Victor found foreign keys in my handbag and threw me out the front door, refusing to hear any explanation.
Again youve taken my bank card! he roared, phone clenched in his hand.
I turned from the sink, suds still on my hands, my apron damp.
What card? I never touched yours.
Youre lying! It was in your wallet on the nightstand, and now its gone!
I swear I didnt take it. Could you have misplaced it yourself?
Me? I always leave it in the same spot! And youre always rifling through my things!
I wiped my hands on a towel. After eighteen years of marriage Id learned to expect his sudden outbursts, though each one still cut to the quick.
Victor, calm down. Lets look for it together. Maybe it fell somewhere.
No point looking! You stole it because you want to spend my money again!
My money? I have my own salary!
Pittance, your teachers pay. How can you live on that?
I clenched my jaw. I taught at a primary school; the pay was modest but mine nonetheless.
Just help me find the card, no drama.
Victor snorted and stalked out of the kitchen. I heard the clatter of drawers being slammed in the bedroom.
I returned to the dishesplates, mugs, a pot of soup. It was a typical Monday evening: Id come home from work, cooked dinner, fed my husband and our daughter, Olivia, who was tucked away in her room doing homework. Victor had found another excuse for a fight.
Nat! Come here! he bellowed from the hallway.
I dried my hands and walked over. Victor stood holding my bag, shaking its contents onto the nightstand.
What are you doing?
Checking! If you take my things, I have the right to check yours!
Victor, thats not right. Put the bag back where it belongs!
From the bag spilled a wallet, a phone, a comb, lipstick, a pack of tissues. Then a metallic clink: keys. Not the ones I always carry, but a different set.
Victor froze, picked up the bunch, turning them over.
What are those?
I dont know, I said honestly, surprised at my own bewilderment. How did they get there?
You dont know? Foreign keys in your bag, and you dont know?
Victor, I really cant explain how they appeared.
He stared at the keys, then at me, his face turning a furious shade of red.
Whose flat do these belong to, Natalie?
No idea!
Youre lying! You have a lover! Those are his keys!
The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
What? A lover? Have you lost your mind?
Then explain how strangers keys ended up in your bag!
I dont know! Maybe someone put them there by mistake!
By mistake? Who would mistakenly drop keys into someone elses bag?
Well maybe a colleague mixed them up
Dont lie! I get it now! Youre having an affair!
Victor, thats not true! Ive never been unfaithful!
Silence! he hurled the keys onto the floor. Eighteen years together, and you betray me like this!
I didnt do anything wrong! Lets talk calmly!
Nothing to discuss! Pack your things and leave!
I stood frozen.
What did you just say?
I saidget out of my flat! I wont keep a cheating wife!
This is our flat! We live together! Our daughter lives here too!
This is my flat! Its in my name! I can kick anyone out!
Victor, stop! Listen to me!
I dont want to listen! Your lies are tiresome! Out you go!
He grabbed my coat from the rack and flung it at me.
Leave, I said!
Dad, whats happening? Olivia peered into the hallway, eyes wide with fear. She was fourteen, already fragile from our constant arguments.
Olivia, go to your room, I whispered.
No, let her see who her mother is, Victor snapped, glaring at his daughter.
Victor, stop! Not in front of the child!
Then go yourself! I dont want you here!
I looked at my husbandface flushed, eyes bloodred, fists clenched. Id never seen him like this. He was quicktempered, but never so far as to throw me out.
Fine, I said quietly. Ill leave. This is a misunderstanding, Victor. I did nothing wrong.
Out!
I slipped on my coat, grabbed my bag, and as the keys fell again onto the floor, Victor kicked them away.
Dont touch them! Let them lie as proof!
I stepped out, the door slammed shut behind me, the lock clicking. I stood on the landing, bewildered. Ten minutes earlier Id been washing dishes in my kitchen; now I was outside my own flat, expelled by my husband.
My feet carried me down the stairs and out into a cold October night, wind slicing through the thin coat. I lingered by the blocks entrance, pulling out my phone. Who could I call? My parents were long gone, my sister lived in another city. My friend Irene? She lived in a cramped onebed flat with three childrenno room for me.
My phone buzzed. A message from Irene:
Nat, sorry I forgot to tell you! I left the school keys in your bag when we were having tea in the staffroom. You were out fetching paperwork. Ill collect them tomorrow morning, okay? Thanks for keeping them safe!
