James sat in his armchair, staring blankly at the floor. His head throbbed from the argument, and anger still simmered in his chest. He felt lost and hurt. He’d come home late, exhausted after a gruelling day at work, his mind full of reports, deadlines, and relentless stress. When he saw the mess in the flat, his patience snapped.
“Emily, why can’t you ever lift a finger?!” he shouted, unable to hold back. “Is it really so hard to tidy up after yourself?”
His voice echoed through the room, and James instantly felt the air between them grow thick. Emily replied coldly, almost indifferently, but he noticed tears welling in her eyes. He wanted to say something soothing, but the words lodged in his throat. Instead, he kept yelling, pouring out all the frustration he’d bottled up.
Emily perched on the edge of the bed, her eyes red from crying, her heart pounding as if trying to escape. She clenched her fists, anger coursing through her like a rising tide. Just yesterday, she’d been happy—now everything had shattered. This was just another row, another nail in the coffin of her hopes.
“Why?” she whispered to herself, her head spinning with emotion. “Why do men think we exist to serve them?”
It seemed every day brought the same battle: her boyfriend expected her to handle everything while he did nothing. And when she dared say she was tired too, that she needed care as well, his reaction was always the same—shouting, blame, cruel words.
Her gaze fell on the pile of laundry she’d meant to wash that morning. But it didn’t matter now. James’s words echoed in her mind: “Got nothing better to do?” “Of course, you’ve forgotten about me again.” They were as routine as morning tea, but today, they left a bitter taste.
“I shouldn’t have to justify myself,” she muttered, staring at her reflection. Her face looked weary, but her eyes burned with resolve. “I work just as hard as he does. My money—my choice!”
She remembered the dress she’d bought, the one she’d wanted for ages. That small joy had been short-lived. The moment James found out she’d spent her own money on herself, the accusations flew. “Selfish! You only ever think of yourself!” The words still stung.
But what hurt most was his refusal to see her side. All he cared about was his own needs. His mess was everywhere, yet somehow, she was the one expected to clean it. Each little thing added up, eating away at their relationship like rust.
“Enough,” she said aloud, shaking her head. “I deserve better. I’m not his maid. I want my own life, not one ruled by someone else’s demands.”
Emily stood and walked to the window. She knew what she had to do. No more excuses, no more swallowing her pride. It was time to take back control.
“Tomorrow,” she decided firmly. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell him everything. Let him learn to manage on his own. Let him see how it feels to be alone.”
That night, sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned, her mind racing—but for once, her thoughts were fixed on the future. She imagined starting fresh: going where she pleased, buying what she liked, no guilt, no apologies. For the first time in ages, she felt light, despite the hard conversation ahead.
The next morning, she woke before the alarm. Her eyes landed on the stack of ironed shirts she’d folded yesterday. “Last time,” she thought, tucking them away. Today would be the first page of a new chapter. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would lead her where she belonged—to a life where she was loved just as she was.
