**Diary Entry**
*Monday Evening*
«Your time’s up,» Mark said coldly, pointing to the door.
«That smell again! Ive asked you not to smoke in the house!» Emma flung open the windows in the living room, the curtains billowing angrily. «Good grief, even the sofa reeks. What will Lydia and David think when they come for dinner?»
«What will they think?» Mark deliberately stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. «Theyll think a normal bloke lives here who enjoys a smoke now and then. Big deal.»
«Normal blokes, Mark, smoke outside or on the balcony. Not poison their family with cigarette fumes. I get headaches from it.»
«Here we go,» Mark rolled his eyes. «Twenty-five years married to a smoker, no complaints. Suddenly, its a problem. Maybe its the menopause, love.»
Emma froze, lips pressed tight. Hed been bringing up her age more often latelyalways aiming to wound, always hitting the mark.
«Whats that got to do with anything?» She turned to the window to hide her tears. «Im just asking for basic respect. Is it so hard to step outside?»
«Respect?» He scoffed. «Wheres yours for me? After work, I want to sit in my chair, have a cuppa, and smoke. Not run in and out like a schoolboy. Its my house, after all!»
*Our* house,» she corrected quietly.
«Right, *ours*,» he muttered. «But who pays the mortgage? The bills? Who bought your new coat last winter?»
Emma exhaled. Shed heard this a thousand times. No, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the kids, then caring for his mother, then… well, shed simply grown used to being a housewife. And Mark had grown used to holding it over her.
«I dont want to argue,» she said tiredly. «Just smoke on the balcony tonight. Lydia has asthmaitll be hard for her to breathe.»
«Fine,» he conceded unexpectedly. «For your precious Lydia, Ill make an exception. But just tonight.»
He stood, heading to the bedroom, then tossed over his shoulder, «And why did you even invite them? Ive an early meeting tomorrow. I need sleep, not to entertain your dull friends.»
«Theyre not just friends,» she countered. «David runs the local library. He might help me find work.»
Mark stopped dead and turned slowly. «What work?»
Emma hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, when things were settled. Now she had no choice.
«I want a part-time job at the library. Three days a week. Its time I did somethingthe kids are grown, youre always at the office…»
«And wholl run the house?» he cut in. «Cook, clean, do the laundry?»
«Ill manage. Its not full-time. The kids hardly visit now»
«Your mum does, every week,» he grumbled. «Expecting pies and roast dinners.»
«Mum *helps* me,» Emma shot back. «And she doesnt come that often.»
«Whatever. But this jobits nonsense. Youre forty-seven. Stay home, do your knitting, read your books…»
«My *books*?» Her voice sharpened. «Mark, do you even remember I have a degree in English? That I taught literature before the children?»
«So? That was twenty years ago. Times change. Whod hire you with that outdated CV?»
«The library would,» she said stubbornly. «I dont need a fortune. I need purpose. To feel like Im more than just your housekeeper.»
«Charming,» he sneered. «So home and family mean nothing? Not worthy of your brilliant mind?»
«You know thats not what I meant. Lets talk later. I need to prep for dinner.»
She retreated to the kitchen, heart pounding. Every conversation lately turned into a fight. When had it started? Somewhere along the way, theyd begun speaking different languages. He didnt hear her. Didnt *want* to.
Once, it had been different. Theyd met at universityboth literature students, both in love with words. Mark wrote poetry; she adored it. Then came marriage, Sophie, then James. Mark climbed the ranks at the publishing house. She stayed homewith the kids, the chores, the books that became rarer luxuries.
She hadnt noticed the change. How the romantic young man became this cynical, tired stranger who cared less and less about her thoughts. By the time she did, it was too late.
Lydia and David arrived at seven. Davida burly man with a beardlaunched into politics with Mark. Lydia, birdlike and lively, followed Emma to the kitchen.
«Howd he take the job idea?» she whispered, slicing cucumbers.
«Badly. Hes against it.»
«Of course he is,» Lydia shrugged. «Men hate change. Especially if it inconveniences them.»
«Nothing will change! Ill still handle everythingjust a few hours out, three days a week.»
«To him, thats catastrophic,» Lydia chuckled. «Imaginehe comes home, and youre not there. The horror!»
They laughed, the tension easing.
