**Part-Time Husband**
“Brilliant. You got your wife pregnant and now you’re running back to your mum’s? No, son, that won’t fly. I won’t hide you.”
“It’s not about hiding! I just need to catch my breath, you get it? She’s screaming one minute, crying the next, then apologising, then back to screaming… My nerves are so frayed, even someone breathing near me sets me off!”
“You’ll be catching your breath in the afterlife,” snapped Emma, stepping forward firmly. “You married her—deal with it. This isn’t summer camp; it’s a family. Did you really think life would be all clubbing and cinema dates forever?”
James dropped his gaze and shrugged helplessly. He wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. He set his bag down as if still determined to push past his mother’s disapproval.
Emma closed the distance instantly.
“No. No sleepovers. No dinners. If you don’t leave on your own, I’ll call the police. I mean it. ‘Tired,’ he says…”
James had always been like this—looking lost and guilty, but with a flicker of resentment in his eyes.
…Ever since he was a boy, he’d been an expert at dodging responsibility. While his older brother worked himself ragged on chores, James would complain of a stomach ache and take to bed with a ‘fever.’ Emma dragged him to doctors before realising her youngest was just a talented actor.
Once, when he ‘fell ill’ before a test, she yanked him out of bed by his collar. He whined and sniffled, but he went.
“I’ll die right there, and you’ll regret it,” he sulked. “Mrs. Thompson will blame *you* for sending me in sick. Not me.”
Emma laughed, though even then, she knew it wasn’t funny. James could spend hours building model castles but acted like clearing his plate was a tragedy. Homework only happened after shouting. Any problem, and he’d stare at her with puppy-dog eyes.
She’d tried to break the habit, but his knack for shirking never faded.
His wife, Sophie, wasn’t an easy woman. At first, she’d been sweet—almost too eager to please.
“She even brought me coffee in bed a few times. Mum, this is the wife I wanted,” James had gushed.
Emma wasn’t fooled. She knew people put on their best face early on. Plus, Sophie was only twenty-one—barely any life experience but desperate to be liked.
One dinner party was all it took for Emma to spot the fire beneath the ‘perfect girl’ act. When James asked for a fork instead of a spoon, Sophie huffed loudly. When he teased her for being fussy, she smiled but her eyebrow twitched. And when Emma’s niece made an offhand comment about the salad, Sophie stood abruptly.
“Forgot to call my mum!” she lied, retreating to the kitchen—where no call was made.
“Be careful with her,” Emma whispered later. “Are you *sure* she’s the one?”
“Mum, we’re fine. You’re too hard on her. She’s just emotional—it’s not a big deal,” James dismissed.
Not a big deal? Emma saw the upside—Sophie had spirit. She’d get things done and wouldn’t let James slack. But was he ready for that? Clearly not.
Six months after the wedding, James and Sophie arrived with cake and grins.
“Mum, you’re going to be a grandma!”
Emma nearly choked. Her throat tightened; her palms went damp. She adjusted her glasses and studied them. They beamed like lottery winners.
“Are you serious?” she blurted. “You haven’t even been married a year!”
James frowned, baffled by her reaction. Sophie’s smile faded. Arguing was pointless.
“What’s the issue? We’re married—it’s a family,” James mumbled.
Emma sighed. These two were still children themselves! But she bit her tongue. If it was happening, so be it.
*My opinion won’t change anything.*
She was wrong. Fate handed her the wheel.
It started small. James began stopping by for lunch, saying he missed her, that he’d grown to appreciate her care. Then the truth slipped out.
“Sophie can’t stand the smell of meat, fish, even scrambled eggs. Lives on salads. I just want a proper meal,” he admitted.
Soon, he came for dinners too.
Emma didn’t mind. She thought she was helping—less cooking for Sophie, a happier husband. But James pushed further.
“She’s driving me mad,” he complained. “Her nail broke before her friend’s birthday, and she kept asking if it was ‘embarrassing.’ Like I care? I wouldn’t even notice!”
Emma listened, nodding. He moaned about work, about Sophie waking him to chat at 3 AM, about scouring shops for dragon fruit because she ‘craved it.’
Eventually, Emma’s patience frayed—not at Sophie, but at James. She remembered pregnancy. She remembered needing support. Yet James withdrew more each day, escaping to her house for films, video games, or just ‘quiet.’
“Yesterday, she lost it because I bought peach yoghurt instead of strawberry. Said I never listen,” he griped.
“Maybe you don’t,” Emma said dryly.
He brushed it off. A week later, he arrived with a bag.
“She’s gone to her mum’s. We need space, or we’ll divorce.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. This, she *hated.*
“You’ll divorce if you keep running. Turn around and go to her. She’s struggling. She needs you—even if she nags. You’re her *husband.* Be there!”
The excuses poured out—Sophie’s fears, the endless ultrasounds, how tired he was of reassuring her. Then, casually, he mentioned *he* was considering divorce…
Emma saw right through him. He wanted her to take his side, to let him hide. No. She’d never enable his cowardice.
“Did you think it’d be all sunshine? There’s a *human* growing inside her! When I was pregnant with you, I cried at shampoo ads! But your dad came home every night—because he loved me. Because he knew I was scared and alone!”
“Mum, you don’t get it, she’s—”
“I get it *perfectly.* You chose her. You wanted a child. Now *be a man.*”
“Just till the baby’s born—”
“First ‘just till birth,’ then ‘just till teething.’ No, James. You won’t be a part-time husband. If I have to shove you out with a broom, you’re *not* hiding here.”
They argued, but Emma marched him out. Then she texted Sophie:
“He’ll be back in an hour. Love, my advice: don’t smother him, but don’t let him off easy. He’s a slippery one—never learned to care for anyone.”
Sophie read it instantly but replied ten minutes later: *”Thank you ♡”*
…After that, James stopped lingering at Emma’s. At first, he vanished—not even a Mother’s Day card. Slowly, they rebuilt contact, though with a new distance, a slight chill. Emma didn’t mind. Pain was part of growing up. If she let him hide under her skirt, he’d never truly become a man.
**Lesson:** Love means staying through the storms, not just the sunshine. Running from responsibility leaves everyone adrift—especially those who need you most.
