You’re a wife; youre supposed to Daniel says, his voice hanging in the doorway of their flat in Manchester.
What’s for dinner tonight? Victoria asks, closing her eyes. Her fingers hover over the laptop keyboard, and for a split second she thinks that if she keeps them closed the question might vanish on its own. It doesnt. She pulls away from the screen, where dozens of tabs bristling with work documents flash. Daniel freezes in the doorway.
Did you open the fridge? he asks.
Daniel nods.
And what?
Well he shrugs. There are pots and containers in there.
Victoria feels the tension from the last few hours of work morph into irritation.
So you didnt think of anything, like heating up some food? she snaps.
Daniel frowns.
Why should I? Im exhausted from the office. Cant you even serve your husband a meal? he retorts.
What am I doing, then? Victoria whips the laptop around, showing him a screen drowning in spreadsheets, presentations, and chat windows. Im working too. From home, but Im working. Im tired as well. Yet I found the time to make dinner. All you have to do is heat it and put it on a plate. Is that really that hard?
Her voice trembles on the last words. Victoria hadnt expected to be that close to a blowup.
Daniel stalks out, muttering under his breath, Shes become so cold lazy she doesnt love me, doesnt value me
Victoria fumbles for her headphones on the table, cranks up the music, and lets his voice dissolve into the beat. She stares back at the screen, but the numbers of the report swim past her while completely different thoughts spin in her head. How did she end up here? When did everything go wrong?
It used to be different. Very different. Victoria had always loved cooking; it was her little sanctuary after a long day. She and Daniel used to joke that shed bewitched him with her food.
On their third date, a booking glitch cancelled their restaurant reservation, the table being given to someone else. Daniel was crestfallen and kept apologising, but Victoria suggested they head back to her flat instead.
She fed him homemade lasagne, warm garlic bread, and a fresh salad. Daniel sat at her tiny kitchen table, wolfing the food down, eyes rolling back in delight.
I think Im falling in love, he said, and Victoria laughed.
After they moved in togetherDaniel shifting into her premarriage flatVictoria cooked constantly: Frenchstyle meat, braised lamb, elaborate soups, weekend pies. Daniel grew accustomed to it, so much so that he stopped noticing how much time and energy she poured into the kitchen. Back then she worked a ninetofive job with no control over her schedule. She arrived home exhausted but still stood at the stove because she could see Daniel waiting, hopeful for a homecooked meal.
Now everything has changed. Her career has taken off. Shes switched to fulltime remote work, earned a promotion, and now leads major projects. Her schedule is packed, responsibilities have multiplied, and she simply doesnt have the stamina to serve Daniel as she once did. She now makes quick, simple dishes: buckwheat with chicken, pasta with meatballs, vegetable stewfilling, fast, no frills. Thats when Daniel starts to complain, first with hints, then with outright accusations.
The past two months feel like a living hell. Victoria has a critical deadline for a flagship project with a key clienther bonus and future advancement hinge on it. She pulls twelvehour days, sometimes driving into the office to hash out changes with senior management in person, avoiding endless email threads.
Daniel is perpetually dissatisfied. The house isnt spotless enough. The food is too plain. She doesnt spend enough time with him. Arguments erupt over every little thing. He insists she cook elaborate meals, throws fits over an unwashed stovetop. Victoria snaps, she cries, she shouts. They make up briefly, only for the cycle to begin again.
Finally the project ships. Victoria feels drained to the point of being a squeezed lemon; every cell aches. She lies on the bed, staring at the ceiling, too exhausted even to blink, let alone cook or clean. All she wants is to stay still and empty her mind.
From the hallway comes a footfallDaniel has just come home from work. A minute later he steps into the bedroom, looking disgruntled.
The fridge is empty. Whats for dinner? he asks.
Victoria turns her gaze slowly toward him.
There are frozen dumplings in the freezer, she whispers.
I dont want dumplings! Daniel grimaces. I want baked fish with vegetables.
The mere thought of getting out of bed sends a physical twinge through Victoria; her body refuses to move, her brain refuses to cooperate.
You could order a takeaway. Theyll bring you whatever you want, she suggests.
Then why did I even marry you? he snaps, his tone sharp enough to make her flinch. She lifts herself onto an elbow, fixing him with a steadier stare.
Just to have food delivered? Daniel continues, his voice rising. Cooking is a wifes duty. Youve become lazy. Ive tolerated it, but this is too much.
Something clicks inside Victoria. The fatigue is replaced by a hot, bright anger that fuels her. She leaps from the bed, shouting:
Im not obligated! Wheres that written? Who signed it?
Im fed up with eating whatever this is! Daniel roars. Im sick of putting up with this!
So cook it yourself! Victoria steps toward him. The kitchens right there! Im not stopping you!
Its your responsibility! he protests. Its a womans job! You must look after your husband!
Im exhausted! Victorias scream edges on a shriek. Ive been swamped with work for two months! You never even wash your own plate! You dont tidy up, you dont cook! Why am I the only one caring for you while you just sit on a readymade meal?
Daniels face reddens.
Because Im a man! I earn the money! he declares.
Victoria points at her own chest.
And I earn just as much! Not any less than you! Yet you treat me like a servant!
Youre a bad wife! You cant look after the family! he shouts.
A cold calm settles over Victoria, the fury giving way to icy composure.
Then go find someone else! Find a woman wholl serve you. Im done.
Daniel freezes, bewildered.
What? he stammers.
Victoria walks past him to the wardrobe, pulls out his duffel bag, and starts tossing his belongings inside.
You heard me. Leave. Right now, she says.
Vicky, what are you doing?! he pleads.
Leave! Im tired of being your maid. I want to be your equal partner, not your cook and cleaner. If you cant accept that, were done.
Daniel cant comprehend whats happening. He tries to argue, to apologise, but Victoria remains unmoving. She ushers him out the door, refusing to let him stay another night.
A week passes. Daniel calls daily, sends messages, begs for forgiveness, promises to change. Victoria doesnt answer. She needs time to think, to sort herself out.
She recalls how Daniel never offered to help with chores. He took her care for granted, never giving anything back. He devalued her exhaustion, insisting she owed him simply because she was his wife. She realises he was leaning on her, using her, without even noticing.
Daniel shows up again, this time with a bouquet of flowers. Victoria sighs, but they need to talk.
Im filing for divorce. I dont need you anymore, she says.
He looks baffled.
But why? I promised Id change! he protests.
I dont need promises. I need a husband, not a servant. Thats a different thing, she replies.
The divorce is processed quickly. The flat was hers before the marriage, so theres nothing to split. Daniel moves back in with his parents. Victoria stays alone.
And for the first time in months she feels lighter. She begins cooking againjust for herself. She experiments with new recipes, revisits old favourites. She roasts a duck with apples for no reason other than craving it. She tackles intricate desserts because they intrigue her. When the fatigue of the workday hits, she orders a takeaway, slurps pizza straight from the box on the couch while the television buzzes. No one judges her, no one demands anything. And that feels wonderful.
