**Diary Entry**
Last night, I barely slept. Around two in the morning, my husband elbowed me sharply in the side and snapped, “Stop snoring, Ive had enough!” The thing is, I only snore when Im on my back, and before, he used to gently turn me over. Now, he just shoves or kicks me before promptly falling back asleep himself, while I lie there, restless until dawn, thanks to the sleeping pills.
Weve been married for 27 yearsKevin and I. Two years ago marked our silver wedding anniversary. Not that we celebrated. Truthfully, Kevin forgot all about it. He was too preoccupied with his new car. The old one he passed down to our son.
The family had been saving for our sons homehe had a girlfriend thenbut Kevin and our boy decided a car was a wiser investment because “prices were rising.” Never mind that most of the savings were mineI earned more than Kevin. After that, I started stashing my money in a separate account. He sulked at first, but I told him I didnt trust him not to buy a third car. “Whats the issue?” I asked. “Keep your money in your own account.”
He muttered, “You know my salarys smallwhat can I possibly save?”
I have a degree in education. My best friend, Emily, and I moved from our little town to London to study at university. We both graduated easily. Emily taught for a year before quitting to train as a hairdresser. She apprenticed under a well-known stylist in Brighton and now runs her own salon.
I stayed in teaching. Early in my career, I met Kevin during a school trip to the technical college where he worked as a production manager. He was young, tall, charismatic, and quick-witted.
“I never thought a simple job could be made so interesting,” I told him afterwards. He was just as taken with me. We started dating, married six months laterjust a quiet registry office affair. Only my parents came.
We moved in with Kevins mum, who had a three-bedroom flat. He was her only son; his father had died young. Later, she decided shed done her duty and moved to Cornwall after meeting a widower who proposed. So, the flat became ours.
My mother had always drilled into me that a wife should keep the house immaculate without her husband noticing. “Men hate weekend cleaning,” shed say, “so get everything done before hes home.”
For years, I woke at five, made breakfast and dinner, ate lunch at work, and hurried back to tidy before Kevin returned. Evenings were for lesson planning and marking.
At 24, our son, James, was born. Staying home was a reliefno more commute, just chores during nap times. He was an easy baby, but money was tight. Kevins wages were modest, and state support barely helped.
Once, Emily visited with gifts for James. I borrowed money until payday. She offered advice: “Listen, the babys ten months old. Come to my salon eveningstrain with my manicurist, Jake. I wont charge you for the space. Kevin can watch James a few hours. Set up your own businesswomen always care for their nails, recession or not.”
I learned fast, later adding pedicures. Rented a small space near home, borrowed equipment costs from Emily. Worked evenings5 to 10. Kevin stayed with James. Clients came quicklywomen with day jobs preferred evening appointments. I never returned to teaching.
Life improved. Kevin stayed in his old job. We bought a car, renovated the flat, took seaside holidays. I joined them only three timessummer was peak pedicure season. Kevin grew fonder. “Youre my breadwinner,” hed say lovingly.
Six years later, our daughter, Lily, arrived. I refused to quit workhired a nanny, shifted to afternoon shifts. By the time she was one, James was in school nearby and came home alone.
After Lilys birth, years blurredkids grew, expenses mounted, problems piled up. I barely rested. Visits home were rarejust Fathers funeral and occasional trips to see Mum.
Now James is 24, Lily, 18. He has a law degree but works for peanuts. Lily studies IT at college.
A year ago, James brought home his girlfriend, Sophiean economics student. Shes polite but distant, locking herself in their room after lectures.
One day, it hit mewe werent a family anymore, just flatmates sharing walls. Kevins temper worsened. I stopped asking questions to avoid rows.
Even my sweet son shut me out. Once, I considered tidying their room but decided against it. Lily, too, snapped if I nagged about mess. “Leave me alone, youre suffocating!”
Now, I clean alone. Lily leaves clothes strewn about, wont even lift the laundry basket lid.
Yesterday, rushing to work, I asked Sophie to load the dishwasher and wipe the kitchen.
“Im not your maid,” she said, slamming the door.
After Kevins shove, I gave up on sleep. At dawn, I made breakfastomelettes, toast. No one thanked me. Kevin left first, then Lily, tossing a blouse at me. “Wash this for tonighthurry!”
Sophie emerged dolled up. James cornered me: “Dont hassle her. She was upset last night. Hurt her again, and youre no mother of mine.”
They all left. I cancelled my appointments, packed my tools, settled accounts, and went home. Threw essentials into a travel bag, gathered documents. Left a note on the fridge:
*”Dear all, I see you no longer need menot as a wife or mother, just a housemaid. Im tired. Im sure youll manage fine without me.”*
A taxi took me to the station. Mum gasped when I appeared on her doorstep.
“Emma, how did you know I was ill? I nearly called, but didnt want to bother you.”
“Im staying, Mum. Ive lost myselffeel like a broken-down nag.” I hugged her, sobbing.
Secretly, I hoped Kevin would beg me back, that the kids would apologise. He never called. Lily did: “How could you leave? My blouse isnt washed! Honestly, were better off.”
Five months now at Mums. Shes frail, often ill. Ive rented a small room in my hometown, work gentler hours. Earnings are lower, but so are costs. Emily calls with updates.
Kevin moved in with a single co-workerturns out theyd been close for years.
Lily brought her uni boyfriend home. “Why can James live with Sophie, but I cant?” Kevin gives her money, but its never enough. Shes too proud to ask menot after saying they “didnt need me.”
The flats a messno one cooks or cleans.
I worry, but console myselftheyre adults. They dont call.
Kevins betrayal stings worst. I was so busy working, I missed him drifting away.
Divorce papers are filed. At 49, Im left picking through ruins27 years poured into a family that walked over me like a doormat.
The cruelest part? Blaming myself.
A woman should never rely entirely on family.
Theyll never appreciate youjust wipe their feet on you and move on.
