«Your times up,» said the man, pointing to the door.
«Ugh, that smell again! I *told* you not to smoke in the house!» Emma flung open the living room windows, angrily swiping the curtains aside. «Good lord, even the sofa reeks. What will Margaret and her husband think when they come for dinner?»
«And what *will* they think?» Andrew deliberately stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. «Theyll think a normal bloke lives here who fancies a smoke now and then. Big deal.»
«Normal blokes, *Andrew*, smoke in the garden or on the balcony. Not poison the house with cigarette fumes. I get a headache every time you do this.»
«Here we go,» Andrew rolled his eyes. «Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and suddenly *now* its a problem. Maybe its the menopause, love.»
Emma froze, lips pressed tight. Lately, he kept throwing her age in her face, like it was some kind of weaponand it always hit its mark.
«Whats *that* got to do with anything?» She turned to the window to hide the tears welling up. «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 smoke. Not run back and forth like some kid. This is *my* house!»
«*Our* house,» she corrected softly.
«Yeah, *ours*,» he muttered. «Except *I* pay the mortgage. *I* paid for the renovation. *I* bought that fancy coat of yours.»
Emma exhaled sharply. Shed heard this a thousand times. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the kids, then caring for his mum, then well, shed just settled into being a homemaker. And Andrew had settled into holding it over her head.
«I dont want another row,» she said wearily. «Just please smoke on the balcony. Margarets asthmaticshell struggle to breathe.»
«Fine,» Andrew surprised her by agreeing. «For your precious Margaret, 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 a big 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.»
Andrew stopped dead in the doorway. «*What* work?»
Emma hesitated. 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 confidence into her voice. «Three days a week, just 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, dont worry,» she tried to smile. «Its not full-time. And the kids hardly visit now»
«Hardly visit? Your mums here every week,» he grumbled. «Expecting pies and roasts like clockwork.»
«Mum *helps* me,» Emma shot back. «And she doesnt come *that* often.»
«Couldnt care less if she came daily,» Andrew waved a hand. «But this job idea? Its daft, Em. Youre forty-seven. What employer wants that? Stay home, do your knitting, read your books»
«My *books*?» A surge of indignation rose in her chest. «Andrew, do you even remember I have a *degree* in English? That I taught literature before the kids came along?»
«Oh, *taught*, did you?» He flopped back into his chair. «That was twenty years ago. Its a different world now. Whod hire you with some old diploma?»
«The *library*,» she repeated stubbornly. «I dont need a fortune, Andrew. I need purpose. People. To feel like Im good for more than laundry and your dinners.»
«Cheers for that,» he sneered. «So home and familythats *nothing* to you? Not worthy of your brilliant mind?»
«You know thats not what I meant,» she sighed. This argument was exhausting. «Lets talk later. Weve got guests coming.»
She retreated to the kitchen, heart pounding. Lately, every conversation with Andrew turned into a fight. She didnt know when it startedjust that one day, she realized they spoke different languages. He didnt *hear* her. Didnt want to.
It hadnt always been like this. Theyd met at uniboth English students, both book-mad. Andrew wrote poetry; Emma adored it. Then came marriage, first Sophie, then Liam. Andrew landed a publishing job, climbed the ladder. Emma stayed homewith the kids, the chores, the books she barely had time to read anymore.
She hadnt noticed him changing. The dreamy boy becoming a cynical, tired man who worked late and stopped asking her thoughts. By the time she noticed, it was too late. They were strangers under one roof.
Margaret and Michael arrived at seven sharp. Michaela burly man with a bushy beardimmediately launched into politics with Andrew. Margaret, a sprightly woman in her sixties, followed Emma to the kitchen.
«Hows Andrew taking the job talk?» she asked, chopping salad.
«Badly,» Emma sighed. «Hes dead against it.»
«Well, what did you expect?» Margaret shrugged. «Men hate change. Especially if it inconveniences them.»
«But nothing would *change*,» Emma pulled a casserole from the oven. «Id still handle everythingjust be out a few hours a week.»
«To him, thats the apocalypse,» Margaret chuckled. «Imaginehe comes home, and youre *not there*. The horror!»
They laughed, and Emma felt some tension ease. Margaret had always been her rock.
