06November2025
Today the Nachev family invited us over, and I was told to whip up something special or order innothing ordinary, of course. While fastening a silk scarf around my neck and adding the final touches to my businesswoman look, I barked orders at Andrew, my husband, about the house. Theres a layer of dust on the balcony table; the laptops going to disappear under it. Wipe it down.
He replied calmly from the kitchen, You stopped working there, so the dust is building up. He had a kitchen towel draped over his broad shoulder, a freshly washed childrens mug in his hand, and a cotton apron over his tee. He leaned in to kiss me on the cheekmy lips already made upbut I brushed him away, irritated.
Do I have to grind at home too? Isnt the office enough? I snapped.
When you worked from home we actually saw you, he said.
Thank God thats over, I declared, slinging my handbag strap over my shoulder with a selfsatisfied grin. Clear the table, do the laundry, vacuum, tidy the toys, cook dinnerplease, can I get a thank you?
He sighed, Come on, love, the washing machine does the dishes, the robot vac does the floor, and the girlswell, theyre just being kids.
Fine, if you think so. Im more useful at work than at home. Someone has to bring in the money, I muttered, then stormed out, slamming the door behind me.
My mornings are scheduled to the minute: up at six, a quick jog (Ive only recently taken it up), a contrast shower, breakfast, and then makeup and hair on the go. The traffic in central London is a nightmare, but I leave early enough that nothing usually holds me up, as was the case today.
A year ago Andrews mornings were similar, except he skipped the workout and lingered a few extra minutes in the warm bed with me. His office was just a short commute away, no traffic to worry about. By six or seven hed be home, helping me with dinner or tidying up, playing with the girls, and often putting the little ones to bed before I finished any household chores.
Everything changed a year ago. Our youngest, Lucy, started nursery two years ago; the endless sniffles of the adjustment period are now behind us. Our eldest, Emily, is in Year4 and walks to the nearby school on her own, even takes the tram to dance lessonstwo stops, which I taught her to manage. I was offered a return to my old office job; I hesitated because home was comfortable, but I craved the buzz of a workplace and the promise of a quick promotion, so I accepted.
Three months later I received my first raise, then another, plus extra perks and a flexible, uncapped schedule that I loved. The kids barely saw me, but everyone understood; Andrew explained the situation. I could hardly keep up as a housewife, mother, and wife. I arrived home exhausted and late.
Andrew and I finally sat down and talked. He never meant to gripe about me; there was never any talk of me quitting. We decided to swap roles: I would focus on work without looking over the household, and Andrew would quit his job and take on the thankless domestic side of family life.
Eventually youll find something remote, I urged him at first, feeling a bit ashamed that he, a man, would have to make porridge, hang the laundry, iron, collect Lucy from nursery, drive her to the dentist, and take the younger one to the speech therapist. Youll manage, I know it.
Youre brilliant, he whispered, planting a kiss on my forehead. Those were some of our last shared evenings. Youre doing great at work and at home, love, he praised me.
Andrew settled into his new routine quickly. The constant texts and calls from me about what to wash, who to pick up, and when to be ready stopped. He handled the chores without complaint; the girls didnt irritate him the way they did me after a long day. Meanwhile, my company valued me, my colleagues and boss trusted me with any task, and my career took off. The compromise let me thrive both as a professional and as a woman. I was proud, soaring.
You’re late, dinners getting cold, the girls greeted me as I walked in from work. I untied the silk scarf again, trying to shake off the days relentless pressure. Is the Nachev family not coming?
What? I snapped, annoyed. Youre being ridiculous.
You said? I glared at Andrew, almost contemptuous, as if he were a subordinate overstepping his bounds.
I told you it was for the weekend!
You mentioned today.
Andrew, have you forgotten how to listen to me? I hissed, moving into the living room. Whats this mess? Why didnt you change Lucys clothes? Who snagged the curtain? I tugged at the fabric, Did the kids play ball inside again? You cant do that in the house!
Andrew, Emily, and Lucy stood mute, unsure how to defend themselves. It had become a frequent scene lately.
Is this how you welcome guests? I gestured at the chaos.
They have kids too; theyll understandwe were just playing.
Honestly, Andrew! Look at yourself: unshaven, stretched shirt, dazed eyes.
He tried to stay light, winking at the girls, but I was beyond joking.
Lets go to the kitchen; well feed you. Exhausted? he asked gently.
Yes! Im fed up with this attitude! Cant you just do what I ask? Even a fool could manage. You cant earn and you cant handle a mop and dirty plates.
A flash of anger crossed his face, but he didnt argue in front of the children. I slipped into the kitchen, ready to find more faults.
