«Your time’s up,» said the man, nodding toward the door.
«That smell again! I told you not to smoke inside!» Emily flung open the living room windows, the curtains billowing angrily behind her. «Honestly, even the sofa reeks. What will Lydia and her husband think when they come for dinner?»
«And what will they think?» David stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray with deliberate defiance. «They’ll think a perfectly normal bloke lives here, one who enjoys a smoke now and then. Big deal.»
«Normal blokes, David, smoke on the balcony or outside. Not poison their homes with it. It gives me a headache, your smoking.»
«Here we go,» David rolled his eyes. «Twenty-five years married to a smoker, no complaints. Suddenly, now, it’s headaches. Maybe it’s the menopause, eh, love?»
Emily stiffened, lips pressed tight. Thisher age, the changeswas a wound he kept prodding lately, always finding the sorest spot.
«What’s that got to do with anything?» She turned to the window, hiding the sting in her eyes. «Im just asking for basic respect. Is it really so hard to step outside?»
«Respect?» He scoffed. «And wheres yours for me? I come home from work, I want to sit in my chair, have a cuppa, and smoke. Not dash about like some lad. Its my house, after all!»
«Our house,» she corrected quietly.
«Oh, right, ours,» he conceded, grudging. «Though its me paying the mortgage. And the renovations. And that new coat of yours, come to think of it.»
Emily exhaled. She’d heard this a thousand times. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst the children, then caring for his mother, then… then just habit. And hed grown used to holding it over her.
«I dont want to fight,» she said wearily. «Just smoke on the balcony tonight. Lydias asthmatic, itll be hard for her to breathe.»
«Fine,» David relented, surprisingly light. «For your precious Lydia, Ill step outside. But just for tonight.»
He rose, heading toward the bedroom, tossing over his shoulder:
«By the way, whyd you even invite them? Big meeting tomorrowI need sleep, not entertaining your dull friends.»
«Theyre not just friends,» Emily countered. «Michaels head librarian. He might help me find work.»
David stopped. Turned slowly.
«What work?»
Emily hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, when things were settled. Now she had no choice.
«I want a job at the library,» she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. «Three days a week, part-time. The children are grown, youre always at the officeI need something to do.»
«And wholl run the house?» he cut in. «Cook, clean, laundry?»
«Ill manage. Its not full-time,» she offered a weak smile. «The children hardly visit now, we dont need»
«Rarely visit? Your mothers here every week,» he grumbled. «Always expecting shepherds pies and roasts.»
«Mum helps with the chores,» Emily fired back. «And she doesnt come that often.»
«Could be daily, for all I care,» he waved a hand. «But this job nonsenseits a midlife crisis, Em. Forty-sevens too late to start. Stay home, take up embroidery, your little hobbies… your books.»
«My books?» A hot surge rose in her chest. «David, do you even remember I have a degree in English lit? That I taught before the children? That I had first-class honours?»
«So you taught. So what?» He slumped back into his chair. «That was twenty years ago. Things have changed. Whod hire you with that outdated CV?»
«The library,» she repeated stubbornly. «I dont want a fortune, David. Just purpose. People. To feel Im good for more than roasting beef and starching your shirts.»
«Cheers for that,» he sneered. «So home and familywhat, beneath you now? Not worthy of your brilliant mind?»
«You know thats not what I meant,» she sighed. The same fight, again. «Lets talk later. Guests are coming.»
She fled to the kitchen, heart pounding. Every conversation lately became a battleground. When had it started? Somewhere along the years, between school runs and grocery lists, theyd stopped speaking the same language. He didnt hear her. Didnt want to.
It hadnt always been this way. Theyd met at uniboth studying literature, both dreaming in sonnets. David wrote poetry then; shed adored it. Then marriage, first Sophie, then James. Hed climbed the ranks at the publishing house. Shed stayed homewith the children, the chores, the books shed stopped having time to read.
She hadnt noticed the change. Not until the romantic boy became this weary, cynical man who came home late and stopped asking her thoughts. And by then, it was too late. They were strangers under one roof.
Lydia and Michael arrived at seven sharp. Michael, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard, launched into politics with David. Lydia, birdlike and lively at sixty, followed Emily to the kitchen.
«Hows Davids mood?» she asked, slicing tomatoes. «Did you talk about the job?»
«No,» Emily sighed. «Hes dead against it.»
«Expected,» Lydia shrugged. «Men hate change. Especially when it inconveniences them.»
«But nothing would change,» Emily pulled the lasagne from the oven. «Id still manage everything. Just three afternoons out.»
«To him, thats catastrophe,» Lydia chuckled. «Imaginehe comes home, and youre not there. The horror!»
They laughed, and Emily felt the tension ease. Lydia always grounded her.
Dinner began civilly. David was charming, joking, asking Michael about new releases. Emily dared to hopemaybe todays spat was just stress.