I read the text three times. The keys were for the school, and Ireneour deputy headhad asked me to hold onto the spare set while she went to the education office. Id agreed, then forgotten.
My hands trembled as I dialed Victor. The line rang, clicked, and dropped. I tried again, same result. I typed a message: Victor, the keys are from the school! Irene left them! Its a misunderstanding! No reply.
I leaned against the blocks wall, the chill seeping through my coat. I needed to do something, but my mind was empty. I walked aimlessly down the street, eventually reaching a bus stop and sitting on a bench. An elderly woman with grocery bags sat beside me.
Something wrong, love? she asked kindly. You look pale.
Just family problems.
Married?
How would you know?
I read it on your face. Ive been a nurse all my life, learned to read eyes. Did your husband throw you out?
He kicked me out.
Why?
I told her about the keys. She shook her head.
That fool. Im sorry to speak so bluntly, but kicking someone out without hearing them is cruel.
He doesnt believe me.
Hell cool down, then believe. Men get hot, then they think.
What if he doesnt?
Shell come around. You have a daughter; that will make him think. Who will cook, wash, tidy if youre gone?
I managed a weak smile. She was right; Victor was only a talker, used to me doing everything.
Do you have anywhere to stay? she asked.
Im not sure yet.
Come to my flat. Have a cup of tea, warm up, and decide what to do.
Reluctantly I followed her up three flights to a small, cosy oneroom flat. The place was tiny but homely, with knitted coasters, photos, flowers on the windowsill.
Sit, dear guest. Ill put the kettle on, she said.
Her name was Valerie, seventytwo, widowed long ago, children scattered across the country.
Were lonely here, so its nice you dropped by, she babbled while pouring tea. My husband died years ago, and Ive been on my own.
We sipped tea with biscuits, and she spoke of her own quarrels, of times she and her late husband fought and then made up.
Love is stronger than pride, she said.
What if he doesnt love me? I asked.
He does. Otherwise he wouldnt be so jealous, she replied. Men are all the same: they flare up, then they think.
My phone buzzed again. A text from Olivia:
Mum, where are you? Dad is angry, says nothing, Im scared.
I replied: Olivia, love, Im safe. Dads just in a bad mood. Go to sleep, well talk tomorrow.
Mum, is it true you have a lover?
My heart stopped. Victor had already turned our daughter against me.
No, love, thats not true. I have no one but you and dad. Its a mixup, Ill explain tomorrow.
Okay, I believe you. I love you.
I love you too, my sunshine.
I put the phone down. Valerie looked at me with understanding.
Is your daughter upset?
Shes been told a lot of things.
Kids are smarter than we think. Shell see whos right.
I stayed the night on her couch, a warm blanket and pillow under my head. She promised Id sleep well and face the next day with a clear mind.
Sleep was elusive. I stared at the dark ceiling, replaying the surreal sequence: foreign keys that toppled an eighteenyear marriage. I realised the anger had been building for years. Victor, a site foreman, came home exhausted, snapping at the smallest thingsfood, tidiness, my clothes, my words. Id blamed fatigue, but the outbursts had grown.
That morning Valerie served breakfast.
Get up, dear, then decide what to do, she urged.
After eating, I called Irene, explained everything. She gasped.
Its my fault! Those were my spare school keys. I asked you to keep them safe, and you forgot.
Victor is to blame, not me.
Ill call him, explain.
She did, but he didnt answer.
At school, the headmistress, Ellen, noticed I was pale, eyes reddened.
Natalie, are you ill? she asked.
No, just a bit off.
I think we should talk.
In her office I finally broke down, spilling the whole story. Ellen nodded.
Hes a fool, throwing you out without hearing you. He needs a reason to push you away. Maybe hes got his own secrets.
A cold shiver ran through me. Could Victor be cheating and using the keys as an excuse?
Dont belittle yourself, Ellen said. Youre a good teacher, a good mother. If he doesnt value that, its his problem. Keep your dignity.
But Olivia
Shes older now, shell understand.
I returned to my lessons. The firstgraders scribbles and laughter lifted my spirits.
Later Olivia called.
Mum, where are you?
Im still at work, love. Whats up?
Dad says youll never come back.
He says I have a lover and that I betrayed him.
My chest tightened.
Olivia, I have no lover. Those keys belong to Irene. Its a misunderstanding.
I trust you, Mum, but dad doesnt.
Im scared, dad is shouting, hitting the table.
Do you want me to come get you?
No, he wont let me go.
