**Diary Entry**
*»Your times up,» he said, pointing to the door.*
*»That smell again! I asked you not to smoke in the house!» Emma flung open the living room windows, swiping the curtains aside in irritation. «Good heavens, even the sofa reeks. What will Lydia and her husband think when they come for dinner?»*
*»Whats there to think?» Andrew stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray with deliberate defiance. «Theyll think a normal bloke lives here who occasionally smokes. Big deal.»*
*»Normal blokes, Andrew, smoke outside or on the balcony. Not poison their families with it. I get headaches from your smoking.»*
*»Here we go,» he rolled his eyes. «Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and suddenly its a problem. Maybe its the menopause, love.»*
*Emma stiffened, lips pressed tight. Lately, hed jabbed at her age more oftenalways hitting where it hurt.
*»Whats that got to do with anything?» She turned to the window to hide the 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 with my tea and smoke in peace, not run about like a schoolboy. Its my house!»*
*»Our house,» she corrected softly.*
*»Right, *ours*,» he conceded grudgingly. «Except I pay the mortgage. And the renovations. And that new coat of yours.»*
*Emma inhaled deeply. Shed heard this a thousand times. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsraising the kids, caring for his mother, then… just settling into homemaking. Andrew had made sure she never forgot it.*
*»I dont want another row,» she said wearily. «Just smoke on the balcony. Lydia has asthma.»*
*»Fine,» he relented unexpectedly. «For your precious Lydia, Ill humor you. But just tonight.»*
*He stood, heading to the bedroom, tossing over his shoulder: «And why invite them? Ive a meeting tomorrowneed sleep, not entertaining your dull friends.»*
*»Theyre not just friends,» Emma countered. «Michaels the library director. He might help me find work.»*
*Andrew froze in the doorway. «What work?»*
*She hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, once things were certain.
*»I want a job at the library,» she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. «Three days a week. The kids are grown, youre always at the office»*
*»Wholl run the house?» he cut in. «Cook, clean, laundry?»*
*»Ill manage,» she tried to smile. «Its only part-time. And the kids hardly visit»*
*»But your mum does,» he grumbled. «Every week, expecting pies and roast dinners.»*
*»Mum helps! And she doesnt visit *that* often.»*
*»Whatever. But this jobits nonsense, Emma. Youre forty-seven. Stay home, do your embroidery, read your books…»*
*»*My books*?» Her voice sharpened. «Andrew, I have a *first* in English lit. I *taught* before the kids. Or have you forgotten?»*
*»That was twenty years ago,» he flopped into his armchair. «Qualifications expire. Whod hire you now?»*
*»The library would,» she insisted. «I dont need loads of money. I need purpose. To feel capable of more than scrubbing pans and ironing your shirts.»*
*»Charming,» he sneered. «So home and family are nothing now? Beneath you?»*
*»You know thats not what I meant,» she sighed. The same old script. «Lets talk later. Weve guests coming.»*
*In the kitchen, her hands trembled. Lately, every conversation spiraled into combat. When had they stopped understanding each other?
*Theyd met at uniboth bookish, dreaming over poetry. Hed written sonnets; shed adored them. Then marriage, Sophie, then James. Andrew climbed the ranks at the publishing house; shed stayed home, her own books gathering dust.
*She hadnt noticed the changethe romantic boy hardening into a cynical man who worked late and cared less for her thoughts. By the time she saw it, they were strangers under one roof.
*Lydia and Michael arrived promptly at seven. Michaelbearded, joviallaunched into politics with Andrew. Lydia, birdlike and brisk, joined Emma in the kitchen.
*»Howd the talk go?» Lydia diced tomatoes.
*»Hes against it.»*
*»Well, men hate upheaval,» Lydia shrugged. «Especially if it inconveniences them.»*
*Dinner began civilly. Andrew was all charm, quizzing Michael about bestsellers. Emma dared to hope.
*»Speaking of books,» Lydia turned to her. «Have you mentioned the reading group?»*
*Andrews fork clinked. «What group?»*
*»For children,» Emma faltered. «At the library.»*
*»Starting *when*?» His voice turned dangerous.*
*»Next month,» Lydia chirped, oblivious. «Twice weekly. Barely any time»*
*»Fascinating,» Andrew set down his wine. «And when were you planning to consult me?»*
*»I tried today»*
*»Didnt hear a *proper* discussion,» he addressed the guests. «Emmas obsessed with work. At her age, its… unwise.»*
*»Nonsense!» Michael boomed. «Emmas brilliant! Wed be lucky to have her.»*
*»But she has *duties*,» Andrews smile didnt reach his eyes. «To her home. Her *husband*.»*
*Silence. Lydias eyes darted to her husband, who coughed. «This lasagnas superb! Lydia, you must get the recipe»*
*The rest of the evening limped along with weather talk. After they left, Emma cleared the table in silence.
*»How long were you hiding this?» Andrew blocked the kitchen doorway.*
*»I wasnt *hiding* it.»*
*»Then why not tell me *properly*?»*
*»Why are you so angry? Its just a job!»*
*»Its betrayal,» he spat. «We agreedyoud keep house, Id provide. That was the deal.»*
*»Twenty *years* ago! The kids are gone. I need *something*.»*
*»What, homes not enough?» He stepped closer. «Or do you want freedom? New *friends*?»*
*»This isnt about»*
*»Ive seen women like you at work,» he cut in. «First its self-fulfillment, then office flings, then divorce.»*
*Emma gaped. «You think Idwith *librarians*?»*
*»Im saying no. Full stop.»*
*Something in her snapped. «Im taking the job. Ill call Michael tomorrow.»*
*Andrew stared. «*What*?»*
*»I need to feel like *me* again. Not just your housekeeper.»*
*»Fine.» He vanished, returning with her coat and handbag. «Your times up. If you decide without me, live without me. Get out.»*
*»Youre *kicking me out* over a *library job*?»*
*»Over betrayal. Our deals broken.» He shoved the coat at her. «Go on. Maybe *Lydia*ll put you up.»*
*Mechanically, she took them. This wasnt real. Hed never gone this far.
*»Is this *really* about the job?» she whispered.*
*»Its about respect.»*
*She stepped toward the door, then turned. «The saddest part? You never asked *why* I need this.»*
*»Enlighten me.»*
*»Im terrified youll leave,» she said quietly. «That one day youll stay late at the officewith *Olivia*and never come home. And Ill be alone, with no skills, no income, because I gave *everything* to you.»*
*He recoiled. «*Olivia*?»*
*»She calls you nightly. You take the balcony so I wont hear. But walls are thin, Andrew. And Im not deaf.»*
*She shut the door softly behind her. The stairwell echoed with a neighbors jazz record. Outside, the air was crisp. For the first time in years, she felt… light.
*Dialing Lydia, she walked toward the bus stop. «Can I come over? Now?»*
*Her phone buzzedAndrews name flashing. She hesitated, then declined and powered it off.
*Her time *was* up. The time of fear, of silence. Ahead lay something unknownterrifying, but *hers*. And she was ready.*
**Lesson:** A house isnt a home when love becomes control. Sometimes, the bravest thing is walking awayeven into the unknown.
