**Diary Entry**
*Your times up.* He said it so coldly, pointing to the door.
*That smell again! I told you not to smoke in the house!* Emily flung open the living room windows, yanking the curtains aside in frustration. *Goodness, even the sofa reeks. What will Lydia and James think when they come for dinner?*
*And what exactly will they think?* Andrew stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, deliberately slow. *Theyll think a normal bloke lives here who occasionally smokes. Big deal.*
*Normal blokes, Andrew, smoke outside or on the balcony. Not poison their family with secondhand fumes. I get headaches from it.*
*Here we go again.* He rolled his eyes. *Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and suddenly its an issue. Maybe its the menopause, love.*
Emily froze, lips pressed tight. Lately, hed been throwing her age and all its supposed indignities at her like dartsbullseye every time.
*Whats that got to do with anything?* She turned away, blinking fast. *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 down with a cuppa and a fag, not dance attendance like a schoolboy. Its my house, after all!*
*Our house,* she corrected quietly.
*Right, ours.* He relented, grudgingly. *Except I pay the mortgage. And the repairs. And that new coat of yours.*
Emily exhaled. This argument was older than their marriage. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the kids, then caring for his mother, then well, shed just settled into being a homemaker. And Andrew had settled into holding it over her.
*I dont want to fight,* she said wearily. *Just smoke on the balcony. Lydia has asthmaitll bother her.*
*Fine.* Unexpectedly, he gave in. *For your precious Lydia, Ill make an exception. But just tonight.*
He stood, heading for the bedroom, then tossed over his shoulder: *Dont know why you invited them anyway. Big meeting tomorrowI need sleep, not to entertain your dull friends.*
*Theyre not just friends.* Her voice tightened. *James runs the library. He might help me find work.*
Andrew stopped dead. *What work?*
She hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, when things were settled. Now she had no choice.
*I want a job at the library. Three half-days a week. The kids are grown, youre always at the office I need something.*
*And wholl run the house?* he cut in. *Cook, clean, laundry?*
*Ill manage. The kids barely visit nowless cooking. And Mum helps when shes here*
*Your mum,* he muttered, *with her pies and Sunday roasts.*
*She helps! And shes not here half as much as you claim.*
Andrew waved a hand. *Whatever. But this job nonsenseits daft, Em. Youre forty-seven. Stay home, do your needlework, read your books.*
*My books?* Heat rose in her chest. *Andrew, you do remember I have a degree in English lit? That I taught before the kids?*
*So? That was decades ago. The worlds moved on. Whod hire you with that dusty old CV?*
*The library would.* She held his gaze. *I dont need riches. I need purpose. To feel like more than just your housekeeper.*
*Charming.* His mouth twisted. *So our home, our lifethats nothing to you?*
*Thats not what I meant.* She turned toward the kitchen, pulse thudding. Every conversation lately was a battlefield. When had it started? Somewhere along the years, hed stopped hearing her.
It hadnt always been like this. Theyd met at uniboth bookish, dreaming over poetry. Hed written sonnets; shed swooned. Then came marriage, Sophie, then Tom. Andrew climbed the ranks at the publishing house; Emily stayed home, her own books gathering dust.
She hadnt noticed the change. The romantic boy hardening into a cynical man who worked late, who stopped asking her thoughts. By the time she saw it, they were strangers sharing a house.
Lydia and James arrived at seven sharp. Jamesburly, beardedlaunched into politics with Andrew, while Lydia followed Emily to the kitchen.
*Howd he take the job talk?* Lydia whispered, chopping salad.
*Badly.*
*Well, men hate change. Especially when it inconveniences them.*
*Nothing would change! Id still manage everything.*
*To him, its revolution,* Lydia smirked. *Imaginecoming home to an empty house. The horror!*
They laughed, and Emily felt lighter. Lydia always steadied her.
Dinner began civilly. Andrew was all charm, quizzing James about new releases. Emily dared to hopemaybe todays spat was just stress.
*Speaking of books,* Lydia said brightly, *you told Andrew about the reading group?*
*What group?* Andrews fork paused mid-air.
Emilys stomach dropped. *I mentioned it. For children. At the library.*
*Starting when?* His voice turned dangerous.
*Next month,* Lydia chirped, oblivious. *Twice weeklyjust two-hour sessions.*
*Fascinating.* Andrew set down his cutlery. *And were you planning to consult me?*
*I tried today,* Emily murmured.
*Funny. I recall no discussion.* He turned to their guests. *Emilys taken a sudden fancy to self-fulfillment. I say forty-sevens a bit late to play career woman.*
*Why?* James blinked. *Youve a brilliant mind, Emily. Wed be lucky to have you.*
*Perhaps.* Andrew smiled thinly. *But she has obligations. To me.*
*Andrew.* Emilys face burned. *Not now.*
*Why not?* He spread his hands. *Lets be clear: I wont have my wife working. Full stop.*
Silence. Lydia shot James a look; he coughed, veering into praise for the roast lamb. The rest of the evening crawled by on small talk.
When guests left, Emily stacked dishes in silence.
*How long were you hiding this?* Andrew loomed in the doorway.
*I wasnt. I waited for the right time.*
*Which was when? After youd signed contracts?*
*Why are you so angry?* She faced him. *Its a job, Andrew. Not an affair.*
*To me, its betrayal.* His jaw clenched. *We agreed: you keep house, I provide. That was the deal.*
*Twenty years ago!* Her voice broke. *The kids are gone. Im lonely. I need to feel useful!*
*Not my problem.* He stepped closer. *Or is it freedom you want? New men?*
*What?* She recoiled. *This is about purpose, not*
*Spare me.* He cut her off. *Ive seen women like you at work. First its self-growth, then office flings, then divorce.*
*Christ, Andrew.* She stared. *You think Ill seduce someone between Dickens and dusty shelves?*
*I think youll regret it.* He folded his arms. *But go ahead. Ruin what weve built.*
Something inside her snapped.
*Im taking the job.* Her voice was steady now. *Ill call James tomorrow.*
Andrew gaped. *What did you say?*
*You heard me. I need to feel like a person again.*
*Fine.* He nodded slowly. *Youve made your choice. Without me.*
*I tried making it with you. You wouldnt listen.*
A beat. Then he stormed off, returning with her handbag and coat.
*Your times up.* He thrust them at her. *If you dont need my input, you dont need me. Leave.*
*Youre throwing me out? Over a library job?*
*Over betrayal.* His eyes were flint. *You spat on our vows.*
Mechanically, she took the coat. None of this felt real.
*Is this really how it ends?*
*It ended when you chose yourself over us.* He shoved the door open. *Go on. Lydiall put you up.*
She stepped into the hall, then turned. *The saddest part? You never asked why I need this.*
*Enlighten me.*
*Im terrified,* she whispered. *That one day, youll leave me for that young editor you stay late withOlivia. Her calls, your private chats on the balcony Walls are thin, Andrew.*
He paled. *Thats insane.*
*Is it?* She shut the door behind her.
Outside, the night air was cool. For the first time in years, she breathed freely.
She dialled Lydia. *Can I come over? Now?*
As she walked, her phone buzzedAndrews name flashing. She hesitated, then declined the call and switched it off.
Her time *was* up. Time for fear, for silence. Whatever came next was hers alone. And for once, she wasnt afraid.
