28April2025 London
My wife, Natalie, had just started to load her belongings into the battered leather suitcase thats been in the loft ever since our honeymoon in the Lake District. I could hear the soft thud of each cardigan, each pair of denim, as I pulled them from the wardrobe without a word. My hands moved on autopilot, as if Id rehearsed this scene a hundred times.
Dont be serious, Simon, she snapped, its Tuesday shes got school tomorrow!
I didnt answer. I only said, Your mother will pick her up after lessons, Ive already arranged it.
What did you arrange without me? she asked, eyes flashing.
Natalie stood in the centre of the bedroom, watching me fold the last sweater into the suitcase. The room smelled faintly of lavender from the sachets Id placed there years ago.
Im not saying anything is happening, I said calmly. Just that Irene is staying with us for a week. She needs a quiet room you know she cant stand any noise. And weve got Ethel, our daughter, running around all day, blasting music.
Ethel could stay in a hotel! I heard Natalie hiss. Or on the couch!
I finally lifted my gaze to meet hers. In her eyes I saw something Id never noticed before a cold distance.
No couch, I said. My sister will be in the spare bedroom. This is my house, Simon, bought with my money.
My house, she whispered.
Mine, I snapped. I decide who lives here.
The words felt like a hammer striking a nail. Twentythree years of marriage, twentythree years of raising a child, cooking, cleaning, waiting for me to come home, now reduced to a packet of clothes in a suitcase, as if she were a temporary tenant.
How long? she asked, voice trembling. How long will I have to stay with my mother?
Probably a week, maybe two, I replied. Irene hasnt decided yet. It depends on how things go.
What things? Shes on holiday!
I slammed the suitcase shut, zipped it, and headed for the door. Pack up. Ill drive you to your mothers in an hour.
She watched me leave, the weight of the old suitcase a stark reminder of the wedding trip we once took to the coast. Back then it had been brandnew, gleaming, stuffed with my shirts and her dresses. Now it was the instrument of her exile.
When Natalie reached the front door, my mother, Margaret, was waiting with a sour expression.
So, finally decided to run away? she sneered.
Mother, please, Natalie muttered, dragging the suitcase into the flat.
I told you this would happen, Margaret replied, voice flat. I warned you when you married, when we bought the house in his name. If youd listened, you wouldnt be here.
Margaret, now seventyfour, was a woman of strict rules and even stricter judgments. She had kept a sharp mind all her life, and her words cut deep.
Just a night, Mum, Natalie pleaded. Ill be back soon.
Sure, a night, Margaret said. Everyone knows those stories. First a week, then a month, and before you know it youre filing for divorce. Your sisters here the same one who disappeared five years ago?
Natalie said nothing. She slipped into the spare room, now turned into a storage area for magazines and Margarets knitting supplies. The single narrow bed from her youth was still there.
Have a cup of tea, Margaret softened a little, noticing Natalies pale face. You look faint. No breakfast yet?
Im not hungry.
Ten minutes later, Natalie was sitting at the kitchen table with a strong mug of tea and a buttered toast, while Margaret watched her intently.
Somethings up, Margaret said. He wouldnt just push you out for no reason.
He just asked to stay with you, Natalie replied.
Men dont evict their wives without a cause. Either another woman, or money troubles.
He doesnt have anyone else.
How would you know? Youre at home all day while hes at work from dawn till dusk. Did you check his phone?
Mother
Youre naive, always have been.
Natalie finished her tea and stood. I need to get Ethel from school. Shes out at three.
Simon promised to pick her up.
Ill do it myself.
Ethel burst into the hallway in her school uniform, her chestnut hair bouncing, her grey eyes narrowed at the sight of the suitcase.
Mum? Wheres Dad? she asked. He was supposed to pick me up.
Ive decided to go, Natalie said, pulling Ethel close. Lets talk.
We walked through the park, leaves turning amber, and I could hear Ethels voice, steady as a drum.
Hes kicked you out, she said.
Its not that
Mum, Im fifteen, not five. I understand. Hes thrown you out of the house, and me with him.
Dont say that, love.
Ethel turned to me, her little face set. How should I speak? The truth? Dads been acting strange. He hides his phone, goes out at night. Did you see that?
I was silent.
Two nights ago I heard him laughing in the bathroom, as if he were talking to someone.
I felt my stomach drop.
What was he laughing about? I asked, voice flat.
I didnt hear the words, just the tone. When was the last time you heard him laugh like that?
I stared at the ground, unable to recall.
Back at Margarets flat, the two of them had already laid out both beds and cooked a hearty stew.
Bangers and mash, love, Margaret announced, then a good romance film.
Id rather stay in my room and do homework, Ethel muttered, dropping her backpack.
Its a holiday, you should rest, Margaret replied.
Ethel slipped away, leaving Natalie and Margaret alone over a steaming bowl of stew, thick and comforting.
Shes sharp, you know, Margaret whispered. You cant hide anything from her.
We ate in silence. I could feel the weight of each spoonful as if it were a reminder of my choices.
Give him a call, Margaret suggested abruptly. Ask about his sister. Show youre not giving up.
