He decided to punish his wife, but ended up being unwanted by everyone.
After Lily got a promotion at her new job in the bank, her personality changed drastically. The quiet, gentle woman suddenly became sharp-tongued, irritable, and demanding. Antony, her husband, couldn’t understand it: *”What’s with all the complaints? Everything was fine before.”* Lily nagged him for doing nothing at home—why was everything on her shoulders? The cooking, their son, the cleaning. But Antony didn’t see the problem. *”What’s there for a man to do in a three-bed semi in Leeds? The shelves are up, the taps don’t leak. And cooking? That’s not a man’s job.”*
Once, he asked for a roast dinner, hinting—only to hear, *”Get the veg ready, then I’ll cook it.”* He snapped back, *”Do it yourself! You’re the woman!”*
Lily stayed late at work more often, and their son was now always the last to be picked up from nursery. Antony felt bad for the boy—but go himself? What if someone asked him to move furniture or fix a pipe?
He felt his wife no longer valued him. He grumbled more often: *”Why did you even take that promotion? Life was better before.”* Lily simply replied, *”Go back to your business development team, get your own promotion, earn more—then I’ll step back, cook your dinners, and look after our son. But we can’t live on just your salary. My mum used to help, now she’s got her own bills.”* Antony just seethed. *”Now she wants a bloody extension!”*
Truth was, he had no ambition to climb the corporate ladder. Seeing his boss work seven days a week, he’d say, *”No thanks. I do my hours—then I’m gone.”* But the more Lily criticised him, the more resentment grew. He thought, *”Fine. If she wants to be the boss, let her see what loneliness feels like.”*
He started staying late too—then began an affair with a colleague from accounts, Grace. She wasn’t a beauty, but she had a soft voice, curves in all the right places, and endless homemade cakes.
Grace had a young son, but Antony didn’t mind. With her, he felt needed—warm blankets, hot dinners, admiring looks. They met more and more. Meanwhile, Lily’s mum started collecting their boy from nursery—Lily was buried in a major project. Antony smirked. *”Good. She doesn’t cook, but I’m not starving. Grace feeds me, praises me. Fair’s fair.”*
Except Grace had rules. If Antony turned up empty-handed—no chocolates, perfume, or cash for *”something nice”*—she’d scowl. Dinner got plainer, affection cooler.
It bothered him, but he shrugged. *”So what? She doesn’t demand love—just a bit of attention and money. Wait till Lily hears I’m leaving—then she’ll beg.”* When Grace, without blinking, asked for a designer coat, Antony knew: time to end the charade.
He stormed home, waited for Lily, then scowled.
*”Lily, enough. I’m the man here! I want dinner, a tidy house, clean socks! You get home first—why can’t you cook? Or is laundry too much?”*
Silently, Lily took off her coat, dropped her bag, and sighed.
*”Is that it?”*
*”No!”* he boomed. *”I’m leaving! For a woman who appreciates me! I’ve packed—done! You’re on your own!”*
*”Good,”* Lily nodded. *”Go. I’m tired of living with a lazy whinger. And leave the house. I’ve paid the mortgage alone. A solicitor will confirm—you never put a penny in.”*
Antony reeled. What? No begging? No tears? He expected Lily to cling, to plead. Instead—cold calculation.
Fuming, he grabbed his bag and drove to Grace’s. Knocked confidently. *”Love, I’m yours now. For good!”*
She opened the door, eyed him up and down, then crossed her arms.
*”Who said you could move in? I’ve a kid, a rented flat, a tiny wage. You’re not the answer—you’re a drain. Won’t pay? Piss off.”*
The door shut in his face.
And there he stood—on the landing, bag in hand, pride shattered.
Unwanted. By wife or mistress.
Truly alone—for the first time in years.
