“Hey, where are you off to?” she called from the kitchen.
“George, where are you going?” Beatrice peeked out, wiping her hands on her apron, eyeing her husband with surprise.
George, a forty-five-year-old executive at a well-known construction firm, had made up his mind. While his wife prepared breakfast, he had packed his suitcase. Now, standing in the doorway of their spacious flat in Kensington, he felt the weight of his decision.
Beatrice had always been the heart of the family. She believed a proper breakfastsausages, cheese, and warm toastwas the foundation of health and success. When the children were young, she rose before dawn. Three kids demanded her full attention, and her husbands salary had allowed her to focus solely on the home.
He stayed silent, watching Beatrice, his partner of twenty-five years, and convinced himself: this was right. It was time for a change.
His wife had put on weight lately, losing the spark in her eyes that had once captivated him. She no longer attracted him. For that, there was Imogenyoung, sharp, with raven-black hair, met at a corporate event in Cornwall. Bold, just like him. Thats why he stood there now, suitcase in hand.
Enough! Why stay with a woman he didnt love? The children were independent: James and Peter, both graduates, worked in London; Catherine, in her fourth year of medical school, relied on his support. As for his wife Why keep providing for her? Imogen was right: it was time to split the flat.
“Going on a trip?” Beatrice asked calmly. “You shouldve said. Id have made you sandwiches. Its not good to leave on an empty stomach.”
“Always with the food!” George snapped, irritated by his own reluctance to speak his mind. “Do you think there arent cafés out there? You live in that kitchen as if the world doesnt exist!”
“Has something happened?” Her voice remained gentle.
Shed suspected the affair for a while. She knew this day would come. But she knew her husband.
“Im leaving!” he burst out. “Im with someone else. A modern woman, not a housewife!”
“Congratulations,” she replied, as if commenting on the weather.
“Dont I deserve it?”
“You deserve more. Youre hardworking, clever, handsome”
“The flat will be divided,” he said, softer now.
“Agreed. Well handle it properly.”
Her ease unsettled him. Hed expected shouting, not this quiet acceptance.
“Get a job,” he warned. “I wont support you.”
“I dont need you to. Im remarrying.”
“Remarrying?” He scoffed. “Whod want you?”
“Plenty. Women like me are sought after. Experienced, homely, good cooks And with a flat of my own after the settlement.”
He swallowed hard. The thought of Beatrice with another man rankled.
“Ive a meeting,” he muttered, setting down the suitcase. “Dont finalise anything today. Its disrespectful.”
At the office, doubt gnawed at him. Hed planned to return if things with Imogen faltered, but now
By evening, Imogen called, demanding:
“Where are you? Ive found a flat on Oxford Street! We need to furnish the bedroom and book that trip to the Caribbean. You promised, remember?”
“Whats for dinner?” he interrupted.
“Nothing. Im dieting. We could order sushi”
George hung up. He thought of the shepherds pie Beatrice would have made, the quiet comfort of home. And the idea of another man calling her his wife.
No. That wouldnt happen.
Sometimes, the things we take for granted are the ones we miss the most when theyre gone.