You ordered dinner, didnt you think of me? I hate spicy, greasy food. Make me tea, Im starving.
Make it yourself! he snapped, hoisting Lucy onto his back and lifting Emily like a feather. Were off to brush teeth, its late, bedtime soon. Tomorrow school and nursery. By the way, Lucys photoshoot was last week; the pictures have been on the mantel for two days. You didnt even notice.
They left, chattering. The bathroom was filled with the childrens chatter and water splashing for a few minutes, then the nursery door shut and silence fell. Ten minutes later Andrew returned to the kitchen. I was still at the table, swallowing my resentment, my tea still cold.
Calmed down? he asked. Whats wrong? Work?
No! Work is fine, its home thats a mess.
Nina, youre losing it! Andrew leaned in, staring straight into my eyes. Im not your assistant, not your secretary, not a subordinate. I never nagged you over trivial things when you were at home, even though there were reasons. Youre not a robot; you can slip up, thats okay. Well sort it out together.
Its easy for you to say! I used to juggle the girls and work from home. Now theyre older, they understand. You always said the dishwasher does the dishes, the washing machine washes, we can order foodwhy cant you handle basic tasks?
His lips trembled with fury, but he kept his composure.
What have you become? A doormat, a nobody, a househusband. Youll soon grow a belly to match.
Nina!
Dont shout, I see what you mean.
He stormed to the bedroom, grabbed a pillow, and headed for the living room, announcing over his shoulder, Im going back to work tomorrow. Find yourself another househelp.
You weaklinggiving up over a few dirty plates! I shouted after him.
He slung the pillow under his arm and left. I fumed, then realized he truly couldnt return to his old job yet; tomorrow wasnt an option. I didnt follow him that night, apologized in the morning, and agreed he should look for someone to pick up Lucy, drive the girls, etc. My wait a little stretched into three months; his dictatorial tone at home became normal. I left a daily chores list for him, checking each evening. Any missed item meant extra work for both him and the girls.
Tomorrow youll pick up Lucy yourself, Andrew declared one day.
And you?
I cant. Im meeting friends.
Unbelievable! Im at the office until nine or ten, and youre out drinking! I wont let you leave! I have a planning meeting at seven.
Im not asking permission; Im informing you. You have a meeting, then an emergency every day.
I said no!
He marched to the hall, putting on his coat.
Where are you going? I shouted down the corridor. I didnt let you go!
Im not your employee or housekeeper. Goodbye.
He slammed the door, and I hurled a string of insults after him. He didnt come back that night. In the morning I sent him a message with detailed instructions: who to collect, where, what to do. He didnt reply. Later that afternoon, out of the blue, the nursery called: Lucy was the only child left; I had to dash across the city to collect her, sending Andrew a furious text that went unanswered. He didnt return home that night.
I was furious, but not jealouswho needed him anyway? Men like him never left. Yet his silence continued, and I stopped trying to have a proper conversation; I just vented my negativity in texts. I forced myself to keep going. After two weeks I was exhausted, nerves frayed, sleepless, my boss unhappy, nannies turning down jobs one after another while I was stuck at work.
I called Andrew, demanding he come home.
Ill pick up the girls this weekend, but Im not coming back.
Youre serious? You liked living without stress? Im not going to shoulder your kids either.
Ive filed for divorce, he said, hanging up, knowing Id have nothing sane to say. My mouth went dry; I couldnt believe he could be so petty. The children heard my screams over the phone, calling me a wretch.
Later, Emily asked, holding up her white school blouse, Mum, how did you get these stains out? I cant wear it to class.
I just used the oxygen bleach, soaked it in hot water, then a fortyminute wash at forty degrees, I replied, pulling a blue packet from the washing machine. Its magic, love.
Youre a wizard, Emily giggled.
Dad used it on my sneakers and on Lucys dress too.
We could have thrown them away, Emily shrugged.
I remembered the endless tiny tasks at home and how Andrew had always taken care of them so I could focus on my career.
The divorce was final. I set a schedule for the girls time with me and with Dad. Andrew still had to collect Lucy from nursery and drive Emily wherever she needed to go, doing it quietly without hearing any of my managerial tirades.
Will Dad ever come back? Emily asked one day.
Hell always be around, but hes not needed by anyone else. Im fine without him, I replied confidently.
Emily walked away, understanding that Dad wasnt returning under these circumstances and that I wouldnt change.
A year after the split, Andrew got back on his old job, remarried, and started picking up the girls for a week at a time. That arrangement suited me. The only annoyance was that my exhusband, now a contented man without ambition, seemed to have landed on his feet quickly. I was successful, attractive, and stylish, yet no man stuck around past a few dates. I began to wonder what was wrong with me.
