“Just do your job,” Dave said flatly, eyes glued to his phone. “Your job is to keep the home cosy. I provide, you maintain. Fair’s fair.”
I froze, plate in hand. After twenty-three years of marriage, I’d heard it all—but this?
Opposite me, my best mate Natalie snorted into her wineglass. “What’s he said that’s so wrong? Plenty of women’d kill to be in your shoes, Liv.”
My gaze darted to our son. Jack sat with his head down as his phone buzzed.
“Dave,” I set the plate down. “Did it ever occur to you I might be more than a glorified cleaner?”
“Here we go,” he rolled his eyes. “We agreed on this when you quit your job.”
“Or you *convinced* me it was ‘for the best’?”
Something in my tone made him look up. Our eyes locked, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in his. Did he really think I hadn’t noticed the glances? The ‘accidental’ touches?
Jack pushed back his chair. “Can I go? Got coding coursework.”
“Course, love,” I said, still staring at Dave.
The slam of the front door echoed. Natalie bolted. Dave silently stacked plates.
“Leave them. Sit.”
“What’s this about?” He hovered by the sink.
“That I’m not your skivvy. Remember what I was before you decided ‘kids need Mum at home’?”
“Not this again.”
“No. *You* decided. Like always.”
His phone pinged. A text.
“Not answering? Natalie again?”
“Stop it. You’re being hysterical.”
“Hysterical? Let’s talk hysterical. How about that ‘business project’ with my best friend?”
The slap cut through the air—but it wasn’t him hitting me. It was me hitting *him*.
“Mum?” Jack’s voice from the hallway made us jump. “Off to Tom’s. Alright?”
“’Course, sweetheart.”
At 3 a.m., the front door slammed. Jack?
“Where’ve you been?” I stood frozen in the kitchen doorway.
He flinched, shoving something into his pocket.
“Jack. What’s going on?”
“I… dropped out. Two months ago. I don’t *want* to code. That’s *his* dream, not mine.”
“And the money? Who’d you borrow from?”
“Loan. Eight grand. Photography course. Now they’re threatening to tell Dad.”
“We’ll sort it tomorrow,” I said.
Too late. The key turned. Dave.
“Insomnia?” His voice was hoarse, reeking of whisky.
“Dad, I can explain—” Jack stepped between us.
“Explain what? That my son’s a liar? Natalie told me. About uni.”
I froze. “Natalie?”
“Yeah, surprise. At least *someone* tells me the truth.”
“Enough,” I said.
“’Enough’? This is how you raised him?” He turned on me. “Speaking of lies—how’s Natalie? Tired of ‘business meetings’ yet?”
“Shut it,” Dave hissed.
“Or what? Hit me? In front of Jack?”
Jack strode to the door. “I’m out. You two… deserve each other.”
The door slammed.
“Happy now?” Dave’s voice shook.
Then—the doorbell.
Natalie stood there, mascara smeared, hair wild.
“We need to talk.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Dave snapped.
“Same as always,” she breezed past him, slumping at the table. “Ruining lives. Know what, Liv? He promised *me* he’d leave too. Said I was ‘special’. Then I found out about Sarah from Accounts. And Gemma from spin class.”
“Shut your mouth!” Dave slammed the table.
“Oh no. Truth time. That uni story? I told his girlfriend. Convinced her he’d dump her. So she blackmailed him.”
“Why?” I finally managed.
“Dunno. Maybe I wanted you all to feel as empty as me?”
She headed out, then paused. “Funny bit? I really *did* think you were my best friend.”
The door slammed.
“Liv…” Dave stepped towards me.
“Don’t. Just go.”
“Let’s talk—”
“About *what*? It’s 4 a.m. Our son’s gone. Your mistress confessed. And I… I’m tired of ‘servicing’. Leave the keys.”
He nodded, slowly pulling them out, placing them on the side. Hesitated.
“Sorry.”
The door clicked shut. Alone. My phone buzzed. Jack: *”Mum, I’m fine. Don’t look. Just let me go.”*
I replied: *”Be safe. Love you.”*
Then scrolled contacts. Natalie. *Delete?*
My thumb hovered. Truth be told, she’d done what I hadn’t the guts to—smashed the pretty lie wide open. I hit *delete*… and smiled for the first time in years.
