**Making a Change…**
With a tray in her hands, Emma stood in the never-ending line at the café, finally making it to the front where she quickly ordered from the young guy behind the counter:
“Three soups, three roast dinners, and three lemonades, please.”
The tray wasn’t big enough. She glanced back a few times at the table where her husband, Daniel, and their ten-year-old son, Jake, sat waiting. Jake was too young to help, fair enough—but Daniel? He just stared at his phone, not even looking up. Emma ended up making two trips, darting back and forth under the disapproving stares of others in the queue. Daniel finally grabbed his soup, took a spoonful, and scowled.
“Pea soup? You know I hate pea soup. Could’ve asked.”
“Or you could’ve come up and chosen yourself,” Emma sighed. “I’m not a mind-reader.”
“Oh, come off it! It’s not like we’d have to queue together. You just needed to ask.”
Emma hunched over her soup and let it go. Arguing was pointless. Daniel was always like this—never happy. And Jake was picking up his habits.
“Mum, roast dinner? I don’t like roast!” Jake whined.
“Mum only thinks about herself,” Daniel muttered, still glued to his phone but shovelling in the soup he’d just complained about.
“Eat what you’re given,” Emma hissed at Jake, glancing around to see if anyone had heard.
The café was packed. Families rushed to finish breakfast before heading to the beach. Emma had hoped to go too, but she wasn’t sure if Daniel would join or just laze around their room. Yesterday, he’d moaned about the walk to the shore—another thing that was *her* fault, apparently. She’d picked this guesthouse, even though she’d asked Daniel a hundred times to help choose. He’d just waved her off.
“Can’t you handle it? Let me relax after work. It’s simple.”
So she had. And, as usual, it was all wrong—too far from town, too far from the beach.
After breakfast, Emma stacked the empty plates and noticed a couple from the room next door walk in. The woman, elegant and poised, glided to a table while her husband asked, “Darling, what dessert would you like today?”
Emma’s chest tightened with envy. *That’s* what a husband should be like.
Daniel hadn’t always been like this, though. When they first met, he’d been attentive—picking her up from work, cooking together, planning evenings side by side. Things changed after Jake was born. Emma took maternity leave, and suddenly, it was expected that dinner would be ready, the house spotless. Jake was an easy baby, so she managed—tried to be the perfect wife.
Even when she returned to work, nothing shifted. The cooking, cleaning, parenting—it all stayed on her. And Daniel? He just criticised. The shirts weren’t ironed right. The pasta was yesterday’s. Emma took it all to heart, rushing to fix things. *He’s not a bad husband*, she told herself. Good job, comes straight home. Just… grumpy.
By the time they got to the beach, the heat was sweltering. Daniel stripped off and sprinted into the water, dragging Jake with him and tossing over his shoulder, “You sort the loungers and umbrella.”
Emma fumed. *Why is this my job?* But she trudged off to pay, too tired to argue.
Later, as she waded in the shallows, Daniel left Jake with her and swam off alone. An hour in, he announced, “I’m heading back. Too hot.”
“Stay a bit longer? We could all go together.”
“Nah, I’m done.”
And just like that, he left—no water, no float for Jake. No thought for anyone else.
Their whole holiday was like this. *She* booked the excursions, *he* complained—too long, too boring, wrong choice. Now, packing up their room the night before leaving, Emma stuffed the suitcases while Daniel and Jake slept.
“Bus leaves at five,” Daniel had said. “Don’t forget anything, yeah?”
Last summer, she’d forgotten his razor, and he still brought it up.
Emma zipped the suitcase, scanned the room—nothing left. She should sleep, but she couldn’t. Seven days, gone in a blur. What was there to remember? Just more of the same—running after Daniel and Jake.
She stepped onto the balcony, the cicadas loud in the warm night. A click of a lighter made her jump. Their elegant neighbour stood there, smoking.
“Can’t sleep?” the woman asked.
“Early start,” Emma replied.
“Packing alone? Where’s your husband?”
“Asleep,” Emma said bitterly.
The woman exhaled smoke. “Emma, right? I’ve heard how he speaks to you. You’re young, lovely. Forgive me, but—he doesn’t value you.”
Emma’s throat tightened. “You noticed?”
Standing in the dark, the words poured out. Daniel hadn’t always been this way. When they met, he’d been devoted—like this woman’s husband.
The neighbour laughed softly. “Believe it or not, we divorced once. Two years apart. He chased me the whole time. I had to rethink everything.” She took a drag. “My advice? Love yourself first. Either he’ll change, or you’ll leave. Your son’s learning to treat you like this—that’s dangerous.”
Emma stayed on the balcony long after the woman left. *Decide to divorce?* The thought terrified her. But living like this was suffocating.
The next morning, she woke Daniel and Jake, grabbed her bag, and took Jake’s hand. Daniel had to lug the suitcases himself.
“Don’t want to,” Emma said sweetly when he tried to hand her one. “You’re the man, aren’t you?”
Daniel gaped.
On the flight home, he stewed. But the real shock came when they got back. Emma unpacked only her and Jake’s things, then announced she was too tired to cook.
“What do you mean? What about me?” Daniel spluttered.
“Figure it out,” she said, breezing out with Jake for dinner.
Cooking, ironing, laundry—she stopped all of it. Days passed before Daniel, furious, finally unpacked his own suitcase.
The night before work, he realised—no ironed shirts.
“Are you mad? What am I supposed to wear?” he roared.
“Try ironing,” Emma said, rolling over.
He ended up in a wrinkled shirt, seething.
That evening, Emma reappeared, dressed up, perfume on. “Jake’s at my parents’. I’m going out.”
Daniel exploded when she returned.
“No dinner, the house is a mess, and you’re out gallivanting? What kind of wife are you?”
“What kind of husband are *you*?” Emma shot back. “You do nothing. You come home, drink beer, zone out. When did you last lift a finger for me? For us?” She took a breath. “If you’re unhappy—we can divorce.”
Daniel froze. She’d said it so calmly.
A year later, they were back at the seaside. Emma, glowing, sat at a table while Daniel leaned down. “What would you like, love?”
He took Jake to queue. Emma smiled. *Nice place.* Close to the beach. They’d chosen it together.
