Emma slams her coffee cup onto the desk and it arcs into the wall, spraying halfdrunk espresso everywhere. The shards of porcelain scatter across the floor like confetti.
Enough with the drama, youre acting like a child, Mark says, his voice steady, which only infuriates her more. Inside she feels a boil, while he stands as still as a statue. I cant cancel this business trip, you have to understand. Its tied to my promotion.
A promotion?! she snaps, her throat tightening with anger. Your promotion always comes before us! Remember you missed Lucys graduation, didnt even call on my anniversary after I reminded you a week in advance! And now thisToms operation is in two days and youre off to Manchester!
London, Mark corrects himself automatically, then bites his tongue.
Exactly! To the Moon if you like! Emma flails her arms like a windmill. You wont be there when our son is under anaesthetic, scared to death, while Im stuck on the kitchen wall terrified! All because of some pointless piece of paper with your signature!
Mark lets out a sigh, runs a hand over his face. Dark circles underline his eyes, his beard is uneven, but his stare remains stubborn as ever.
Its a ridiculous contract its a chance to become chief financial officer, you realize? Ive been working toward this for at least twenty years, essentially my whole life. Toms operation is routine, why are you trembling? Its just his tonsils, not a brain tumour.
Right, right. But what if something goes wrong? What if there are complications? Emma digs her nails into her palms. What will we do then?
Nothing will happen, Mark waves it off. I spoke to the surgeon personally.
What if it does? she presses, already on the ultrasound.
Sit down! he says, shrugging his shoulders. If anything goes wrong Ill book the next flight and be there in a heartbeat. Remember when Lucys appendix burst? You showed up eight hours later, the doctors had already gone home and the surgeon was just sliding down the stairs like a hero!
Mark just shakes his head.
Im not made of rubber, Emma. I cant tear myself apart. Im grinding away so you all have what you need. Didnt you hear me nagging about the new house? Lets move, the neighbours are noisy, the garden is dirty, the tube is far
Better wed still live in that cramped council flat! she snaps. But with a decent husband and father who actually sees his kids sometimes, not just on Sunday afternoons!
Mark plops onto his chair, his ninetykilogram frame thudding onto it.
We agreed, didnt we? You stay home with the kids, keep the house tidy, I bring in the money. What changed? When did this become a problem?
Emma opens her mouth to unleash a tirade, but the front door bursts open, childrens voices spill into the hallway, backpacks thud onto the floor.
Fine, well talk later, she mutters, slipping out of the kitchen with a forced smile that pulls at her cheeks.
Mark powers up his laptop. He has to finish a presentation by nightfall, but his mind is a fog, barren of any useful thought.
That evening, after the children are asleep, Emma sits at the kitchen table scrolling through her phone, eyes dry but heavy. Twentytwo years of marriage feel like a spreadsheet: income, expenses, assets, liabilities. When did it all become so complicated?
Mark walks in, sits opposite her in silence.
Coffee? Emma asks without looking up.
Will do, he replies. Emma, we need to talk.
What about? she snaps, flicking the electric kettle on. Everythings obvious. Youre off tomorrow. Tom and I will go to the hospital alone.
Mark leans forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. I know its hard, but this is really important to me.
More important than us? Emma turns, her eyes showing fatigue, not anger.
Its all for you, he says quietly. Everything I do is for you.
No, Mark, she shakes her head. Its all for youyour ego, your career. Were already on the back burner.
Its not true, he protests.
It is. When Tom talked about his operation he said, Good thing its during Dads trip, otherwise hed be nervous about missing work. Hes eleven and already bending his schedule around yours.
Mark stands mute, words failing him.
And Lucy asked yesterday if youll come to her university graduation next year. Not because she wants to see you, but because she fears youll be busy with important work again.
Ill try to be there, Mark mutters.
Tryalways the try. When did I realize you chose work over me? When I had a miscarriage ten years ago. You flew in two days later, after a meeting in China, when I was just discharged from the hospital.
I had negotiations in China, Mark begins.
Exactly. You had meetings. I lost a child, and I was alone.
She turns to the coffee grinder, pouring beans methodically.
You never mentioned that, Mark says softly.
What would that change? Emma shrugs. Youd apologise, promise it wont happen again, and still pick work over us.
