Simon had gone off for a week to see his lover, saying hed reeducate Molly. He came back to find a mess in the hallway.
Molly was perched on the sofa, phone glued to her hand, finger flying over the keyboard. Her face was tight, eyebrows knitted. Shed grown used to evenings like thisSimon could sit for hours scrolling, not answering her questions, not even noticing what was happening around them.
Simon, are you having dinner? Molly asked, moving away from the window.
Later, he muttered, not even looking up.
She sighs, heads to the kitchen. The twobed flat was the one theyd inherited from her parents. Her dad died five years ago, mum followed two years later. The lease was in Mollys name long before they married, to avoid the probate nightmare. When they wed, Simon moved in. It made senserent was high, the flat was spacious and cosy.
The early years were easy. Simon worked as a site manager for a construction firm, Molly taught at a primary school. Theyd stroll through HydePark, escape to the countryside on weekends, dream up plans. Then Simon started snapping. Hed get irritable over the tiniest things.
Whyd you buy that yogurt? he asked, opening the fridge. I told you I dont like the flavour.
Molly, you never said anything, she replied calmly. Ill pick a different one next time.
Always your way, isnt it! Simon snapped, slamming the fridge door.
Molly didnt get why hed made a fuss. Hed never complained about food before. Suddenly every little thing sparked a complaint.
Their relationship grew tense. Simon kept telling her she was too independent. He hated that she made decisions without himwhere to holiday, what to buy for the house, who to meet on a Saturdayall of it set Simons teeth on edge.
You didnt even ask my opinion! he roared when Molly mentioned shed bought theatre tickets for Saturday.
Molly, I suggested that play a month ago, she said, surprised. You said it sounded nice.
But you shouldve checked the date! he insisted. I might have other plans.
What plans? Molly asked. You were going to lounge on the sofa watching telly.
Simon flushed, stormed out, slamming the door. Molly stood in the living room, bewildered. He used to love her surprises; now any initiative from her sparked his anger.
Things went worst when his mother, Mrs. Patterson, came into the picture. She lived in a modest house on the outskirts and called Simon every weekend, inviting him over. Simon would drive up, Molly would stay home. Lately those visits felt like a chore.
Mrs. Patterson was always moaning about her health, asking for help with the garden, the fence, the attic. Simon silently obliged, Molly helped around the house. Weekends turned into work days, and by Sunday night they were exhausted.
Molly, can we stay home this weekend? Simon asked one Thursday. Im knackered.
What do you mean stay home? he snapped. Mums waiting for us.
Shes waiting every week, Molly replied, tired. We could go next weekend.
No, Simon cut in. Well go Saturday, as usual.
But I dont want to, Molly said firmly. I need a break.
Simon rose slowly, his face reddening, fists clenching.
So youre refusing to go to my mums?
Im not refusing forever, Molly tried to explain. Just one weekend. You can go alone if you like.
Alone?! Simon exploded. Do you even realise what youre saying? My mum is family! Youre obliged to visit with me!
Molly, dont shout, she said gently. We can talk this through.
Theres nothing to talk about! he roared. Youve become uncontrollable! You do whatever you want, ignore everyone! You think because the flat is yours you can boss me around?
Molly froze. For the first time Simon mentioned the flat. He felt uncomfortable living in a place that wasnt his, and that irritation had been bubbling beneath the surface.
Molly, I never tried to command you, she whispered. The flat isnt the issue.
It is! he shouted. Im just a guest in your house! Maybe I should leave so you see how horrible it is without me!
Everyone can do what they like, Molly replied evenly.
Simon stared at her, expecting tears, pleas, an apology. Instead Molly stood, arms crossed, steady. Inside she felt hurt, but she wasnt about to show weakness.
So what, you dont care? he snarled through clenched teeth. Youre fine with this?
I never said I was fine, she replied. But threats wont work.
Thats not a threat! Simon barked. Ill stay with someone else and youll realise how bad it is without me!
Molly felt a cold rush as the words sank in. Someone else? All those hours glued to his phone, the constant irritability, the avoidance of time togethernow it all clicked.
Got it, she said flatly.
Simon turned and headed to the bedroom. A few minutes later he emerged with a bag, face twisted in anger, movements sharp. Molly watched from the hallway as he stuffed his things in.
Lets see how you sing when youre left alone, he muttered, zipping his bag.
Molly said nothing. Simon pulled on his coat, grabbed the bag, and made his way to the door.
A week should be enough for you to pull yourself together, he called over his shoulder as he slammed the door shut with a loud bang.
