**Diary Entry – 12th October, 2023**
While Katie was paying for the groceries at Tesco, Steven stood off to the side. By the time she began packing the bags, he’d already stepped outside. When she caught up to him, he was leaning against a lamppost, smoking.
“Steven, take the bags,” she asked, holding out two heavy sacks filled with food.
He looked at her as if she’d demanded something outrageous. “And why should I?” he shot back.
Katie hesitated. What kind of question was that? Since when did a man refuse to help carry the load? It wasn’t right—her staggering under the weight while he strolled beside her, hands in his pockets.
“They’re heavy,” she pressed.
“So?” Steven scoffed. He could see her irritation rising but dug his heels in out of sheer stubbornness. Without another word, he walked ahead, quickening his pace so she couldn’t keep up. *”Take the bags?”* he fumed inwardly. *”What am I, a pack mule? A bloody servant? I’m a man—I decide whether I lift a finger or not! Let her manage, she won’t collapse from it.”* Today, he was in the mood to put her in her place.
“Steven, where are you going? Take the bags!” Katie called after him, her voice trembling.
The bags *were* heavy—Steven knew it. He’d been the one tossing items into the trolley. The flat was only a five-minute walk, but weighed down like this, the distance felt endless. Katie trudged home, blinking back tears. She half-expected him to turn back, to laugh it off as a joke. But no—he was vanishing down the road without so much as a glance. The urge to drop the bags surged through her, but she carried on, numb.
By the time she reached their building, her arms ached. She slumped onto the bench outside, too exhausted to move. The anger burned in her chest—humiliation, really. He’d *chosen* to slight her. The man who’d once opened doors and carried her shopping without a second thought.
“Hello there, Katie love!” The voice snapped her from her thoughts. It was Mrs. Whittaker, their neighbour from the floor below.
“Hi, Mrs. Whittaker,” Katie managed, forcing a smile.
Mrs. Whittaker—Margaret to friends—had known Katie since she was a girl. She’d been close to Katie’s late gran and had stepped in whenever life got tough. With her mum remarried and living in Manchester, and her dad long gone, Mrs. Whittaker was the only family she had left.
Without hesitation, Katie handed over the groceries. Mrs. Whittaker’s pension didn’t stretch far, and Katie often spoiled her with little treats. “Come on, I’ll help you up,” she said, hefting the bags again.
Inside the flat, Mrs. Whittaker’s face lit up at the tins of pilchards, mackerel, and peaches—luxuries she rarely bought for herself. Katie kissed her cheek, feeling a pang of guilt that she didn’t do this more often.
When she finally unlocked her own door, Steven was in the kitchen, chewing on a biscuit.
“Where’s the shopping?” he asked casually.
“What shopping?” she echoed. “The bags *you* helped me carry?”
“Oh, come off it!” He grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re not seriously upset, are you?”
“No,” Katie said coolly. “I’ve just made my decision.”
Steven stiffened. He’d braced for shouting, tears—not this eerie calm.
“What decision?”
“I don’t have a husband.” She sighed. “I thought I’d married a man. Turns out I married a fool.”
“Excuse me?” His voice dripped with wounded pride.
“What’s confusing?” Katie met his glare. “I want a man who acts like one. And you? Seems you’d rather your wife be the man for you.” She paused. “Maybe you should go find one, then.”
Steven’s face darkened. His fists clenched—but Katie was already in the bedroom, shoving his clothes into a duffel bag.
He protested until the end. “This is ridiculous! Over a few bloody bags? We were fine!”
“Hope you can carry *this* one yourself,” she said flatly, tossing it at him.
Katie knew this was just the start. If she let it slide, the disrespect would only grow. So she shut the door behind him—and locked it.
**Lesson learned: A man who won’t share the load doesn’t deserve a place at your table.**
