«Your times up,» said her husband, pointing to the door.
«I told you not to smoke in the house!» Emily flung open the living room windows, waving the curtains in exasperation. «God, even the sofa reeks. What will Margaret and her husband think when they come for dinner?»
«What will they think?» David stubbed his cigarette out with deliberate force. «Theyll think a normal bloke lives hereone who occasionally enjoys a smoke. Big deal.»
«Normal blokes, David, smoke on the balcony or outside. Not poison their families with second-hand fumes. My head aches every time you light up in here.»
«Here we go.» David rolled his eyes. «Twenty-five years married to a smoker, no complaints. Now suddenly, its migraines galore. Maybe its the menopause, love?»
Emily pressed her lips together. Lately, hed been needling her about age and its so-called «symptoms» like clockworkalways knowing where to stick the knife.
«Whats that got to do with anything?» She turned to the window to hide the sting in her eyes. «Im just asking for basic respect. Is it really so hard to step outside?»
«Respect?» He snorted. «Wheres yours for me? I come home from work, want a cuppa and a fag in my own chairnot dance attendance like some schoolboy. Its *my* house!»
«*Our* house,» she corrected quietly.
«Oh, right, *ours*,» he conceded with a sneer. «Though *I* pay the mortgage. *I* paid for the new conservatory. *I* bought that posh coat of yours last winter.»
Emily inhaled sharply. This old tune. True, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the kids, then caring for his mother, then well, shed just settled into being at home. And David had settled into holding it over her.
«I dont want another row,» she said wearily. «Just please smoke on the balcony. Margarets asthmaticitll be agony for her.»
«Fine,» he snapped, oddly compliant. «For your precious Margaret, Ill martyr myself on the balcony tonight. But only tonight.»
He heaved himself up and stalked toward the bedroom, tossing over his shoulder:
«By the way, whyd you invite them? Big meeting tomorrowI need sleep, not entertaining your dull friends.»
«Theyre not *just* friends,» Emily said. «Richards the head librarian. He might help me with a job.»
David froze in the doorway. «A *what*?»
Emily hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, once things were settled. Now shed have to explain.
«I want to work at the library,» she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. «Three days a week, part-time. The kids are grown, youre never homeI need something to do.»
«And wholl run the house?» he cut in. «Wholl cook, clean, do the laundry?»
«Ill manage. The kids barely visit nowless cooking»
«Less cooking, but your mum pops round every week demanding shepherds pie and roast dinners,» he grumbled.
«Mum *helps*,» Emily shot back. «And she doesnt come *that* often.»
«Couldnt care less if she moved in,» David waved a hand. «But this job nonsenseits a midlife crisis, Em. Youre forty-seven. Stay home, take up knitting, read your books»
«*My* books?» Her voice trembled. «David, did you forget I have a *degree* in English lit? That I taught it before the kids? That I had a *first*?»
«Oh, brilliant,» he drawled, flopping back into his chair. «Because employers are clamouring for 90s graduates with zero recent experience. Where dyou think youll go with that?»
«To the *library*,» she repeated. «I dont want a fortune, David. I want purpose. To feel like Im more than just your housekeeper and shirt-ironer.»
«Cheers for that,» he smirked. «So home and family arent worthy enough for the great Emily Whitmore?»
«You know thats not what I meant,» she said, exhausted. «Lets talk later. Guests are coming.»
She fled to the kitchen, heart pounding. Every conversation now was a minefield. When had it started? Theyd met at uniboth bookish, dreaming over Keats in the student bar. Hed written terrible poetry; shed adored it. Then came marriage, Sophie, then Tom. David climbed the ranks at the publishing house. Shed stayed home, her own books gathering dust on shelves.
She hadnt noticed him changingthe romantic boy hardening into a cynical man who worked late and asked her nothing. By the time she did, they were strangers sharing a kettle.
Margaret and Richard arrived promptly at seven. Richarda bear of a man with a woolly beardimmediately cornered David to debate politics. Margaret, birdlike and sharp-eyed at sixty, followed Emily to the kitchen.
«Howd the job talk go?» she asked, dicing cucumbers.
«Badly,» Emily sighed.
«Hardly surprising,» Margaret shrugged. «Men hate anything that threatens their routine.»
«But nothing *changes*! Ill still do everythingjust three afternoons out»
«To him, thats the apocalypse,» Margaret chuckled. «Imagine: he comes home, and youre *not there*. The horror!»
They laughed, the tension easing. Margaret always steadied her.
Dinner began civilly. David was charm itself, joking, asking Richard about new releases. Emily dared to hopemaybe hed just been in a mood earlier.
«Speaking of books,» Margaret said brightly, «have you told David about the reading group?»
«What group?» Davids fork hovered.
