“Go to the kitchen!” I heard my husband sayand Id had enough.
Emily stared at her phone screen. James had texted her for the fourth time in half an hour: “Pick up, you daft cow.”
She was behind the wheel of the learner car, her instructor explaining parallel parking. The phone buzzed again.
“Can I answer? My husbands worrying.”
“Of course.”
“James, Im driving”
“Well, why arent you picking up? Im calling you!”
“I cant talk while”
“Right, got it. Passing your test is more important than your husband. When will you be home?”
“An hour.”
“Whos making dinner, then? Or am I expected to do it myself?”
The instructor looked away, pretending not to hear.
“Ill cook when I get back.”
“Good. Thought Id married a career woman now.”
At home, James was sprawled on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. Hed been unemployed for three monthsclaimed it was temporary, but the job hunt dragged on.
“Hows the driving school? Tough work?” His voice held that familiar smirk.
“Its fine. Practised parallel parking today.”
“Ooh, serious business, is it?”
Emily walked into the kitchen. The sink was piled with unwashed disheshis breakfast.
“James, could we finally sort through those boxes? Its February, and we might as well have moved in yesterday.”
He glanced up from his screen.
“Whats there to sort? You can manage.”
“We could do it together. And tidy up while were at it”
James stood and stepped closer. Something cold flickered in his eyes.
“Go to the kitchen.”
He said it quietly, but with perfect clarity. No shoutjust words, and the silence was worse than any scream.
Emily froze.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me. Make dinner.”
“We were talking about the boxes”
“Were we? You were whinging. I said youll manage alone.”
Something inside Emily snapped. Not from the insultfrom the realisation. She remembered the New Years party at his mates, where hed charmed every woman in the room, joked with the hostess, helped with the drinks. Then, in the car afterwards, hed said:
“Why were you so quiet all night? Embarrassed me.”
“Im not going to the kitchen!”
His eyebrows shot up.
“What?”
“No.”
“Emily, dont push me. We were getting on fine.”
“Fine? When was the last time you spoke to me like a person?”
James set his phone aside.
“Whats your problem? I was joking.”
“Joking? Pick up, you daft cowthats a joke?”
“What, cant I text my wife?”
“You can. Just not like that.”
“Christ, whats the difference? You know I dont mean it badly.”
“I know. Thats why Ive been quiet all this time.”
Emily sat on the edge of the bed.
“Know what my instructor said today? Youve got steady hands. Me. Steady. And at home, Im afraid to ask for help with boxes.”
“Afraid?”
James laughed.
“Oh, give over!”
“I am. Because I know youll find a way to make me feel useless.”
“Dont be ridiculous! Youre imagining things.”
“Am I? Remember when you told your mates I was messing about in driving school?”
“That was funny!”
“To you. To me, it was humiliating.”
James sat beside her on the sofa.
“Look, if you dont like how I talk”
“Then what?”
“The doors right there.”
Silence. Emily looked at him. No apology. No explanation. Just a gesture to the exit.
“Fine.”
She stood, pulled a suitcase from the wardrobe, and started packing.
“What are you doing?”
“What you suggested.”
“Where will you go?”
“Charlottes.”
“Youll storm off, have a cry, then come back. Like always.”
“Like always?”
“Women love a drama. Slam the door, moan to their friends.”
Emily packed her documents, makeup, charger.
“Then crawl back!”
She reached for the wedding photo box, pulled out a picturethem at the registry office, happy.
“Would you have spoken to me like that here?”
James glanced at the photo.
“There were people around.”
“And here? Whos here?”
“Family. I can relax.”
Emily carefully put the photo back. Zipped the suitcase.
“Relax. Right.”
“Wait. Lets talk.”
“Whats to talk about? Youve shown me what I am to you at home.”
In the hallway, she pulled on her coat. James stood barefoot in his tracksuit.
“Come off it! All couples argue.”
“We didnt argue.”
Emily gripped the door handle.
“You just decided you could treat me like this now.”
The door slammed. Behind her, his voice carried:
“Wont get far!”
Two weeks later, a text arrived: “Might swing by tomorrow if I find time.”
Her friend Charlotte shook her head.
“Why even see him?”
“I need to know Im right.”
The café near the station. James was half an hour late.
“Howve you been?” He sat without apologising.
“Fine.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Charlottes for now.”
The “for now” slipped outan old habit of softening things.
“Place is a mess. Dishes piled up, laundry not done. Thank God the neighbour helped with shopping.”
A waitress approachedpretty, brunette, mid-twenties.
“What can I get you?”
“Two coffees,” James said, smiling at her.
“Anything sweet to go with?”
“Weve lovely cakes”
“Bring us the best, then.”
He slid off his wedding ring and set it on the table.
“Now that theres no one at home to nag about socks on the floor, might as well treat myself.”
The waitress giggled.
“Can you cook, then?”
“Course! A mans got to eat. Just nice not having someone moan about every little thing.”
Emily watched the ring.
“Or demand help tidying up.”
He kept going. Right then, she realisedhe was turning their story into a joke for a stranger.
“So,” he turned back to her, “end of the show? Boring without you at home.”
“No.”
“No what?”
“Im not coming back.”
For the first time, James actually looked at her.
“Seriously?”
“Yes.”
Emily stood, placed money for the coffee on the table.
“Wait. You know what youre doing?”
“I do. For the first time in months.”
“Emily! Were adults!”
“Exactly. Thats why Im leaving.”
Outside, sleet fell. Through the window, she saw James explaining something to the waitressprobably complaining about his unreasonable wife.
A month later, Emily rented a one-bed flat. Passed her test. Started a new job.
Once, she spotted James in the supermarket with a younger woman. They laughed, picking groceries. Emily walked past unnoticed.
She wondered: how long before he tells her, “Go to the kitchen”? A month? Two?
That evening, Emily stood by her flats window, tea in hand. Her phone lay silent on the table. No more texts calling her a “daft cow.”
She thought of the women who stay. Who believe he doesnt mean it, that all men are like this. And she felt not judgment, but sorrow.
The phone lit upa message from a colleague about tomorrows meeting. Polite. Professional.
Emily smiled and replied. Then she sat on her sofain her home, where she could ask for help without fear of mockery.