I dont want to call, Natalie said.
But you must. You cant let a man run free without oversight.
She didnt call. The next day, a friend named Susan rang.
Natalie, where have you disappeared to? Ive called you a hundred times!
Sorry, my phone was on silent.
Is it true Simons seeing some other woman?
Natalie froze.
What? Where did you hear that?
Susan saw them in the new bistro on Kensington High Street, holding hands, kissing his hand. She thought it was his sister, but the woman was about thirty, not a relative.
The line went dead. Natalies hands trembled. The truth was finally staring her in the face.
Later, Margaret asked, Do you want to go back home?
No, Mum, Natalie said quietly. I need to collect something.
She left the flat, took the bus, and tried to calm the racing thoughts. Perhaps it was a mistake, perhaps Susan had misread. Yet the scent of expensive perfume drifting from the upstairs flat told her otherwise.
At the top of the stairs, a sleek white sedan waited. Natalie slipped her key into the lock, her fingers shaking. The hallway smelled of highend fragrance she had never worn. From the living room came a soft female giggle.
She stepped cautiously into the doorway. On the couch sat a young woman with long blonde hair, barefoot in a white robe, a glass of wine and a plate of fruit on the coffee table. Beside her, Simon ran his hand over her arm, speaking low.
You promised she wouldnt be back for a week, the woman said softly.
Shes at her mothers, Simon replied. The daughters there too.
Will she ever know? the woman asked, eyes glittering.
Ill sort the paperwork on the house first, Simon answered, smiling.
Natalie felt the world tilt. Traitor, she whispered, the word echoing in the empty hallway.
The woman, Ruth, kissed Simon on the cheek.
Soon, she whispered. Soon well be alone.
Natalie turned and fled, her shoes clanging against the wooden stairs. Simons voice called after her, Natalie? but she didnt look back. She sprinted down the hallway, past the staircase, out onto the street, gasping for breath as strangers stared.
She made it home just before night fell. Margaret met her at the door, eyes wide with worry.
What happened?
Natalie slipped inside, stripped off her coat, and collapsed on the bed.
Later, Susan visited with a solicitor, Marina Patel, who offered a free first consultation. Marina explained that even though the property was in Simons name, it had been bought during the marriage and therefore counted as marital assets. With a minor child, the courts would likely side with Natalie.
Do you have funds for a case? Marina asked.
I have nothing, Natalie replied.
Dont worry. If we win, hell have to cover the costs.
For the first time in weeks, a flicker of hope sparked.
But that evening, Ethel burst in, eyes red, voice shaking.
Dad called. He said if you dont give up the house hell take away our parental rights.
What? Margaret said, disbelief in her tone.
Hell say Im an unfit mother, that hell split us up.
Natalie felt the ground give way.
Just a bluff, Margaret said stubbornly. He wont dare.
Yet Natalie knew Simon could swing any door he wanted.
That night, she lay awake, thinking of the house, of Ethel, of a future that might never include either. She realised the house meant nothing compared to her daughters safety.
In the morning she called Simon.
Ill let the house stay with you, she said, voice steady.
Silence.
At least arrange child support for Ethel, he finally replied.
I dont need your money. Just leave us alone.
She hung up. Margaret asked, What have you done?
I chose, Natalie said. Between a roof and my child.
Your right is to protect Ethel, Margaret said, not to cling to a house that costs you your soul.
Natalie began looking for work. At fortyfive, with a gap in her résumé, it wasnt easy, but a job as a shop assistant in a boutique on Oxford Street opened up. The pay was modest, but it was a start.
The first weeks were exhausting endless feet, demanding customers, a strict manager. Yet each day she grew stronger, more confident.
Margaret beamed when Natalie brought home her first paycheck.
Youve made me proud, she said.
Ethel helped around the flat, kept up good grades, and even smiled more. Mum, I like it here, she said one evening. It feels safe, and were together.
Three months later, Natalie was promoted to senior sales associate. Her salary increased, and she began saving for a tiny flat of her own.
One afternoon, Simon walked into the boutique with Ruth, browsing dresses. Ruth tried one on, twirling before a mirror, while Simon watched admiringly.
Natalie approached with a professional smile.
Good afternoon, how can I help?
Simons eyes widened when he recognized her.
Natalie? You work here?
Yes, she replied evenly. What can I do for you?
Ruth examined Natalie curiously, expecting a broken woman. Instead she saw a composed, welldressed employee.
That dress looks nice on you, Natalie said to Ruth. Maybe a size smaller would suit you better.
Ruth blushed, thanked her, and left with the dress. Simon lingered a moment longer, a flicker of regret in his gaze.
That night, Natalie recounted the encounter to Margaret and Ethel.
So you felt okay? Ethel asked.
Strangely liberated, Natalie admitted.
Margaret nodded. You let go at last.
Now, after twentythree years of a marriage that turned sour, I sit here writing this entry. I have lost a house, a husband, and a part of my past, but I have gained independence, a steady income, and the unwavering support of my mother and daughter. The lesson I carry forward is simple: never let a roof define your worth. Ones true home is built on selfrespect and the people who love you, not on walls and titles.
