**The Love Has Faded**
*— Why are you so quiet and thoughtful today?* James asked his wife as they sat at the kitchen table late in the evening.
Emily, his wife, wordlessly handed him the warmed-up dinner.
*— Late again, are you?* she murmured softly.
*— I took on extra shifts… there’s a bonus coming at the end of the quarter.*
James, a well-built thirty-five-year-old bank clerk, had just returned home from work. His family was waiting—Emily and their three daughters, aged six, four, and just one. Lately—no, for nearly two years now—he’d dreaded coming home, lingering at the office, wandering the streets… only stepping through the door late at night. The ceaseless noise, the shouting, the nappies, the tiny sleepsuits, the midnight wailing—it all wore him down. And Emily, always buried in childcare, dishevelled in her old dressing gown, hair scraped back, exhausted with dark circles under her eyes.
Seven years ago, when he’d married the bright, beautiful woman from his department, had he ever imagined life would become such a burden? No, the first few years had been happy—their first daughter arrived, and he’d pitched in, giving Emily time at the weekends for the hairdresser, a manicure, a little freedom. But then, barely a year later, she was pregnant again. They’d agreed—two children, done and dusted. Their second girl was restless, screaming through the night for months, leaving James red-eyed and drained at work. Then she settled, life eased, the girls started nursery, and Emily returned to her job… Until the shock—another baby on the way.
He’d fought it. *“Where would we put another child?”* he’d argued. *“They’re still so small… There are options now—minor procedures. We could arrange something.”*
But Emily had cried, stormed, refused. He’d given in—one more child. Maybe a son this time.
The pregnancy was rough, hospital stays frequent. He was left juggling the two girls—nursery runs, walks, laundry. No help to be found; her parents lived up in Scotland, and his own mother was frail, needing care herself.
Then came the third—another colicky baby, soothed only in Emily’s arms. She never put the child down.
Gradually, he stopped wanting to come home.
*What had these seven years brought?* he thought. *The first year, they’d gone to the cinema, cafes, exhibitions, even a seaside holiday. And then? Nappies, screaming, sleep deprivation.*
He no longer desired her, intimacy held no appeal… Now he timed his return for when the girls were asleep. He couldn’t stand to look at Emily—what had become of the beauty he’d married? But mostly, he pitied himself. Something had to change. He couldn’t live like this.
At work, colleagues boasted of holidays, Maldives getaways, prodding him—*“When are you taking your girls to the coast? You’re not short of money.”* He stayed silent. Who’d understand that he wanted to escape, even for a few days—better yet, months?
*— James… I’m pregnant again,* Emily whispered, sinking onto a chair.
He froze, spoon halfway to his mouth.
*— Have you lost your mind? I don’t even remember the last time we—!* he shouted.
*— Twelve weeks… it’s too late now,* she murmured.
*— You’re insane! That’s it—I’m done. This isn’t a life, it’s hell. Look at yourself! When did you last step into a salon? You swore you were careful! You look like a ghost. I can’t stand the sight of you. I’m leaving. Keep the kids, do what you want!*
*— Where will you go? What about us?* A single tear rolled down her cheek.
*— You and the girls can have the flat. I’ll take the car—I’ll stay with Mum. I can’t do this anymore.* He stood abruptly, striding to the door.
*— Never in my worst nightmares. This isn’t living—it’s a prison sentence.*
And with that, he was gone.
**Lesson learned:** Love isn’t just passion—it’s endurance. Walk away too soon, and you might regret what you didn’t fight for.