Emily stiffened. «Iwe discussed me running a childrens lit circle. At the library.»
«And when,» David said slowly, «was this meant to start?»
«Next month,» Margaret plowed on, oblivious. «Twice weekly, two-hour sessions»
«Fascinating,» David set his fork down. «And were you *planning* to consult me?»
«I *tried* today,» Emily whispered.
«Mustve missed that memo,» David turned to their guests. «Emilys developed a *sudden* passion for employment. Personally, I think forty-sevens a tad late for career epiphanies.»
«Why?» Richard frowned. «Emilys highly qualifiedwed be lucky to have her.»
«Perhaps,» David smiled thinly. «But she has obligations. To her *husband*.»
«David,» Emilys cheeks burned. «Not now.»
«Why not?» He spread his hands. «Were all adults. Lets be clear: I wont have my wife working. Full stop.»
Silence. Margaret stared at her wine. Richard coughed.
«Lovely quiche, Emily,» he blurted. «Margaret, you must get the recipe.»
The rest of the evening limped alongweather, headlines, anything but *the topic*. When the guests left, Emily wordlessly cleared plates.
«How long were you hiding this?» David loomed in the doorway.
«I wasnt *hiding* it. I was waiting for the right time.»
«And when was that? After youd signed the contract?»
«I dont understand this rage,» she said. «Its a *job*, David. Not an affair. Not a crime.»
«To me, its betrayal,» he said coldly. «We agreed: youd mind the home, Id provide. That was the deal.»
«That deal was *twenty years ago*! The kids are gone, Ive got nothing but time»
«Nothing?» He stepped closer. «So home, husband*nothing*? Youre bored? Want freedom? New *friends*?»
«Whats *that* supposed to mean?»
«Ive seen it at work,» he sneered. «Women find themselves, then find someone *else*.»
«Christ, David,» she gaped. «You think Ill shag a librarian between shelving Dickens and wiping toddlers noses?»
«I think,» he said icily, «you wont work. End of.»
Something in her snapped. This was it. No more begging. No more shrinking.
«Actually,» she said softly, «I *am* taking the job. Ill call Richard tomorrow.»
Davids jaw dropped. «*What* did you say?»
«Im working. Not for money. Not for an escape. To remember Im a *person*not just your live-in maid.»
«Well then.» He nodded slowly. «Youve decided. Without me.»
«I tried deciding *with* you. You wouldnt listen.»
«Right.» He turned on his heel.
She heard him stomping around, muttering. Then he returned, clutching her handbag and coat.
«Your times up,» he said, thrusting them at her. «If you make decisions alone, you can *live* alone. Get out.»
«*What*? Youre *evicting* me over a *library job*?»
«Im evicting you for betrayal,» he spat. «For trampling our vows. For choosing *yourself* over *us*.»
«What vows? Love, honour, and obey went out with the bloody *Dark Ages*!» She blinked back tears. «This isnt about vowsits about *control*. You cant stand me having one inch of life you dont dictate!»
«Go weave macramé if youre bored!» he roared. «But the deal stands: I work, you *home*. Simple.»
He shoved the coat at her. «Since Im so *dull*, maybe *Margaret*ll put you up.»
Mechanically, she slid her arms into the coat. It felt surreallike a bad telly drama. Theyd rowed before, but hed never *thrown her out*.
«Are you serious?» She searched his face. «*Really*?»
«Deadly.» His eyes were flint. «Go.»
She took a shaky breath, stepped toward the door, then turned.
«Know whats saddest? You never asked *why* I need this.» Her voice broke. «You just *ordered*. Like Im chattel, not your *wife*.»
«Enlighten me,» he sneered.
«Because Im terrified,» she whispered. «That one day, you wont come home. That youll leave me for that *assistant* youve been working late with for months. And Ill be fifty, jobless, alonebecause I gave *everything* to you. To *this*.»
David recoiled. «*What* assistant?»
«*Lucy*,» she said flatly. «You take her calls on the *balcony*. But walls are thin, David. And Im not deaf.»
She opened the door. The hallway was quiet, save for the neighbours jazz drifting down.
On the pavement, the night air was cool, crisp. She inhaled deeplyand felt, absurdly, *free*.
Pulling out her phone, she dialled Margaret.
«Marg? Its Emily. Sorry its late Yes, we talked. Can I come over? Now?»
Walking toward the bus stop, she marvelled at lifes absurdity. This morning, shed imagined decades more in that house, with that man. Now she was stepping into the unknownand it felt like *breathing* for the first time.
Her phone buzzed in her bag. *David*.
She paused. Then declined the call and switched it off.
Her time *was* up. Time for fear, for silence, for begging scraps of his regard. Whatever came nextit would be *hers*.
And she was ready.