Dinner started smoothly. Andrew was charm itself, joking with Michael about new bestsellers. Emma relaxedmaybe todays outburst was just a mood.
«Speaking of books,» Margaret turned to Emma. «Have you told Andrew about the reading group idea?»
«What idea?» Andrew looked up from his plate.
«Well» Emma hesitated. «We discussed me running a childrens book club. At the library.»
«And when was *this* meant to start?» Andrews voice turned dangerous.
«Next month,» Margaret answered obliviously. «Twice a week, two hours. Barely anything.»
«Fascinating,» Andrew set down his fork. «Were you planning to *consult* me?»
«I *tried* today,» Emma said quietly.
«Dont recall a proper discussion,» Andrew addressed the guests. «You see, Emmas suddenly obsessed with working. But at her age, starting a career is unwise.»
«Why?» Michael looked baffled. «Emmas highly educated. We *need* people like her.»
«Maybe,» Andrew nodded. «But shes got responsibilities. To her family. To *me*.»
«Andrew,» Emma flushed with humiliation. «Not in front of»
«Why not?» He glared around the table. «Were all adults. Lets be clear: I wont have my wife working. Full stop.»
Silence fell. Margaret shot her husband a helpless look; he coughed and changed the subject.
The rest of the evening passed in stiff small talk. When the guests left, Emma wordlessly cleared the table.
«How long were you going to hide this from me?» Andrew loomed in the doorway.
«I wasnt *hiding* it,» she stacked plates. «I was waiting for the right time.»
«And when was that? After youd *started*?»
«I dont get why youre so angry,» she turned to face him. «Its just a *job*, Andrew. Not an affair. Not a crime.»
«To me, its betrayal,» he said coldly. «We agreedyoud keep house, Id provide. That was the deal.»
«That was *twenty years ago*!» Emma cried. «The kids are grown! Ive got time nowI *need* this!»
«And home isnt enough?» He stepped closer. «Say it straight: youre bored being my wife?»
«What? No! Its about *purpose*»
«Spare me the therapy-speak,» he cut in. «Ive seen empowered women at the office. First its work, then office flings, then divorce.»
«Christ, Andrew,» she gaped. «You think Ill shag someone at a *library*? Between dusty books and little old ladies?»
«Im just saying no,» he snapped. «End of.»
Something inside Emma broke. This was it. The end of the conversation, the end of hopemaybe the end of *them*.
«You know what?» she said softly. «Im taking the job. Ill call Michael tomorrow.»
Andrew stared. «*What* did you say?»
«I said Im working,» she repeated, feeling oddly light. «Not for money or flings. To feel like a *person* againnot just your housekeeper.»
«Right,» he nodded slowly. «So youve decided. Without me.»
«I *tried* deciding *with* you. You wouldnt listen.»
«Brilliant,» he turned on his heel.
She heard him pacing, muttering. Then he returned, holding her handbag and coat.
«Your times up,» he said, pointing to the door. «Make your own choices, live your own life. *Leave*.»
«Are you *kicking me out* over a *library job*?»
«Im kicking you out for betrayal,» he said flatly. «For breaking our deal. For choosing yourself over *us*.»
Emma picked up her coat, numb. Theyd fought beforebut hed never thrown her out. Never been this cruel.
«Youre serious?» she searched his face.
«Deadly,» he said. «*Go*.»
She stepped into the hallway, then turned.
«You know whats saddest, Andrew? You never *asked* why I need this. You just *forbade* melike Im property, not your wife.»
«Why, then?» he challenged.
«Because Im terrified,» she said quietly. «That one day, you wont come home. That youll run off with that *assistant* youve been staying late with for months. And Ill be aloneno job, no money, no *life* outside this house.»
Andrew recoiled. «*What* assistant?»
«*Claire*,» Emma said. «The one who calls every night. You take it on the balconybut the walls are thin, Andrew. And Im not deaf.»
She walked out, shutting the door softly.
The night air was cool, clean. For the first time in years, she felt *light*.
Pulling out her phone, she called Margaret.
Outside the flat, Andrews name flashed on her screen. She stared at it, then swiped *decline*.
Her time *was* up. The time of fear, of silence. Now came something newterrifying, hers. And she was ready.
