«Your time’s up,» said the husband, pointing to the door.
«Ugh, that smell! I asked you not to smoke in the house!» Emma threw open the living room windows, yanking the curtains aside in irritation. «For heaven’s sake, even the sofa reeks. What will Lydia and her husband think when they come for dinner?»
«And what *will* they think?» Daniel stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray with deliberate defiance. «Theyll think a normal bloke lives here who happens to smoke. Big deal.»
«Normal blokes, Daniel, smoke on the balcony or outside. Not poison their family with second-hand fumes. I get headaches from your smoking.»
«Here we go,» Daniel rolled his eyes. «Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and suddenly now its a problem. Maybe its the menopause, love?»
Emma stiffened, lips pressed tight. Hed been bringing up her age more often lately, as if trying to jab where it hurt mostand somehow, he always hit the mark.
«Whats that got to do with anything?» She turned to the window to hide the tears pricking her eyes. «Im just asking for basic respect. Is it really so hard to step outside?»
«Respect?» He scoffed. «Wheres *your* respect for me? After work, I just want to sit in my chair, have a cuppa, and smokenot run in and out like some kid. This is *my* house!»
«*Our* house,» Emma corrected quietly.
«Yeah, fine, ours,» he grumbled. «Except *I* pay the mortgage. *I* paid for the renovation. *I* bought that new coat of yours last winter.»
Emma took a slow breath. Shed heard this a thousand times. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the kids, then caring for his mother, then… well, shed just settled into being a homemaker. And Daniel had settled into holding it over her head.
«I dont want to argue,» she said tiredly. «Just please smoke on the balcony. Lydias asthmaticitll be hard for her to breathe.»
«Fine,» Daniel conceded unexpectedly. «For your precious Lydia, Ill step outside. But just for tonight.» He pushed out of his chair and headed to the bedroom, tossing over his shoulder, «And whyd you even invite them? Ive got an early meeting tomorrowI need sleep, not to entertain your dull friends.»
«Theyre not just *friends*,» Emma countered. «Michaels the head librarian. He might help me find work.»
Daniel froze in the doorway and slowly turned. «What *work*?»
Emma flinched. Shed meant to tell him later, once things were settled. Now she had no choice.
«I want a job at the library,» she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. «Three days a week, part-time. The kids are grown, youre always at the officeI need something to do.»
«And wholl run the house?» he cut in. «Wholl cook, clean, do the laundry?»
«Ill manage,» she said, attempting a smile. «Its not full-time. The kids hardly visit now, so its not a lot of cooking»
«Your mums here every other week,» he muttered. «Always expecting a roast or a pie.»
«Mum *helps*,» Emma shot back. «And she doesnt come *that* often.»
«Whatever. But this job nonsenseits a midlife crisis, Em. Youre forty-seven. Stay home, do your knitting, read your books»
«*My books*?» Her voice sharpened. «Daniel, have you forgotten I have a *degree* in English lit? That I taught before the kids were born?»
«So? That was twenty years ago,» he dropped back into his chair. «Times change. No one cares about your old qualifications now.»
«The library does,» she said stubbornly. «I dont need a fortune, Daniel. I need *purpose*. To feel like Im more than just your housekeeper.»
«Oh, lovely,» he sneered. «So our home, our familythats *nothing* to you?»
«You know thats not what I meant,» she sighed. This was exhausting. «Lets talk later. Weve got guests coming.»
She retreated to the kitchen, heart pounding. Every conversation with Daniel lately turned into a battle. She didnt know when it startedjust that one day, shed realised they no longer spoke the same language. He didnt *hear* her anymore.
It hadnt always been like this. Theyd met at universityboth bookish, both in love with words. Daniel wrote poetry; she adored it. Then came marriage, first Sophie, then Jack. Daniel climbed the ranks at the publishing house. Emma stayed homewith the kids, the chores, the books shed barely had time to touch in years.
Somewhere along the way, the romantic boy shed married became this cynical, tired man who came home late and stopped asking about her thoughts, her dreams. By the time she noticed, it was too late. They were strangers under one roof.
Lydia and Michael arrived promptly at seven. Michaela burly man with a salt-and-pepper beardlaunched into politics with Daniel, while Lydia, a petite, lively woman in her sixties, joined Emma in the kitchen.
«Howd Daniel take the job talk?» Lydia asked, slicing tomatoes.
«He didnt,» Emma sighed.
«Course not,» Lydia shrugged. «Men hate change. Especially if it inconveniences them.»
«But nothing *changes*,» Emma pulled the shepherds pie from the oven. «Ill still do everythingjust three afternoons out.»
«To him, thats the apocalypse,» Lydia chuckled. «*Imagine*: he comes home, and youre not there. The horror!»
They laughed, and Emma felt the tension ease. Lydia had always been her anchor.
Dinner started civilly enough. Daniel was charming, even joking, asking Michael about new releases. Emma began to relaxmaybe todays fight was just a mood.
