**Thursday, 15th June**
While Emily was paying for the groceries, Thomas lingered by the door. By the time she began packing the bags, he had already stepped outside. She followed him out, where he stood smoking.
“Tom, take the bags,” she asked, holding out two heavy shopping bags.
Thomas looked at her as if she’d asked him to break the law. “What’s it to you?” he retorted.
Emily was taken aback. What did he mean? A man usually helped without question. It felt wrong—her struggling with heavy bags while he strolled along carefree.
“They’re heavy,” she insisted.
“So?” he shot back, clearly digging his heels in.
She could see he knew she was upset, but he refused out of sheer stubbornness. He walked ahead, leaving her behind. *”Take the bags? What am I, a pack mule? Some errand boy? I’m a man—I decide what I carry!”* he fumed silently. Today, his mood was set on pushing her.
“Tom, where are you going? Take the bags!” Emily called after him, her voice trembling.
He knew full well how heavy they were—he’d been the one piling the trolley high. The walk home was only five minutes, but with the weight in her arms, it felt endless.
She trudged along, fighting back tears. Part of her hoped he’d turn back, but no—he was already halfway down the street. She almost dropped the bags in frustration, but instead, she carried on mechanically. By the time she reached their building, she collapsed onto the bench outside, exhausted. The hurt gnawed at her. He hadn’t just upset her—he’d humiliated her. And the worst part? He *knew* what he was doing.
“Hello, love!” Mrs. Wilkins’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilkins,” Emily replied weakly.
The elderly woman, who had known Emily since she was a child, lived a floor below and had been a dear friend to her late grandmother. Now, she was the closest thing Emily had to family—her mother lived in Manchester with her new husband and children, and her father had never been in the picture.
Without hesitation, Emily handed the bags over. “Here, take these.”
Mrs. Wilkins’s eyes lit up at the sight of the tinned salmon, custard creams, and other treats—luxuries she rarely allowed herself on her pension. She was so touched, Emily felt guilty for not bringing her more often.
After a warm goodbye, Emily headed upstairs. The moment she stepped inside, Thomas appeared, chewing on a biscuit.
“Where are the bags?” he asked casually.
“What bags?” she replied, matching his tone. “The ones you helped me carry?”
“Oh, come off it!” he laughed. “You’re not seriously upset, are you?”
“No,” she said calmly. “I’ve just figured things out.”
His smile vanished. He’d expected shouting, tears—not this quiet finality. And somehow, that unnerved him more.
“And what have you figured out?”
“I don’t have a husband,” she sighed. “I thought I’d married a man. Turns out I married a fool.”
“Pardon?” He feigned offence.
“What’s confusing? I want a husband—not another child to look after.”
His face darkened, fists clenching, but Emily was already in the bedroom, tossing his clothes into a holdall.
He protested, baffled. “It was just a few bags! You’re blowing this out of proportion!”
“At least you’ll carry your own bag now,” she said coldly, steering him to the door.
She knew this was just the beginning. If she let it slide, his behaviour would only worsen. So she cut it short—and locked the door behind him.