Silence pressed on Mollys ears. Her hands trembled, a hollow feeling settled inside. She shuffled to the lounge and sank onto the sofa.
Simon really had gone to another woman to reeducate her, to prove he could manage without her, to make Molly grateful for his presence.
Molly stared at a point on the wall, the sting inside burning, yet a strange lightness crept in. The constant tension of the past monthssniping, shouting, nagginghad drained her. Now the flat was quiet. No slammed doors, no accusations about her independence.
Her phone rang around ten at night. It was her friend, Emma.
Molly, you okay? Emma asked, worried.
Fine, Molly replied. Simons gone.
I saw him outside the café on Oxford Street. He was with a woman. I thought Id imagined it, but then I saw him clearly.
Molly closed her eyes. So it wasnt just a threatSimon had really bolted to his lover, making a point.
Emma, you hear me? she said, grateful for the call.
Yeah, I hear you. Thanks for telling me.
Want to come over? Emma asked.
No need. Im fine.
You sure?
Yes. Goodnight, Emma.
Molly hung up. The whole thing clicked: Simon had left not to cool off but to show off a backup plan.
She got up, opened the wardrobe, and found half of his stuff still therejust the essentials hed taken. Hed only grabbed a few things, assuming hed be back in a week, expecting her to wait, apologise, and fall back in line.
Instead, Molly didnt wait. She dialled a locksmith shed found online24hour service, would be there in an hour.
Evening, a man answered.
Hi, I need a new lock on my front door, can you come today?
Sure, where are you?
She gave the address. He said hed be there in forty minutes.
While waiting, Molly walked through the flat, taking inventory: his shirts in the closet, shoes by the hall, books on the shelf, a razor in the bathroom. Hed clearly planned to return and pick up where he left off.
The locksmith arrived, a middleaged bloke with a toolbox. He inspected the old lock and suggested a sturdier deadbolt. Molly agreed. As he worked, she slipped into the bedroom and packed Simons things into two suitcasesshirts, jeans, sweaters, shoes, books, razor, toothbrush. She moved methodically, not thinking.
Done, the locksmith said, handing her new keys.
She paid, saw him out, and shut the new lock behind her. Simon wouldnt get in now; his old keys were useless.
She stared at the suitcases, thinking shed take them to the hallway tomorrow for him to collect. For now, she just wanted to lie down and sleep, to forget the days drama.
A week passed oddly peacefully. Molly went to work, came home, cooked only for herself, spent evenings reading and watching series shed never had time for. No slammed doors, no shouting, no nagging about independence.
On Monday morning she lugged Simons suitcases to the communal hallway, placed them by the stairs, and added a bag with his paperworkinsurance policy, work documents, old receipts.
Neighbour Mrs. Patel from the ground floor stopped her.
Molly, what are those suitcases for? she asked.
Hell collect his stuff, Molly said shortly.
Oh dear, Mrs. Patel sighed. Young people these days. They used to be so settled.
Molly gave a brief smile and went on to her teaching day. The routine was the same: lessons, checking notebooks, chatting with colleagues. No one at home was waiting for Simon, and that felt oddly goodno pressure, no worries about what he might think of dinner or cleaning.
That evening Emma called again.
Molly, how are you? Heard from Simon?
No, Molly replied. Dont need to.
Got the suitcases?
Theyre still in the hallway.
So he hasnt come back yet, Emma mused. Maybe hes really staying with his lover for good?
I dont care, Molly said. He can live wherever he wants.
Emma laughed. Right. No point chasing after him. Hes on his own now.
Molly brewed some herbal tea, sat by the window as rain drummed on the glass. Autumn was at its peak, the streets slick with leaves. It used to feel melancholy, now it was soothingquiet, no one demanding her attention.
Wednesday she popped into the supermarket after work, bought just enough for one: a chunk of cheese, a packet of pasta, some salad veg. Before, shed bought double for Simons appetite. Now she could take only what she liked.
The rest of the week slipped by in the same calm rhythm. She woke, got ready, didnt trip over Simons shoes in the hallway, returned to a clean sink, read before bed without his snoring in the background. Everything was simply peaceful.
Saturday she tackled a big cleanupmopped the floors, dusted, washed the laundry. The flat gleamed. She took a quick shower, brewed coffee, and settled on the sofa with a book as the streetlights flickered on.
Meanwhile, Simon was at his lovers flat, bragging to her, Christie, about how shed soon call him, how shed realise she couldnt manage without him. Christie, a fitnesscentre receptionist five years younger, listened halfinterested. Their fling had started three months ago when Simon signed up for a gym membership. Theyd met a few times over coffee, and now hed moved in for a week to teach Molly a lesson.