«Speaking of books,» Lydia turned to Emily. «Have you told David about our little plan?»
«What plan?» David looked up from his plate.
«Well…» Emily hesitated. «We discussed me running a childrens reading group. At the library.»
«And when,» Davids voice turned dangerous, «was this supposed to start?»
«Next month,» Lydia answered blithely. «Twice weekly, two-hour slots. Barely anything.»
«Fascinating,» David set down his fork. «And were you planning to mention this to me?»
«I tried today,» Emily said quietly.
«Mustve missed that detailed discussion,» David addressed the guests. «You see, Emilys developed a sudden passion for employment. I, however, believe starting a career at her age is… unwise.»
«Why?» Michael frowned. «Emilys highly educated. We need people like her.»
«Perhaps,» David nodded. «But she has obligations. To her family. To her husband.»
«David,» Emily flushed with shame. «Not in front of»
«Whats the issue?» He spread his hands. «Were all adults. Im simply clarifying: my wife working is a no. Full stop.»
Silence fell. Lydia shot her husband a helpless look; he coughed, reaching for the wine.
«Delicious lasagne, Emily,» he said loudly. «Lydia must get the recipe.»
«Of course,» Emily forced out, humiliation tightening her throat.
The rest of the evening passed in stiff chatterweather, news, anything but work. When the guests left, Emily cleared the table in silence.
«How long were you going to hide this?» David leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
«I wasnt hiding,» she stacked plates. «I waited for the right moment.»
«And when would that have been? After youd started?»
«David, I dont understand this anger,» she turned. «Its just a job. Not an affair. Not a crime.»
«To me, its betrayal,» he said coldly. «We agreedyoud keep the home, Id provide. That was the deal.»
«That deal was twenty years ago!» she cried. «The children are grown. I have time now. I need to feel useful!»
«And home isnt useful?» He stepped closer. «Say it plainyoure bored being my wife? Want freedom? New people?»
«What? This isnt about»
«Ive seen these career women at the office,» he cut in. «First its work, then office flings, then divorce.»
«My God, David,» she gaped. «You think Id take a loverin a library? Surrounded by dusty books and elderly patrons?»
«Im saying no to the job. Full stop.»
Something inside her snapped. This was the end. The end of the argument, the end of hopemaybe the end of them.
«Then listen,» she said softly. «Im taking the job. Tomorrow, Ill call Michael. I accept.»
David stared, stunned.
«What did you say?»
«Im working,» she repeated, an odd lightness filling her. «Not for money. Not for new people. To feel human again. Not just an appliance in this house.»
«I see,» he nodded slowly. «So youve decided. Without me.»
«I tried deciding with you. You wouldnt listen.»
«Brilliant,» he turned on his heel.
She heard him pacing, muttering. Then he returned, clutching her handbag and coat.
«Your times up,» he said, pointing to the door. «Make decisions alone, live alone. Get out.»
«What?» Her voice wavered. «Youre throwing me outover a library job?»
«Im throwing you out for betrayal,» he bit out. «For breaking our vow. For putting yourself before this family.»
«Betrayal? David, its a few hours a week! Youre never home, the children are gonewhat am I meant to do? Bake cakes for an empty flat?»
«Take up knitting!» he roared. «But a deals a deal. I work, you keep house. Simple.»
He thrust the coat at her.
«If Im so boring, go amuse yourself. Maybe darling Lydia will take you in.»
Mechanically, she slipped on the coat. It felt unreal, like a bad dream. Theyd fought beforebut never this. Never cruelty.
«You mean this?» She searched his face. «Truly?»
«I mean it.»
She inhaled, stepped to the door. Then turned.
«The saddest part? You never asked why I need this. Why now. You just forbade itlike Im property, not your wife.»
«Enlighten me,» he challenged.
«Because Im terrified,» she whispered. «That one day, you wont come home. That youll leave me for that young editorthe one you stay late with every Thursday. The one who calls, and you take it on the balcony so I wont hear. But walls are thin, David. And Im not deaf.»
He recoiled. «What editor?»
«Claire,» she said calmly. Then she opened the door and left.
The hallway was quiet, save for a neighbours jazz drifting down. Emily descended the stairs, stepped into the cool night. The air was crisp, clean. She breathed deepand felt, strangely, free.
Pulling out her phone, she dialled Lydia.
«Lyd? Its me. Yes, we talked. Can I come over? Now?»
Walking toward the bus stop, she marvelled at lifes odd turns. This morning, shed been certain of her futurethe same house, the same man, the same weary cycle. Now, stepping into the unknown, she felt lighter than she had in years.
Her phone buzzed in her bag. Davids name flashed. She pausedthen declined the call, switched it off.
Her time was up. The time of fear, of silence, of small concessions. Something new was beginningterrifying, uncertain, but hers. And she was ready.
