I thought my husband was just in a bad mood until I found divorce papers in his desk drawer.
“Where’s my blue striped shirt?” Victor stood in the middle of our bedroom in just his trousers, rummaging through the wardrobe with irritation.
“In the wash,” I called from the bathroom, rolling my hair in curlers. “Wear the light blue oneits nice too.”
“I dont want light blue, I want the striped one! How many times do I have to say itdo the laundry on time!”
“Vic, you only wore it the day before yesterday. I washed it yesterday.”
“So? If you knew I had a meeting today, you shouldve dried it!”
I stepped out of the bathroom and studied my husband. Lately, he snapped at everythingthe soup being too salty, dust on the TV, the wrong shirt.
“Do you want me to iron the white one? It suits you.”
“Dont bother ironing anything! Ill sort it myself!”
Victor yanked the first shirt he saw from the wardrobe, pulling it on with shaking hands, his anger making his fingers clumsy.
“Vic, whats going on with you? You havent been yourself for a week.”
“Nothings going on. Just tired. Works mad right now.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor? Check your blood pressure?”
“Emma, leave it! Stop making me out to be ill!”
He grabbed his jacket, briefcase, and stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I stood frozen in the middle of the room, a dull ache in my chest. Victor never used to raise his voice. In twenty years of marriage, wed barely had a handful of arguments. Now, every morning started with complaints.
Breakfast sat untouched on the kitchen tablescrambled eggs, toast, coffee, just how he liked it. But lately, hed been skipping meals, claiming he wasnt hungry.
I poured myself tea and sat down. We needed to talk tonightcalmly, without accusations. Maybe it really was work? Or his health?
My phone rang. My best friend, Lucy.
“Hey! Still coming to yoga tonight?”
“Not sure,” I sighed. “Not in the mood.”
“Whats wrong?”
“Vics been acting weird. Constantly angry, picking fights over nothing.”
“Midlife crisis? My Tom went through that. Bought a motorbike, got over it.”
“Doubt it. Vics not like that. He hates change.”
“Then its work. Dont overthink it. Hell snap out of it.”
After hanging up, I tidied the flat and made lunchbeef stew, his favourite. Maybe comfort food would lift his mood.
At the supermarket, I bumped into our neighbour, Mrs. Thompson.
“Emma! How are you? Havent seen Victor in ages.”
“Hes busy with work. Leaves early, comes back late.”
“Such a hard worker. Not like my lazy lumphes practically moulded into the sofa.”
I forced a smile, but unease settled in my stomach. Victor *had* been staying out later. He used to call if hed be late. Now, he just came home, ate in silence, and went to bed.
Later, I decided to tidy his study. He hated anyone touching his things, but he wouldnt be back until eveningplenty of time.
The study was small but cosybookshelves, a desk, their wedding photo on the wall. Young, smiling, in love.
I dusted, swept, then noticed the top desk drawer slightly open, a folder sticking out. I tried to push it back, but it wouldnt budge. I pulled the folder out to rearrange it.
“*Personal*” was scrawled across the front. My stomach dropped. *Personal?* What secrets could he possibly have from me?
Curiosity won. I opened it.
A business card sat on top*Andrew Peterson, Family Law Solicitor.* Beneath it, printouts: *How to File for Divorce.* Thena completed divorce petition. Victors signature at the bottom.
I sank into his chair, lightheaded. Divorce? *He wanted a divorce?*
My hands shook as I flipped through the papersproperty lists, bank statements, even a handwritten note: *Tell her after New Years. Flatsplit 50/50. Carmine. Holiday homehers.*
I stared at the words. Two weeks. Hed planned it all. And here I was, making stew, ironing shirts.
The front door slammed. Victor was homeearly.
“Emma? You here?”
I shoved the papers back, hurried out, forcing calm into my voice. “Yeah. Youre back early.”
“Meeting got cancelled.” He walked to the kitchen, lifted the stew lid. “Beef stew? Nice.”
He served himself and ate. I watched himsame hands, same mannerisms, but a stranger now. Someone whod decided my future without me.
“Vic, we need to talk.”
“About what?” He didnt look up.
“Us. Whats happening? Youve changed.”
“Not now, Emma. Im tired, just want to eat.”
“But we barely talk anymore. Youre always angry.”
“Im not angry. Works just stressful.”
“Its not work.”
He put his spoon down, met my eyes. For a second, guilt flickeredthen vanished.
“Emma, lets not do this. I dont want to argue.”
“I dont either. I just want to understand.”
“Whats to understand? Everythings fine.”
I wanted to scream about the folder*Why pretend when its already decided?* But the words stuck in my throat.
“Fine. Whatever.”
I left, locked myself in the bedroom, face buried in the pillow. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldnt comejust numbness.
Later, Victor came to bed, turning his back to me. No goodnight kiss, no cuddle. Like strangers.
“Emma? You awake?”
“No.”
“Ill be late tomorrow. Office Christmas party.”
“Okay.”
“Dont be mad. Just burnt out, I guess.”
“I get it.”
But I didnt. How could he lie beside me, share a bed, while secretly planning to leave?
The next morning, he left without breakfast. I called Lucy.
“Can I come over?”
“Of course! Whats happened?”
“Ill explain when I get there.”
At her place, tea in hand, I told her about the folder. She listened, shaking her head.
“What a *rat.* Im sorry, but theres no other word. Twenty years, and he pulls this?”
“Maybe theres someone else?”
“Does it matter? If he wants out, he should say it. Why the charade?”
“I dont know. Maybe he pities me?”
“*Pities you?* He hired a *solicitor*! Emma, what are you going to do?”
“I dont know. Im just pretending I dont know. But its killing me.”
“File first. Shock him into reality.”
“I cant. What if he changes his mind?”
“*Changes his mind?* He went to a *lawyer*! This wasnt spur-of-the-moment.”
“But *why?* What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing. Men lose their minds after forty. Midlife nonsense.”
That evening, I made dinner and waited.
Victor came home at eleven, tipsy.
“Youre still up?” he mumbled.
“Waited for you. Dinners ready.”
“Not hungry. We ate at the party.”
“Good time?”
“Same as always.”
He trudged to the bedroom. I followed.
“Vic, who was there?”
“Everyone. Why?”
“Just curious. Was Hannah there? Your assistant?”
He tensed. “Yeah. Why?”
“No reason.”
I left, sat by the window. *Hannah.* Young, pretty, recently divorced. Was she the reason?
Victors phone lay on the side table. He was snoring. I picked it up, tried his birthdayunlocked.
Messages. Nothing from Hannah. Work chats, festive greetings, a text from his mum. Thenan unknown number.
*”All set. Papers are ready. Well start the process after the holidays.”*
*”Thanks. Ill transfer the fee tomorrow.”*
*”No rush. Just prepare your wife. Its always a shock.”*
*”I will. Ill talk to her after New Years.”*
I put the phone back, stepped onto the balcony. The cold air helped me think.
So, it was decided. Two weeks of pretending. Buying gifts, trimming the tree. Then*”We need to talk.”*
Last New Years flashed in my mindjust us, champagne, fireworks. Hed given me earrings, said he loved me. Had he
