Your times up, the man said, pointing to the door.
That smell again! I *told* you not to smoke in the house! Emily flung open the living room windows, the curtains billowing angrily in her wake. For heavens sake, even the sofa reeks. What will Margaret and her husband think when they come for dinner?
What *will* they think? Andrew stubbed out his cigarette deliberately in the ashtray. Theyll think a normal man lives hereone who occasionally smokes. Big deal.
Normal men, Andrew, smoke on the balcony or outside. They dont poison their families with cigarette fumes. I get a headache every time you light up in here.
Here we go, Andrew rolled his eyes. Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and suddenly its a problem. Maybe its the menopause, love.
Emily froze, her lips pressed tight. Lately, he brought up her age at every opportunity, twisting the knife deeper each time. And somehow, it always hit its mark.
Whats *that* got to do with it? She turned to the window, blinking back tears. Im asking for basic respect. Is it so hard to step outside?
Respect? He scoffed. Wheres *your* respect for *me*? After work, I want to sit in my chair, have a cuppa, and smoke. Not dash about like a schoolboy. Its *my* house, in case youd forgotten.
*Our* house, she corrected quietly.
Right. *Ours*. He conceded with a sneer. Except *I* pay the mortgage. *I* paid for the renovation. That new coat of yours? That was *me* too.
Emily exhaled sharply. Shed heard this a thousand times. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the kids, then caring for his mother, then shed simply settled into being a housewife. And Andrew had never let her forget it.
I dont want to argue, she said wearily. Just smoke on the balcony. Margaret has asthmaitll be hard for her to breathe.
Fine, Andrew relented unexpectedly. For your precious Margaret, Ill step outside. But only tonight.
He pushed out of his chair and headed to the bedroom, tossing over his shoulder,
And why did you even invite them? Ive got an early meeting tomorrow. I need sleep, not to entertain your dull friends.
Theyre not *just* friends, Emily countered. William is head librarianhe might help me find work.
Andrew stopped dead in the doorway. Slowly, he turned.
What *work*?
Emily faltered. Shed meant to tell him later, once things were settled. Now she had no choice.
I want a job at the library, she said, steadying her voice. Three days a week, part-time. The kids are grown, youre always at the officeI need something to *do*.
Wholl run the house? he cut in. Wholl cook, clean, do the laundry?
Ill manage, she forced a smile. Its only a few hours. And the kids hardly visit nowwe dont need elaborate meals
No, but your mother pops round every week, he grumbled. Always expecting a full roast.
Mum *helps*, Emily shot back. Besides, she doesnt come *that* often.
Couldnt care less if she moved in, Andrew waved a hand. But this job? Its nonsense. Youre forty-seven. What employer wants that? Stay homeknit, read, whatever. Stick to your *hobbies*.
*Hobbies*? A hot wave rose in her chest. Andrew, have you forgotten I have a *degree* in English Lit? That I taught before the kids? That I graduated with *honours*?
And? He flopped back into his chair. That was decades ago. Times change. Who hires middle-aged women with outdated qualifications?
The *library* does, she said stubbornly. I dont need a fortune. I need purpose. To feel like Im more than just your housekeeper.
Charming. His lip curled. So home and family arent *worthy* of your brilliance?
You know thats not what I meant, she sighed. The argument was exhausting, cyclical. Lets talk later. Weve guests coming.
She retreated to the kitchen, heart pounding. Every conversation with Andrew lately ended like thisclashing, misunderstanding, resentment simmering beneath.
It hadnt always been this way. Theyd met at universityboth bookish, dreaming over Keats and Tennyson. He wrote poetry; she adored it. Then came marriage, Sophie, then James. Andrew climbed the ranks at the publishing house. Emily stayed homedrowning in nappies, then PTA meetings, then silence as the kids left and the house grew hollow.
She hadnt noticed the change in him. The romantic boy hardening into a cynical man who came home later, spoke less, cared little for her thoughts. By the time she saw it, the distance was uncrossable.
Margaret and William arrived promptly at seven. Williama bear of a man with a salt-and-pepper beardlaunched into politics with Andrew. Margaret, birdlike and bright-eyed, followed Emily to the kitchen.
Howd he take the job talk? she whispered, slicing cucumbers.
Badly, Emily sighed. He refuses.
Well, what did you expect? Margaret shrugged. Men hate change. Especially when it inconveniences *them*.
But nothing changes! Emily pulled the shepherds pie from the oven. Ill still handle everythingjust a few hours out, three days a week.
To him, thats the apocalypse, Margaret smirked. Imagine! Coming home to an empty house. The *horror*.
They laughed, the tension easing. Margaret had that giftlightening the darkest moods.
Dinner began civilly. Andrew was almost charming, quizzing William on new releases. Emily dared to hopemaybe todays fight was just stress.
