You picked work over me.
“I—I can’t believe what I’m hearing! This is insane! Your stupid job, your endless last-minute calls, your constant business trips!” Emma knocked her mug off the table, sending it flying into the wall, coffee splattering everywhere. Shards scattered across the floor like confetti.
“Stop overreacting, you’re acting like a child!” Steven didn’t even raise his voice, which only made it worse. She was boiling inside, and he just stood there like a statue. “I can’t cancel this trip—you know that. This is about the promotion.”
“The promotion?!” She nearly choked on her anger. “That’s always your excuse! You missed Sophie’s graduation, didn’t even call me on my birthday—even though I reminded you a week in advance! And now this? Toby’s surgery is in two days, and you’re flying off to bloody Edinburgh!”
“Manchester,” he corrected automatically, then winced.
“Oh, what’s the difference? Might as well be Timbuktu!” Emma flapped her arms wildly. “You won’t be there when your son goes under anaesthesia, when he’s terrified, when I’m losing my mind with worry—all because of some stupid contract!”
Steven exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. Dark circles under his eyes, rough stubble, but that same stubborn look.
“It’s not just some contract—it’s a shot at CFO. Twenty years I’ve worked for this, Em. And Toby’s surgery is routine—tonsils, not brain surgery. Why are you making this a disaster?”
“You don’t know that! What if something goes wrong? Then what?”
“Nothing will go wrong. I spoke to the surgeon myself.”
“But if it does?” Her voice jumped an octave.
“Emma, stop! If anything happens, I’ll get on the first flight back—same as when Sophie had her appendectomy, remember?”
“Oh, I remember!” Her smile turned bitter. “You strolled in eight hours late—doctors were long gone, but there you were, our knight in shining armour!”
Steven just shook his head. “I can’t be in two places at once. I’m killing myself to give us this life. Remember how you nagged me for this house? ‘Let’s move, the neighbours are loud, the street’s filthy, the Tube’s too far—'”
“I’d take that tiny flat back in a heartbeat if it meant having a proper husband and father around!” Her voice cracked. “Someone who actually sees his kids more than just Sunday afternoons!”
Steven collapsed into a chair—all 90 kilos of him. “We had a deal, Em. You handle home, kids, the domestic stuff. I grind at work to keep us comfortable. What changed?”
Emma opened her mouth to tear into him, but the front door burst open—kids’ voices, backpacks hitting the floor.
“Later,” she muttered, forcing a smile so fake it hurt her cheeks.
Steven opened his laptop. He had a presentation to finish, but his mind was foggy, useless.
That night, long after the kids were asleep, Emma sat at the kitchen table scrolling mindlessly through her phone. She wasn’t even crying anymore—just numb. Twenty-two years of marriage, and somehow their relationship had turned into a spreadsheet: income, expenses, assets, liabilities. When had it gotten so complicated?
Steven walked in and sat across from her. “Coffee?” she asked flatly.
“Please.” He rubbed his temples. “Em, we need to talk.”
“About what? It’s obvious. You’re flying out day after tomorrow. Toby and I will handle the hospital alone.”
“Listen—” He reached for her shoulders. “I know this is hard. But this promotion—it matters.”
“More than us?” When she looked up, he didn’t see anger—just exhaustion.
“Everything I do is for you.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It’s for you—your ego, your career. We’ve been an afterthought for years.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? When Toby talked about his surgery, d’you know what he said? ‘At least it’s during Dad’s trip—he won’t stress about missing work.’ An eleven-year-old, Steve. He’s learned to schedule around you.”
Steven said nothing.
“And Sophie asked if you’ll make her uni graduation next year. Not because she wants you there—but because she’s afraid you’ll bail again.”
“I’ll be there.”
“‘Try my best’—that’s what you always say.” Her voice was hollow. “But when did you really choose me? When I miscarried, maybe? Ten years ago? You flew in two days late—after I was already discharged.”
“I was in Hong Kong for negotiations—”
“Exactly.” She turned back to the coffee machine. “You never even mentioned it after.”
“You never told me how much it hurt.”
“Would it have changed anything? You’d apologise, swear it wouldn’t happen again—then pick work next time anyway.”
Steven pinched the bridge of his nose. “Maybe you should talk to someone. A therapist.”
“Right—this is my problem. Not that my husband’s a glorified lodger who tops up the joint account.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“You always say that.” She set his coffee down. “When was the last time you went to a parents’ evening? Or could name Toby’s teacher? Or tell me what Sophie’s dissertation is about?”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought.” She sat opposite him. “You’ve missed our lives, Steve. And you’re still missing them.”
He took a sip, grimaced—too strong, like always when she was upset.
“I’ll take leave this summer. We’ll go somewhere, all of us.”
“Sophie’s backpacking in Spain with friends,” Emma said. “Toby’s booked into football camp.”
“You could’ve checked with me first!”
“I did. Twice. You said, ‘Plan it, we’ll sort dates later.’ So we did.”
He rubbed his eyes. “Sorry. I don’t remember.”
“The worst part?” She stared past him. “I’m starting to realise it’s easier without you. When you’re home, I keep hoping you’ll actually be present—not just physically. And every time, I’m disappointed.”
“What do you want from me? To turn down the promotion? Quit?”
“I want our kids to have a father, not a cash machine. I want a husband—not a flatmate who occasionally sleeps here.”
“I can’t throw away my career at fifty.”
“I’m not asking you to. Just balance it.”
“I’m trying!” His voice dipped to a whisper. “But you have to understand—at my level—”
“With your salary, your responsibility—I know the script by heart. But the kids are growing up without you. And so am I.”
A long silence.
“I can’t cancel the trip,” he finally said. “But I’ll delay it a day—take Toby to the hospital myself.”
“You’ve already booked flights.”
“I’ll change them. And I’ll call every hour till he’s out of surgery.”
She gave a joyless laugh. “You think that fixes it?”
“No. But it’s a start. I don’t want to lose you, Em. Truly.”
“You already have,” she said quietly. “I don’t know if we can get it back.”
—
The hospital corridor buzzed with noise. Emma sat stiffly outside the operating theatre, gripping her handbag strap. Toby had been in there over an hour—double the expected time.
Sophie sat beside her, glued to her phone but sneaking anxious glances at the doors.
“Where’s Dad?” she asked suddenly.
“Still in Manchester.”
“But he promised to call.”
Emma checked her watch. “Probably stuck in meetings. Forgot.”
“Classic,” Sophie muttered.
Just then, the surgeon emerged, mask dangling. “All went smoothly. He’s in recovery—you can see him soon.”
Emma sagged with relief. Sophie squeezed her hand.
“Should we call Dad?”
Emma dialled—straight to voicemail. She texted: *Surgery went well. Toby in recovery.* No reply.
Over tea in the cafeteria, Sophie blurted, “Are you and Dad splitting up?”
Emma coughed. “What?”
“You’re always arguing when you think we can’t hear. He’s never home. You’re sad when he leaves.”
Emma studied her daughter. When had she gotten so perceptive?
“We’re going through a rough patch. But we love each other.”
“My mate Jess said that. Then her parents divorced.”
Emma hesitated. “How would you feel if we did?”
Sophie shrugged. “Weird. I’d miss him. But he’s barely here anyway.”
Emma’s phone buzzed—Steven: *Sorry, in meetings. How’s Toby?*
“Dad?” Sophie asked.
Emma nodded. “Asked after”And as Toby proudly showed his drawing of the plane with Steven waving from the window, Emma let herself believe—just for a moment—that maybe, this time, he’d truly be coming home.”