Mark presses his fingers to his bridge of the nose. Maybe you should see a therapist.
Sure, Emma smirks. The problem is me, right? Not that youve turned into a walking paycheck, but that Im not positive enough about it?
Thats not what I meant, Mark shakes his head. Youre dramatising everything.
Dramatising? Emma whirls around. When was the last time you attended a parentteacher meeting? Do you know who Toms form teacher is? Or what Lucys dissertation is about?
Mark stays silent.
Thats what Im saying, Emma places a steaming mug in front of him and sits down. Youve missed our life, Mark, and you keep missing it.
Mark sips the coffee, grimaces at how strong it isjust like every time Emma is upset.
I could take summer leave, he offers. We could go somewhere as a family.
Lucys heading to Brighton with friends, Emma reminds him. And Toms signed up for a football camp.
You could have told me before you made plans! Marks voice finally shows a hint of irritation.
I did. Twice. You said, Fine, plan it, well see. We planned.
Mark rubs his eyes. Sorry, I cant remember.
Whats scarier? Emma asks, looking over his head. That Im starting to realise life is easier without you. When youre home I keep hoping youll be with us in spirit, not just in paycheck. And Im constantly disappointed.
What do you want from me? To give up the promotion? To quit? Mark asks.
I want a father for our kids, not just a financial provider. I want a husband, not a flatmate who only stays over occasionally.
I cant abandon my career at fifty, Mark says firmly. Its too late to start over.
Nobodys asking you to quit. Just find balance.
Im trying! he raises his voice, then lowers it, remembering the sleeping children. I really am, Emma. But you have to understand my role
In your role, with your salary, with your responsibilitiesI know that song by heart. The kids are growing and you dont see them, and neither do I, Emma interrupts. Youre being unfair.
Mark shakes his head. I always try to spend weekends with the family.
When theres no urgent work, Emma notes, which is about once a month.
They fall silent. Outside, traffic hums; inside, only the ticking clock and the fridges low whirr are heard.
I cant cancel the trip, Mark finally says. But Ill ask to shift it a day later so I can take Tom to the hospital.
You already bought the tickets, Emma reminds him.
Ill change them, he says resolutely. And Ill call every hour until they confirm the operation went well.
Emma gives a halfsmile. Think that will solve everything?
No, Mark admits. But its a start. I dont want to lose you, Emma. I really dont.
The thing is, youve already almost lost us, she whispers. I dont know if it can be fixed.
In the hospital corridor, voices echo and footsteps clatter. Emma sits on a hard chair outside the operating theatre, fidgeting with her bag strap. Tom has been inside for over an hour, though the surgeon promised a fortyminute procedure.
Lucy, glued to her phone, glances anxiously at the doors.
Wheres dad? she asks, not looking away from the screen.
You know hes on a business trip, Emma replies.
He promised to call.
Emma checks her watch. He has a meeting now, must have forgotten.
Typical, Lucy mutters.
Just then the surgeon in a green mask emerges, chin slightly covered.
It went well, he says, smiling. The boy is in recovery, should be moved to a ward soon. You can visit in an hour.
Thank you, doctor, Emma breathes, tears of relief gathering. Lucy squeezes her mothers hand tightly.
We should call dad, Lucy says.
Emma pulls out her phone, hears the voicemail. Hes not answering. Ill text him.
She types quickly: Operation went well. Toms in recovery, doctor says everythings fine. No reply comes in the next five minutes, nor after half an hour, as they sit in the staff lounge sipping tea with biscuits.
Mom, are you and dad getting a divorce? Lucy asks suddenly, looking into her cup.
Where did that come from? Emma asks.
You argue all the time, thinking we dont hear, Lucy shrugs. Dads never home. You always look sad when he leaves.
Emma watches her daughter, surprised at how perceptive shes become.
Were going through a rough patch, Emma says carefully. It doesnt mean we dont love each other.
Vicky from my class said the same, Lucy adds. Then her parents split up.
Emma has no answer. Instead she asks, How do you feel about that?
I dont know. Itd be sad if dad left, but hes hardly ever home anyway, so maybe nothing changes.
No ones going anywhere, Emma says, though she no longer feels certain.
