remembered his renovation and one-bedroom flat. Max opened his mouth but had nothing to say. – Listen carefully, – Olga said, leaning in. – No more comparisons. No more spy-games and reporting to Dad, no more rudeness to Steve. Either we’re a family – all three of us – or you go to Dad, who doesn’t want you. I’ll make him take you in, and you’ll see for yourself what he’s really like. Max sat frozen, wide-eyed. – Mum… – I’m not joking. – Olga stared at her son, not smiling. – I love you more than life, but I won’t let you destroy my marriage. You’re being awful. I’ve put up with it long enough. That’s it. Your choice. Max was stunned. The world – Dad the hero vs. stepdad the villain – splintered and shattered. Dad doesn’t want him. Dad chose Natasha and a renovation. Dad just… used him to hurt Mum? Understanding came slowly. All those evening calls, clucking sympathy, “what did he do now?” – not caring, but a weapon. Andrew stockpiled ammo for his petty revenge, and Max dutifully supplied it. The boy swallowed hard. And Steve? The same Steve he tormented for months? Who patiently fixed his bike while Max ignored the garage? Who woke early every morning for pancakes? Who didn’t leave, didn’t give up, didn’t stop trying – no matter what… …Change was hard. For weeks, Max hid in his room, avoided Steve’s eyes. He was too ashamed to admit how childish he’d been. Every time he saw his stepdad, he remembered “you’re nothing to me” and wished the floor would swallow him whole. Everyone walked on eggshells, spoke gently, in vague phrases. The house felt like intensive care, teetering between survival and disaster. The breakthrough came with a physics assignment. Max chewed his pencil for two hours, then finally admitted defeat. – Steve… – the name was hard to say, catching in his throat. – Can you help? Bit of a nightmare with these vectors. Steve looked up calmly, no surprise, no triumph – just acceptance. – Let’s take a look. A month later, they went fishing together. They sat on the bank, watching the bobbers, and Max started talking – about school, his mates, the girl in another year he liked. No bitterness, no comparisons. Just a chat. Steve listened, nodded, chimed in here and there. Max realised: this is a real family. Not grand declarations, or sugar-coated memories. It’s found in quiet breakfasts, patience, the determination to stay beside you even when the world’s against you. The boy had made his choice. The right choice…