**The Crocodile Handbag**
Saturday was peaceful. A light rain tapped gently against the windows, and the flat smelled of freshly brewed teathat quiet weekend calm when the workweek finally fades away. Emily curled up in the old armchair theyd inherited from her grandmother, its cushions sagging with age, and cradled her favourite mug. The warmth seeped into her palms. *This is happiness*, she thought, inhaling the teas comforting scent. No chatter about work, no money worries, no nagging about how its «high time» for this or that. Just her, a hot drink, and a new show on her tablet.
These quiet moments had become her refuge. James, her husband, had been out of work for three months, and the flat had simmered with unspoken tension. He spent his days glued to his computergaming, watching football, *supposedly* job hunting, though the screen rarely displayed anything professional.
«Love!» Jamess voice shattered the silence like a firework. «You wont believe it! Mums picked out her anniversary gift!»
He bounded into the room, grinning like a schoolboy whod aced a test. Emily reluctantly looked up. Something in his tone set off alarms.
«A crocodile leather handbag!» James continued, oblivious. «Shes wanted one for *years*!»
Emily set her mug down carefully. «A crocodile handbag? Did she choose that herself, or was it *suggested* to her? And has she considered the animal rights activists might have something to say about it?»
The sarcasm sailed right over him. «Shes my mother! She *deserves* it!»
«Deserves it?» Emilys chest tightened. «What exactly has she done to earn it? Fine, she raised *you*, but Ive got my own parents. And how much is this gift costing?»
James coughed, suddenly sheepish. «Oh, nothing major about five of your paycheques.»
The floor might as well have dropped from under her. «*Five* of my paycheques?» she repeated, voice flat.
«Well, yeahits *genuine* Nile crocodile, not some fake stuff,» he said, as if that explained everything.
«And why are you telling *me*? I couldnt care less.»
James shifted awkwardly. «Well I put it on credit.»
«On credit?» Her tone turned dangerously calm.
«Yeah. Thank God for my sister Lucyshe works at the bank, sorted it all in no time»
«Whose name is it in?»
A horrible suspicion crept over her.
«Well yours. Who else? I just used your details»
Emily stood slowly. She wanted to throttle him. Or at least hurl something heavy.
«So, James, darlingyouve been unemployed for *three months*, decided to spoil Mummy, and *Im* the one footing the bill?»
James took an involuntary step back. «Emily, its just how it worked out Youre the one with the job»
«I *am* working! While you, instead of job hunting, instead of providing like a *proper* husband, sit around like a teenager on holiday and think I dont have enough stress without *your* debt?»
«Emily, dont overreact! Its just a loanno big deal»
Just then, his mother, Margaret, swept inher usual unannounced visit. She always came to «check on the kids,» though really, it was to dispense criticism.
«Whats all this noise?» she demanded, settling into a chair like she owned the place.
«Nothing, Mum. Emilys just upset about the loan,» James whined.
«Upset? Why?» Margaret folded her arms. «Family helps family. Thats your *duty*.»
«Is it?» Emilys voice dripped ice. «So *your* duty is to demand luxuries, and *mine* is to pay for them?»
«Whats so odd about that? Youve a good salary,» Margaret sniffed.
«Right. And James? Whats *his* contribution?»
«James is my sonand your *husband*. You should support him.»
«*Husband*?» Emily laughed. «Is that what you call a man who takes out loans in his wifes name because hes too lazy to work? Who leeches off me like a *parasite*?»
«Emily!» James protested. «Thats cruel! Were *family*!»
«Fine,» Emily said tightly. «Ill sort it tomorrow. And dont worryeverything will be *just* fine.»
Her smile was unsettling. James shifted uneasily.
«Thats my girl,» Margaret nodded, smug.
The next day, Emily made a few calls and arranged an evening meeting.
When she got home, she greeted James with a saccharine smile.
«Darling! Ive got news!»
«Oh?» He lounged on the sofa, unsuspecting.
«Ive paid off the loan for that crocodile handbag.»
«*What*? No way!» He leapt up. «Youre amazing! Howd you manage it?»
«Simple. I sold your car.»
James turned to stone.
«You*what*? *My car*?»
«Yep. Quick sale, got just enough to clear the debt.»
«Have you lost your *mind*? How am I supposed to get around?»
Emily blinked innocently. «Ride the handbag like a horse. I read some are made from *special* leatherstroke them right, and they turn into suitcases. Is Mums one of those?»
James turned purple. «You *cant* do that! That was *my* car! And you sold it for *peanuts*?»
«No car, no debt. Fairs fair. And your mums got her bag. Perfect, isnt it?»
Margaret stormed in. «Whats happened now?»
«Emily *sold my car*!» James wailed.
«And?» Emily shrugged. «Loans are a *family matter*, right?»
«This is *outrageous*! You had *no right*!» Margaret hissed.
«Outrageous is you two treating me like a piggy bank,» Emily shot back.
James tried again. «Emily, *think*! Were *family*!»
«Then heres an ideasince youre the *least* useful member, pack your things and move in with your mother. Let *her* pay your way. Ill finally live for *me*.»
She picked up her tablet, ending the conversation. After a beat, she added sweetly, «Oh, and Margaretgive that bag a *good* stroke. You never know what it might turn into.»
Two days later, James, worn down by the tension, moved out. Margaret fumed. Emily ignored her.
For the first time in *years*, she breathed easy. Theyd finally learnedshe wasnt someone to cross.
Outside, the rain still fell, but now, the quiet was *hers*.
*Lesson learned: never sign your name to someone elses greed. She sipped her tea, watching the droplets trace slow paths down the windowpane. The armchair held her like an old friend, and the flat hummed with silencesoft, unbroken, hers alone. No more debts, no more demands. Just peace, and the quiet triumph of boundaries finally drawn.