The phone buzzes: a message from Mark reads, Sorry, was in a meeting. Hows Tom? When can we visit?
Dad texted? Lucy asks, and Emma nods. What does he say?
He asks about Tom, Emma replies, typing back, You can visit in thirty minutes. Want video call?
Sure, comes the reply. As soon as Im free.
Emma sets the phone down, sighs.
Hes busy, isnt he? Lucy asks.
Hell call when he can, Emma says. You know dad.
I know, Lucy says quietly. Remember when we went to Brighton? I was nine, Tom was three.
Of course, Emma smiles. You ate icecream every day and swam until you were blueeyed.
And dad was with us all week. We went to the sealion show, rode a boat, even hiked up the hills. Why cant that happen now?
I dont know, love, Emma answers honestly. Things have changed.
For the worse, Lucy sighs. Now dads always busy.
Emma wants to argue that Mark loves them and tries, but she cant. Lucy is right; things have indeed taken a turn for the worse.
When Emma returns home, the flat is quiet. She slips off her shoes, drops her bag on the nightstand, walks to the kitchen, pours herself a glass of water, and sits staring out the window.
The phone rings; her heart jumps. The screen shows Marks name.
Yes?
Hey, hows Tom?
Hes fine. His temperatures a bit up, but the doctor says thats normal. Lucys with him.
Thats good, at least someones looking after him, Mark says.
Yeah, Emma replies. At least he has a caring sister.
A brief silence follows.
Emma, you know Id come if I could, Mark begins. But this deal
I get it, Emma cuts in. You dont have to explain.
You do, Mark says firmly. Because you think I chose work over you all. Its not that simple.
So what is it? Emma asks. Explain.
I I dont know how to put it into words. It just happened. I got used to working so much that it became part of me. I dont know any other way.
What about the family?
Youre everything to me, Mark says quietly. Somewhere along the road I lost my balance, gave work too much of my time, you too little. I understand that now, Emma, and I want to fix it.
How? she asks. What are you proposing?
I talked to the board, Mark says. If I get the new role, Ill have more delegation, more free time.
If, Emma repeats. Always if. What if it never happens?
Then Ill consider a different job or cut my hours, Mark says decisively. Youre right, Emma. Ive missed too much and dont want to miss any more.
Emma stays silent. Shes heard too many promises to trust them outright.
I love you, Mark says. And the kids. I want us to be a family, not just people sharing a roof.
I want that too, Emma replies, but Im not sure its possible.
Lets at least try, Mark suggests. I promise Ill really try.
She looks at the family photo on the table: the four of them on a seaside promenade, laughing, happy. That was five years ago, in another life.
Okay, she says finally. Lets try.
Thanks, Mark exhales with relief. Ill call Tom before I sleep. And Ill fly in right after the contract is signed.
Alright, Emma nods, even though she cant see him. Ill tell Tom.
She hangs up and remains at the kitchen table, staring at the photograph. Will they make it? Can Mark change, or will it revert to the old patternhim at work, her with the kids, endless waiting for a better day?
She doesnt know. But for the first time in a long while she hears genuine determination in his voice. Maybe thats enough to start.
Tom draws a picture of an airplanebig, silver, with blue wings and black windows.
Look, thats dads plane, he tells his mother, pointing at the sketch. Dad will fly in on that.
Nice one, Emma smiles. Hows your throat?
It hurts a little, Tom admits. But the doctor said I can have icecream for treatment.
For treatment, huh? Emma winks. Then lets go to the cafe and get you some. Dont tell dad Im spoiling you.
I wont, Tom promises. Will dad really come?
He will, Emma assures. He promised.
You know, Tom says thoughtfully, Im actually glad I had the operation. Now dad will be with us.
Emma rubs his head, feeling a lump rise in her throat.
Yes, love, she says. Dad will be with us.
She isnt sure whether Mark will keep his promise. She isnt sure if their family can return to what it once was. But for the first time in ages she feels a spark of hope.
Maybe people can change. Maybe work and family can coexist without one crushing the other.
Maybe this time hell choose them over the job.
Tom adds a tiny figure to the airplane drawing.
Thats dad waving to us from the window, he says.
Emma smiles. Yes, thats dad. Hes coming home.