Dont worry, shell ring when she misses me, Simon said, sipping whisky.
Christie shrugged. If she does, great. If not, Im not bothered.
As the week waned, Simon grew bored of the flatshare, tired of hearing about Mollys wrong behaviour. He packed his bag on Sunday, hopped on a bus, imagined the triumphant returnMolly in tears, apologising, him playing the forgiving husband.
He got off the bus, walked up the stairs to his flat, fumbled for his key. It turned, but the lock wouldnt give. He tried again, same result. The new lock was shiny, different.
What the hell? he muttered, stepping back and checking the door. It was his flat, but the lock belonged to someone else.
He glanced at the two suitcases in the hallwayhis. Inside were his documents: insurance, work papers, receipts.
He stood there, stunned, as the reality sank in. Molly hadnt been waiting; shed changed the lock and wasnt planning to open it for him.
He rang the bell. Nothing. He rang again. Still silence. The hallway was empty.
Open the door, Molly! he shouted, pounding.
From the flat next door came the shuffled steps of Mrs. Patel. She opened the door and gave him a bemused look.
Late, sir. Lessons over, she said dryly.
What? Simon asked.
Im saying its late. Youve been away a weeknow sort yourself out, she replied. Mollys done the right thing, changing the lock. Folks like you need a good shove.
She disappeared, leaving Simon standing in the hallway, the door to his flat shut and locked. He fumbled with his phone, dialled Molly. Long ring, then a busy tone. He tried againsame. Shed blocked his calls.
He typed a message: Please open the door. We need to talk. It showed as read, no reply.
He shouted again, louder. No answer. He finally slumped onto a suitcase, hands shaking, mind in a whirl. He realised there was nowhere to go back to. He couldnt stay with Christieshed kicked him out after two weeks. His mum lived far out in the country, and shed ask too many questions.
He tried once more to call Molly; she let it go to voicemail. He left another message: Im sorry, I was wrong. Lets start again. It was seen, still no reply.
He sat there, the hallway echoing, the weight of his own actions finally hitting him. Meanwhile, Molly was in the kitchen with a mug of coffee, hearing his shouts, but she didnt move. A week without him had shown how much easier life wasno fights, no nagging, just quiet.
The phone sat on the table, his missed calls blinking. She could see them, but she wasnt going to answer. Hed made his choice, and shed made hers.
She took a sip, looked out at the rainslick street, the few pedestrians hurrying home. She was home, in her own flat, without a man who thought he could teach his wife a lesson by disappearing.
The knocking stopped. Simon mustve left. Molly blocked his number, deciding there was nothing left to discuss. She walked to the living room, turned on the floor lamp, settled into an armchair with a book. For the first time in ages she felt calmno noise, no accusations, just peace.
The next day Simon tried again from work. Molly answered briefly.
Molly, open the door. I need my things, he demanded.
The suitcases are in the hallway. Take them, she said.
I want to talk, he persisted.
No, I have nothing to say to you, she replied.
She hung up, blocked his number again. He kept trying from different phones, but she never answered.
A week later Molly filed for divorce. She gathered the papers, went to the register office, submitted the application. No children, the flat was hers outright, so there was nothing to split. The decree came a month later.
Simon tried to arrange a meeting, sent messages through mutual friends, begged for another chance. Molly stayed firm. Hed shown his true coloursthreatening, manipulating, using a lover to teach her a lesson. She didnt need that.
Six months on, Molly was used to living alone. She worked, met friends, read, weekend trips to the countryside. No one nagged her about independence. No weekly trips to the motherinlaw. No yoghurt arguments or theatre ticket fights.
Emma dropped by often, marveling at the change.
Molly, youre glowing! she said, pouring tea.
Because I finally live for myself, Molly smiled. Im not trying to please anyone, not tolerating nagging.
Is Simon still in touch?
No. After the divorce he vanished. Heard hes renting a place on the outskirts, and his fling with Christie fell apartshe gave him the boot after two weeks.
Emma laughed. Thats a good lesson. He tried to teach you, but ended up with a broken bucket.
Molly shrugged. Simons fate no longer mattered. Hed made his choice, now dealing with the consequences.
Later, as Emma left, Molly sat by the window with a fresh cup of coffee. Outside the rain fell, leaves drummed on the pavement. Autumn was still there, but now it brought calm instead of melancholy.
She took a sip, smiled. Simon wanted to reshape her, to prove how bad life was without him. It backfired. She realised how wonderful it was to live without constant arguments, demands, and manipulation.
And that, she thought, was the biggest lesson of all.