Im your mother!
I know.
I felt the world compress. Victor had twisted my daughters perception.
Hold on, love, Ill think of something.
Okay, Mum, I love you.
I love you too.
That evening I returned to Valeries flat. She welcomed me with a steaming dinner and kind words.
Hows it going? she asked.
Terrible. Victor refuses to listen, Olivias been turned against me, he wont let me back in.
We need a plan.
First, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Find somewhere to stay. Talk calmly with Olivia. Prove Victor wrong.
He wont listen.
He will, when he sees youre standing tall. Men are like children; they crave attention. If you ignore him, hell chase.
The next day I started looking for a room. A fellow teacher, aware of my plight, offered a spare room in her house for a modest rent.
Its small but cosy, all yours, she said.
I moved in, arranging my few belongings, a sanctuary where no one shouted. I kept working, meeting Olivia after school. She would come over, wed walk and talk. I explained the situation without slandering her father, but I didnt hide the truth.
Dads upset, thinks I betrayed him, but it isnt true, I told her.
I know, Mum. I believe you.
Weeks passed. Victor never called. I stopped waiting, settled into my new rhythmwork, home, quiet evenings.
One night there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Victor, hair dishevelled, shoulders slumped.
May I come in?
Why?
We need to talk.
I let him in. He looked around the tiny room.
This is where you live?
Yes.
Its enough.
He sat heavily on a chair.
Natalie, Im sorry. I was wrong. I didnt listen, I threw you out like a fool.
Yes, you did.
Im sorry. I was angry, jealous. Those were school keys, Irene explained everything. I just didnt want to hear.
You humiliated me, in front of our daughter, accused me of infidelity, kicked me out of my own home.
I know. Im a fool. Please forgive me.
I cant just forget.
What now?
I need time to decide if I can go back.
He stood, approached me, eyes pleading.
I love you, truly. Ive been an idiot. Give me a chance to fix things.
I need time, Victor. Not now.
How long?
I dont know. A week, maybe two. I have to sort my feelings.
He nodded.
Okay, Ill wait. But remember, love is more than words; its actions.
He left, and I stared out the window at the dark street, wondering whether to forgive or start anew.
I called Valerie, telling her about his visit.
See? I told you hed think it through. Its your decision now. Do you want to return?
Im torn. Eighteen years together, a daughter, a familiar life. Yet he humiliated me.
Humiliation is real, but everyone makes mistakes. The key is whether he truly changes.
What if he doesnt?
Then walk away forever. But you can give him a chance, or not. Its your right.
Days passed. Victor called daily, asking how I was, never pressing. Olivia also called, pleading for me to return.
Mum, dads softer now. He cooks, cleans, says he understands how hard its been.
I need a little more time.
Okay, but were waiting for you.
Two weeks later I made a decision. I called Victor.
Ill come back, but on one condition.
Whats that?
No more accusations without hearing me. If something bothers you, ask. Speak calmly, no shouting, no humiliation.
I promise. I swear.
And apologise to Olivia for turning her against me.
Ill do that.
Ill be home on Sunday.
Sunday I packed my things, said goodbye to Valerie, who hugged me.
Did you decide to go back? she asked.
Yes. Im giving him another chance.
Good. Family matters, but dont lose yourself. If things go wrong again, leave immediately.
I wont forget. Thank you for everything.
At home Victor and Olivia greeted me. He carried my bags, Olivia clung to me, not letting go. The flat was spotless, a modest feast on the table.
This is what I made, Victor announced proudly, though the salad was lopsided and the roast a bit dry.
Thank you, thats very sweet.
After dinner, when Olivia was asleep, Victor and I sat and talked. He apologized again, promised to change.
Why did you come back? he asked.
Because I love you, and I believe people can change. You have a second chance, Victor. Dont waste it.
I wont. Ill cherish it.
Life fell back into its ordinary rhythmwork, home, family. Victor truly became calmer, helped around, asked about my day, avoided needless quarrels.
Six months later I looked back, grateful for the choice. The nightmare of being forced out, the surreal keys that started it all, now felt like a distant, strange dream. The trust between us grew stronger, the lesson clear: respect and listening are the foundations of any relationship.
Thanks for giving me that second chance, Victor said one evening over tea.
And thank you for not letting me give up, I replied.
We sipped our tea, planning a holiday, a typical family moving forward after a trial, forever changed by the strange, dreamlike night when foreign keys turned our world upside down.