Dinner began civilly. Mark was all charm, joking with David about new novels. Emma relaxedmaybe todays mood was just a blip.
«Speaking of books,» Lydia said brightly, «have you told Mark about our little project?»
«What project?» Marks fork froze mid-air.
Emma hesitated. «We discussed… a childrens reading group. At the library.»
«And when was this meant to start?» His voice turned dangerous.
«Next month,» Lydia answered blithely. «Twice a week, two hours. Barely anything.»
«Fascinating.» Mark set down his fork. «And you werent going to discuss this with me first?»
«I tried today,» Emma said softly.
«I dont recall a *discussion*,» he said to the guests. «You see, Emmas suddenly obsessed with working. At her age, its… unwise.»
«Why?» David frowned. «Emmas highly educated. Wed be lucky to have her.»
«Perhaps. But she has responsibilitiesto her home, her husband.»
«Mark,» Emma flushed with shame. «Not in front of»
«Why not?» He smiled coldly. «Were all adults. Let me be clear: I wont have my wife working. End of story.»
Silence. Lydia glanced at David, who coughed and said, «This quiche is excellent, Emma. Lydia must get the recipe.»
The rest of the evening passed in stiff small talk. When the guests left, Emma cleared the table in silence.
«How long were you planning to hide this?» Mark blocked the kitchen doorway.
«I wasnt hiding it. I was waiting for the right time.»
«And when was that? After youd started?»
«I dont understand why youre so angry. Its just a jobnot an affair, not a crime.»
«To me, its betrayal,» he said flatly. «We agreedyoud keep house; Id provide. That was the deal.»
«That was *twenty years ago*! The kids are grown. I need to feel useful!»
«So home isnt enough?» He stepped closer. «Admit ityoure bored. Want freedom? New *friends*?»
«What? This is about *me*, not»
«Spare me. Ive seen empowered women at work. First its a job, then office flings, then divorce.»
«Christ, Mark,» she stared. «You think Id take a lover at a *library*? Between dusty books and elderly patrons?»
«Im just saying no. Final.»
Something inside her snapped.
«Then Ill do it anyway. Ill call David tomorrow and accept.»
Mark gaped. «*What* did you say?»
«Im taking the job. Not for money or freedom. To feel like a person againnot just your housekeeper.»
«I see,» he said slowly. «Youve decided. Without me.»
«I tried deciding *with* you. You wouldnt listen.»
«Fine.» He stormed off, then returned with her handbag and coat.
«Your times up. If you make decisions alone, you can live alone. Get out.»
«Youre *kicking me out*? Over a library job?»
«Its about principles. You broke our agreement. Put your ambitions above family.»
«Ambitions?» Her voice broke. «Its three days a week, Mark! Youre never home, the kids are gonewhat am I supposed to do? Bake cakes for an empty house?»
«Take up crochet! A deals a deal. I work; you dont.» He thrust the coat at her. «If Im so dull, go stay with Lydia.»
Mechanically, she put on the coat. This couldnt be real. Theyd fought beforebut hed never thrown her out. Never been this cruel.
«Youre serious? Over this?»
«Its about respect. And yes, Im serious. Go.»
She took a shaky breath and stepped toward the door, then turned.
«You know whats saddest? You never asked *why* I want this. You just forbade itlike Im property, not your wife.»
«Enlighten me, then.»
«Because Im terrified,» she whispered. «That one day you wont come home. That youll leave me for that young editor you stay late withwhats her name? Sarah? The one who calls every night. You think I dont hear you on the balcony? The walls are thin, Mark.»
He recoiled. «Thats insane»
She walked out, shutting the door softly. The hallway was quiet, just jazz drifting from the flat above.
Outside, the night air was crisp. She inhaled deeplyand felt an odd relief, like shedding a weight carried for years.
Pulling out her phone, she dialed Lydia. «Its me. Can I come over? Now?»
Walking to the bus stop, she marvelled at lifes strangeness. This morning, shed assumed shed live out her days in that house, with that man. Now she was stepping into the unknownfreer than shed felt in decades.
Her phone buzzed. *Mark Calling*. She hesitated, then declined and switched it off.
Her time *was* up. The time of fear, silence, compromise. Something new was beginningterrifying, uncertain, but *hers*. And she was ready.