«Speaking of books,» Lydia turned to Emma, «have you told Daniel about the reading group?»
«What group?» Daniels smile didnt reach his eyes.
Emma hesitated. «We discussed… me running a childrens book club. At the library.»
«And when was *that* supposed to happen?» Danger laced his tone.
«Next month,» Lydia answered brightly, oblivious. «Twice a week, two-hour sessions. Barely any time.»
«Fascinating,» Daniel set down his fork. «Were you planning to *mention* this to me?»
«I tried today,» Emma said quietly.
«Mustve missed the *discussion*,» Daniel addressed the guests. «You see, Emmas developed a sudden *passion* for work. I, however, think starting a career at her age is… unwise.»
«Why?» Michael frowned. «Emmas highly educatedwed be lucky to have her.»
«Perhaps,» Daniel nodded. «But she has *responsibilities*. To her family. To *me*.»
«Daniel,» Emmas cheeks burned. «Not in front of»
«Why not?» He spread his hands. «Were all adults. Lets be clear: I wont have my wife working. Period.»
Silence. Lydia glanced at Michael, who coughed and said, «This pie is excellent, Emma. Lydia, you should get the recipe.»
The rest of the evening was strained chatter about weather and headlines. When the guests left, Emma wordlessly cleared the table.
«How long were you keeping this from me?» Daniel blocked the kitchen doorway, arms crossed.
«I *wasnt*,» she stacked plates. «I just wanted the right time.»
«And when would that be? *After* youd started?»
«I dont get why youre so angry,» she turned to him. «Its just a *job*, Daniel. Not an affair. Not a crime.»
«To me, its betrayal,» he said coldly. «We agreed: youd keep the home, Id provide. That was the deal.»
«That deal was *twenty years ago*!» Emmas voice cracked. «The kids are gone, Ive got *nothing*I need to feel *useful*!»
«So home isnt enough?» He stepped closer. «Admit ityoure bored. Want *freedom*. New *friends*?»
«What friends?» She stared. «This is about *me*, not»
«Spare me,» he cut in. «Ive seen women like you at the office. First its work, then office flings, then divorce.»
«Christ, Daniel,» she gaped. «You think Ill take a *lover* at a *library*? Between dusty books and elderly readers?»
«Im just saying,» he shrugged. «Youre not working. End of story.»
Something in Emma snapped. This was it. The end of the conversation, the end of hopemaybe the end of *them*.
«Actually,» she said softly, «I *am* taking the job. Ill call Michael tomorrow.»
Daniel blinked. «*What*?»
«Im working,» she repeated, an odd lightness filling her. «Not for money or *friends*. To feel like a *person* again, not just your housekeeper.»
«Right,» he nodded slowly. «So youve decided. Without me.»
«I tried deciding *with* you. You wouldnt listen.»
«Brilliant,» he spun on his heel and left.
She heard him muttering, stomping around. Then he returned, clutching her handbag and coat.
«Your times up,» he said, pointing to the door. «If you make choices without me, you can live without me. *Go*.»
«Youre *kicking me out*? Over a *library job*?»
«Im kicking you out for *betrayal*,» he spat. «For lying. For putting yourself above *us*.»
«*Lying*?» Tears welled. «Its a *part-time* job, Daniel! Youre at the office all day, the kids are gonewhat am I supposed to do? Bake cakes for an empty house?»
«Take up *knitting*!» he roared. «Our deal was *simple*. I work, you stay home.»
He shoved the coat at her. «If Im so *boring*, go stay with Lydia.»
Mechanically, she slipped on the coat. This couldnt be real. Theyd fought before, but hed never *thrown her out*.
«Youre serious?» She searched his face. «*Over this*?»
«Dead serious,» he said coldly. «Go.»
She took a breath and stepped forward. Then paused.
«The saddest part?» she said quietly. «You never *asked* why I need this. You just *ordered*. Like Im your property.»
«*Why*, then?» he challenged.
«Because Im terrified,» she whispered. «Terrified youll leave me for that *editor* you stay late withthe one who calls every night. You think I dont hear you whispering on the balcony?»
Daniel paled. «*What* editor?»
«*Olivia*,» Emma said calmly. Then she walked out, shutting the door softly behind her.
The stairwell was quiet, save for the jazz floating from the flat above. Outside, the night air was crisp. She inhaled deeplyand felt, inexplicably, *free*.
Pulling out her phone, she dialled Lydia. «Its me. Sorry its late… Yes, we talked. Can I come over?»
As she walked to the bus stop, she marvelled at lifes twists. This morning, shed assumed shed spend her remaining years in that house, with this man, in this loop of chores and fights. Now she was stepping into the unknownand it felt *lighter* than anything in years.
Her phone buzzed. *Daniel*. She hesitated, then declined the call and powered it off.
Her time *was* up. The time of fear, of silence, of bending. Now came something newhers alone. And she was ready.
