“You’re just sitting at home doing nothing!”
“Mum, come play cars with me, you promised…” five-year-old Oliver said, peeking into the kitchen again.
Emma looked at her son, then at the pile of unwashed dishes and the chicken sitting patiently on the chopping board. She glanced back at her boy. He stared right at her, waiting—not really a question, more like a plea.
“Ollie, just wait a little longer, okay? Mummy will come soon,” she said quietly, almost like she didn’t believe those words herself.
“Always ‘soon’! You say that every time, then never come! I don’t wanna play alone!” he shouted before storming off to his room.
His cries woke little Sophie, who immediately signalled her awakening with loud wails. Emma slumped onto a chair, cradling her head as if trying to block out the noise. She closed her eyes for a second.
…Emma had always wanted children, loved them madly. But right now, she’d give anything to be somewhere completely alone—no endless cleaning, cooking, nappies, speech therapy sessions, park trips, bath times, bedtime stories…
Plenty of women lived like this, but most had grandparents helping, husbands pitching in. Emma’s situation was different. Her parents were miles away, her mother-in-law was busy with work and her own life—no time for grandchildren. And her husband, James? He usually got home when the kids were already in bed. He’d eat, then slump in front of the telly or his laptop. No real help. Lately, things between them had grown tense, almost painful.
“Mummmmmy…” came the drawn-out whimper of one-and-a-half-year-old Sophie.
“Coming, sweetheart,” Emma called back, hurrying to the nursery.
She got the kids sorted, did a quick tidy-up. After lunch, Oliver had speech therapy. While he was busy, Emma took Sophie to the playground.
By the time they got home, it was nearly evening. Emma bathed the kids, fed them dinner. She barely ate herself—just gulped down a quick cuppa. Then she cleared the table, eyed the chicken, and sentenced it to tomorrow. To feed James, she boiled some frozen dumplings instead.
James came home close to nine. Emma was used to him arriving in a foul mood.
“I’m home! No one even greets me?” he shouted from the hallway.
“James, please don’t shout—I’ve just got Sophie down,” Emma said, trying to keep her voice soft, unprovoking.
“Right. ‘Hello, sweet home’—what a joke. Walk in and it’s like a morgue,” he grumbled, stomping off to wash up.
Emma set the table—dumplings on a plate, herbs and sour cream on the side. Boiled the kettle, sliced bread.
“Emma, did you bulk-buy these dumplings so I’ll never see proper food again?” James snipped.
“James, just one more day, okay? I’ll do the chicken tomorrow, like I promised,” she said apologetically.
“Last time I’m eating these. Absolutely not tomorrow! We had them Monday, now again—ridiculous!” He dug in angrily.
He didn’t even ask if she’d eaten all day. Lately, it was like she didn’t exist to him.
“James, put your phone down for five minutes. Tell me about work?”
“What’s to tell? Same old. I’m sick of it, and now you want me to talk about it at home?” He cut her off, glued to his screen again.
“Fine. Enjoy your food. I’ll go check on the kids.”
“Go on, then,” he muttered.
Emma tucked the kids in, turned off the nursery light, and returned to the kitchen.
“I’m off to bed,” James said flatly, staring at his phone as he walked out.
“Goodnight,” Emma whispered to the empty room.
There was a time he’d kiss her goodnight first, wish her sweet dreams. They’d talk for hours after putting Oliver down, sipping tea, then watch telly together in bed.
Those warm, tender moments felt like a distant memory. Lately, something was off. James was buried in work, in things Emma wasn’t part of.
Since Sophie’s birth, exhaustion had sunk into Emma’s bones. She’d hoped to get Oliver into nursery, but the speech therapy group was full, so they kept him home, paying for private sessions.
Emma sighed, checked the clock—half ten already! Dishes, a quick wash, then bed.
By the time she got to the bedroom, it was nearly midnight. James was snoring. His phone pinged—a text.
