You are a wife, youre expected to
What’s for dinner tonight?
Emily closed her eyes. Her fingers hovered over the laptop keyboard, and for a moment she thought that if she kept them shut the question might simply disappear. It didnt. She tore herself away from the screen, where dozens of tabs filled with work documents flickered. James stood in the doorway, his posture stiff.
Did you open the fridge? he asked.
James nodded.
And what then?
Well James shrugged. There are some pots, a few containers.
Emily felt the tension from the last few hours of work melt into irritation.
Did that give you any idea? Like, maybe you should heat up something? she prompted.
James frowned.
Why should I? Im exhausted after a long day at the office. Can you even manage to put a meal on the table for your husband?
What do you think Im doing? Emily snapped, turning the laptop towards him. The screen was a maze of spreadsheets, presentations, and chat windows. Im working too, just from home. Im tired as well. Yet I still found the time to make dinner. All you need to do is heat it up and serve it. Is that really so hard?
Her voice trembled on the last words. Emily didnt expect herself to be so close to a breaking point.
James shuffled out, muttering under his breath, Shes become such a cold, lazy nag she doesnt love me, doesnt value me
Emily fished the headphones from the table, slipped them on and turned up the music. Jamess complaints faded into the beat. She stared back at the monitor, but the report lines swam past her eyes while a completely different stream of thoughts ran through her mind. How had it come to this? When did everything start to go wrong?
It hadnt always been like this. Once, cooking was Emilys little refuge, a way to unwind after a day at the office. James and she used to joke that her food had cast a spell on him.
On their third date, a reservation at a downtown restaurant fell through because of a booking glitch, and the table was given to another couple. James looked disappointed and began to apologise, but Emily suggested they go back to her flat instead.
She served him a homemade lasagne, warm garlic bread, and a fresh salad. James sat at her tiny kitchen table, wolfing the food down, his eyes widening with delight.
I think Im falling in love, he declared, and Emily laughed.
When they moved in together James moved into Emilys premarriage flat she cooked every night. Frenchstyle roast, slowcooked lamb, elaborate soups and weekend pies became routine. James grew accustomed to it, so much so that he stopped noticing how much time and energy she poured into the kitchen. Back then she worked a standard ninetofive job, with no control over her schedule. She came home exhausted, yet still rose to the stove because she could see James waiting, eager for his meal.
Now everything had shifted. Her career had taken off. She switched to remote work, earned a promotion, and began leading major projects. Her timetable grew tighter and responsibilities multiplied. She simply didnt have the stamina to tend to James the way she once did. Meals became simple: chicken and rice, spaghetti with meatballs, a quick vegetable stew hearty, fast, unpretentious. Thats when James started to complain. At first his hints were subtle, then they turned into outright accusations.
The past two months had felt like a living nightmare. Emily faced a sudden deadline on a highprofile project for a client whose contract determined her bonus and future advancement. She pulled twelvehour days, even commuting to the office to discuss revisions facetoface rather than wasting time on endless emails.
James remained chronically dissatisfied. The house wasnt clean enough, the food was too plain, she spent too little time on him. Arguments flared over every trivial matter. He demanded elaborate dishes, made a scene about an unwashed pan, and Emily snapped, shouted, and cried. They would make up, only for the cycle to repeat.
Finally the project was delivered. Emily felt drained to the point of being a squeezed lemon. Every muscle ached, her eyes barely opened. She just wanted to lie still and forget everything.
From the hallway came the clatter of Jamess shoes as he returned from work. A minute later he stepped into the bedroom, his tone sour.
The fridge is empty. Whats for dinner?
Emily gave him a slow glance.
There are frozen fishcakes in the freezer, she replied quietly.
I dont want fishcakes! I want baked salmon with veg. James grimaced. The very idea of getting out of bed caused Emily a physical ache; her body refused to move, her mind refused to cooperate.
You could order takeaway. Theyll bring you whatever you like.
James snapped, Then why did I even marry you?
His tone made Emily tense. She propped herself up on an elbow and looked him straight in the eye.
So I can eat delivery? James continued, his voice rising. Cooking is a wifes duty. Lately youve become slack. Ive tolerated it, but this is too much!
Something inside Emily clicked. Fatigue gave way to a hot, bright anger. She leapt from the bed, shouting:
Im not obliged! Wheres it written? Who signed it?
James shouted back, Im fed up with this nonsense! Im tired of putting up with it!
Then cook it yourself! Emily snapped, stepping toward him. The kitchen is over there. Im not banning you!
Its your job! James persisted. Its a womans work! You must look after your husband!
Im exhausted! Emilys voice cracked into a scream. Ive been swamped with work for two months! You never even wash your own plate! You dont tidy up, you dont cook! Why should I be the only one caring for you while you just sit on a finished meal?
Jamess face flushed. Because Im a man. I bring home the money!
Emily jabbed a finger to her chest. I bring in the same amount, if not more! Yet you treat me like a servant!
Youre a bad wife! You cant care for the family!
Cold settled over her anger, turning it into icy calm.
Then find someone else! Go look for a woman who will serve you. Im done.
James staggered, What?
Emily walked past him to the wardrobe, grabbed his suitcase and began tossing his belongings in.
You heard me. Leave, now.
Emily, what are you doing?
Leave! Im tired of being your maid. I want to be your partner, not your kitchen hand. If you cant see that, were not meant for each other.
James could barely comprehend what was happening. He tried to argue, to justify himself, but Emily was unwavering. She saw him out the door and refused to let him back in.
A week passed. James called daily, sent messages, begged for forgiveness and promised to change. Emily didnt answer. She needed time to think, to sort out her own feelings.
She recalled how James never offered to help with the cleaning, how he took her care for granted, how he dismissed her exhaustion, and how he believed she owed him simply because she was his wife. She realised he had been leaning on her, using her, without even noticing.
When James finally showed up with a bouquet, Emily took a breath. They needed to talk.
Im filing for divorce. I dont need you anymore.
James stared, baffled.
But why? I promised to change!
I dont need promises, Emily shook her head. I needed a husband, not a servant. You were the latter, and those are two different things.
The divorce paperwork was signed quickly. The flat had been Emilys before they married, so there was nothing to split. James moved back in with his parents, and Emily stayed alone.
Life felt lighter. She began cooking again, this time just for herself. She experimented with new recipes, revived old favourites, roasted a duck with apples because she wanted to, crafted elaborate desserts for fun. When she was drained after a long workday, she simply ordered a pizza and ate it straight from the box on the sofa, with no one judging or demanding anything. That freedom was wonderful.
In the end, Emily learned that love is not a contract of duties, but a partnership of respect. When one side becomes a servant, the balance collapses. True companionship means sharing the load, valuing each other’s effort, and allowing both people to thrive.