Speaking of books, Margaret turned to Emily. Have you told Andrew about the reading group?
What group? Andrews fork paused mid-air.
I We discussed me leading a childrens literature circle, Emily faltered. At the library.
And when was *this* happening? His voice turned dangerous.
Next month, Margaret chirped, oblivious. Twice weekly, two-hour sessions. Barely a commitment.
Fascinating. Andrew set his cutlery down. Were you planning to *consult* me?
I tried today, Emily said quietly.
Mustve missed that *detailed* discussion, he addressed the guests. Emilys developed a *fascination* with employment. I, however, believe starting a career at her age is unwise.
Why? William frowned. Emilys highly educated. Wed be lucky to have her.
Perhaps, Andrew nodded. But she has obligations. To her home. Her *husband*.
Andrew, Emilys cheeks burned. Not in front of
Why not? He spread his hands. Were all adults. Lets be clear: I forbid my wife working. Full stop.
Silence. Margaret shot William a helpless look; he coughed, grasping for a new topic.
This pie is superb, Emily. Margaret, you must get the recipe.
Of course, Emily muttered, humiliation coiling tight in her gut.
The evening limped onweather, headlines, anything but *the* topic. When the guests left, Emily cleared the table in silence.
How long were you hiding this? Andrew loomed in the doorway, arms crossed.
I wasnt *hiding* it, she stacked plates. I waited for the right time.
And when would that be? After youd *started*?
I dont understand this rage, she turned to face him. Its a *job*, Andrew. Not an affair. Not a crime.
To me, its betrayal, he said coldly. We agreedyou keep the home, I provide. That was the deal.
That was *twenty years ago*! Her voice broke. The kids are gone, Ive time now. I need to feel *useful*!
So home isnt *worthy*? He stepped closer. Say it plainly: youre bored being my wife? You want *freedom*? New *friends*?
What friends? She gaped. This is about *purpose*
Spare me the psychobabble, he cut in. Ive seen women like you at the office. First its self-fulfilment, then office flings, then divorce.
My God, Andrew. She stared, aghast. You think Ill take a *lover* between dusty books and elderly patrons?
I think, he said icily, you wont work. End of discussion.
Something inside her snapped. This was itno more pleading, no more shrinking.
Im taking the job, she said softly. Tomorrow, Ill call William. Im doing this.
Andrew blinked. *What* did you say?
Im working. The words felt light, almost airy. Not for money or thrills. To remember Im a *person*, not just your housekeeper.
I see. He nodded slowly. Youve decided. Without me.
I *tried* deciding *with* you. You refused to listen.
Fine. He spun on his heel.
She heard him pacing, muttering. Then footsteps returningher handbag and coat thrust at her.
Your times up, he said, pointing to the door. If you make choices alone, you can *live* alone. Get out.
Youre *kicking me out*? Over a *library job*?
Im kicking you out for betrayal, he spat. For trampling our vows. For choosing *yourself* over *us*.
What *vows*? Tears welled. This is about *survival*! Youre never home, the kids are gonewhat am I meant to do? Bake cakes for an empty house?
Take up *yoga*! he roared. A deals a deal. I work, you *dont*.
He shoved the coat at her. If Im so *boring*, go. Maybe *Margaret* will put you up.
Mechanically, she slipped on the coat. This couldnt be real. Theyd fought beforebut *this*?
Youre serious? She searched his face. Over a *job*?
Over *disrespect*, he hissed. And yes. *Go*.
She inhaled sharply, stepped forwardthen turned.
The saddest part? Her voice shook. You never *asked* why I need this. You just *ordered*. Like Im property, not your *wife*.
Enlighten me, he sneered.
Because Im terrified, she whispered. Terrified youll leave me for that *editor*the one you stay late with every Thursday. The one who calls while you hide on the *balcony*.
Andrew recoiled. What *nonsense* is this?
*Claire*, Emily said calmly. Our walls are thin, Andrew. My hearings excellent.
She opened the door, stepped outand closed it softly behind her.
The hallway was quiet, faint jazz drifting from upstairs. Down the steps, into the cool night air. She breathed deepand suddenly, felt *lighter*. As if a weight shed carried for years had slipped away.
Pulling out her phone, she dialled Margaret.
Its me. Sorry its late Yes, we talked. Can I come over? Now?
Walking to the bus stop, she marvelled at lifes twists. This morning, shed seen decades more in that house, with that man, in that stifling loop. Now? The night stretched aheadunknown, terrifying, *hers*.
Her phone buzzed in her bag. *Andrew*. She hesitated then declined the call and powered it off.
Her time *was* up. The time of fear, of silence, of bending. Whatever came nextit would be *hers*. And for the first time in years, she was ready.