“Who texts this late?” she wondered, brushing it off as a bank alert or something.
She barely closed her eyes before the alarm blared.
“Half six already? Feels like I didn’t sleep at all…” She dragged herself up, threw on a robe, and shuffled to the bathroom.
Washed her face, made coffee, started breakfast. James walked in at six.
“Porridge and toast again?!” he groaned.
“Morning, James.”
“My mum always made pancakes or cheese fritters. From you, it’s scraps!” He yanked the porridge bowl toward him.
“James, come on—weekends I cook properly. Fried food every morning isn’t healthy. Porridge’s good for you and Oliver.”
“Right. So I choke this down while you lounge about! Could’ve at least scrambled eggs!”
“First, lower your voice—you’ll wake the kids. Second, I forgot to buy eggs yesterday!”
“What kind of wife are you? ‘Forgot, couldn’t, didn’t.’ Sit at home all day, can’t even do basics! Every woman manages except you! No wonder Mum says—”
Sophie’s cries cut him off.
“I’ve suspected your mum’s been poisoning you against me!” Emma snapped.
“Don’t you dare drag my mum into this! Go deal with your kids!” He shoved his chair back and left.
While Emma tended to Sophie, James stormed out to work without a goodbye. The slam echoed through the flat.
She regretted another fight. Things were strained enough without petty rows… The day spun on as usual—washing kids, breakfast, cleaning, prepping lunch and dinner simultaneously, fielding endless requests.
After lunch and naps, they went to the park.
“Mum, let’s go to the playground with the swings,” Oliver said.
“Alright, love,” Emma agreed.
They walked to the next estate’s playground.
“Emma! Hi! Long time no see!” a familiar voice called.
“Oh, Lucy! Hi! Look how big your two are!” Emma ruffled her friend’s son’s hair.
“You’ve all grown so much! But Emma, you’ve lost weight—you look pale. Are you okay?” Lucy frowned.
“Just busy, two kids…” Emma waved it off.
“Love, you’ve got to take time for yourself. Doesn’t James help? I get my Dan to pitch in all the time. It’s his family too!” Lucy laughed.
“Lucy, James works late. It’s just how it is…”
“So? Dan’s no layabout, but he still parents! Where are you off to?”
“That playground over there. You?”
“We’re heading to the shopping centre—new soft play opened. Come with us!”
“Oh, no, Lucy. We’ll stay here. Didn’t bring money, and we’re saving. James wants a new car.”
“Emma, he just got one! Saw him parking near the centre last week. Buys himself cars but won’t spare a penny for his kids?”
Emma stayed quiet. Lucy wasn’t wrong.
“Come on! Our treat. Let’s catch up properly!” Lucy insisted.
They went to the nearby centre. The older kids raced to the play area while Emma, Lucy, and Sophie grabbed coffee and cake.
“Emma, you’re so jumpy. Everything alright?” Lucy studied her.
“Just tired.”
“Love, tell your man to step up. You’ve let him—” Lucy froze.
“What? What’s wrong?” Emma followed her gaze.
“Emma… isn’t that James with some girl?!”
Emma turned. A few seconds later, she looked away, tears spilling. James was kissing a woman, leaving a boutique hand in hand.
“The absolute nerve! Emma, why are you just sitting here? If that was Dan, I’d—”
Emma covered her face.
*****
“Texting your girlfriend?” Emma asked as James devoured fried chicken, thumbs flying on his phone.
“What? What’re you on about?”
“I saw you today. At the shopping centre. Buying her gifts?”
James paused.
“Now you’re spying on me?! I should be asking what you were doing there! Gallivanting all day, then too ‘tired’ to cook! Yeah, I’ve got a girlfriend, so what?! Look at yourself—would anyone want to be seen with you? A mess!”
“I’m filing for divorce,” Emma”Years later, sitting on her own sofa in the home she’d built for herself and the kids, Emma finally breathed easy, knowing she’d chosen right.”
