It was late in Manchester. After tucking the children into bed, Emily slipped into the kitchen. She boiled water in the kettle, poured herself a cup of tea, and settled at the table. Her husband, George, was still not homeof late his work had kept him at the office far longer than usual. She felt a pang of pity for him, trying to spare him any domestic burdens and surrounding him with tenderness. George was the familys sole provider.
From the moment they wed, they had agreed that George would earn the wages while Emily looked after the house and future children. That arrangement held true. They now had three little ones; George earned a decent salary, and Emily ran the home front. Each new birth filled George with pride, and he dreamed of a larger brood, yet Emily was exhausted. The infants demanded constant attention, the bathroom was perpetually piled with nappies, and the breastmilk ran thin, forcing her to mix formula each night. She had long decided that three children were enough and that it was time to halt.
One night George staggered through the door, a little tipsy. When Emily asked what had delayed him, he muttered that the children had worn him out and hed stopped at a pub for a quick drink.
My dear, Emily soothed him, lets have something to eat.
Im already stuffed; we had plenty of snacks. I think Ill just go to bed.
International Womens Day loomed, and Emily asked her mother to look after the youngsters while she went shopping. She wanted to pick up groceries, a few presents, and perhaps a new dressher wardrobe was threadbare and she had nothing festive to wear.
She left her bags in the cloakroom of a bustling department store and entered the ladies department. After selecting a handful of dresses she headed for the fitting rooms. As she slipped off her nylon coat, a voice drifted from the adjoining cubicle.
Id love to strip you right now, it said.
A loud, jaunty laugh followed, then a sugarytone female voice: Just a moment longer. Why not buy something for your wife instead?
She doesnt need anything. She lives for the children. Ill get some kitchen gadgets; she loves to be in the kitchen.
Emily stood frozen, as if a heavy weight had landed on her chest. She tried on the dress but felt no desire to keep it. The conversation continued.
What if your wife asks where you spent all that money?
I dont tell her my expenses. I give her a stipend for the home, and she hardly knows my earnings.
Footsteps echoed; the fitting session ended and the couple left. Emily peered cautiously behind the curtain and saw George handing over payment to a slender, blonde woman, his hand resting lightly on her waist.
Are you all right? Emily whispered to herself.
She bought the few dresses she liked, returned home, sent her mother away, settled the children for the night, and then lay down, thoughts turning over.
Perhaps she had neglected herself. Yet this was betrayala sudden knife in the back. She had never imagined George would be unfaithful, and the way he spoke of her, as if she were merely a servant, cut deeper. He even thought of buying her a gift fit for a housewife.
Divorce floated through her mind, but she knew it would leave George free to pursue his lover while she, with little means, would struggle for the children; alimony would be modest at best. She chose to bide her time and watch.
That night George returned late again, citing a mountain of work. Emily met his eyes with detached indifference, saying nothing. She felt she was speaking to a stranger, not the loving George she had known. Her heart seemed to cool at once.
The next morning she drafted a résumé and sent it to every address she could think of. Days passed with little reply; some letters were rejections. At last, an interview was arranged at the very firm where George worked. After some hesitation, Emily attended.
The interview went well; the managers offered her a modest post. The pay would barely cover the children, but it was a start. Elated, she returned home, where her mother bombarded her with questions.
George has a mistress! Emily blurted, halflaughing, then recounted everything.
Do you want a divorce? her mother asked.
Of course. First I need to sort my schedule. I have a job now with flexible hours. The children need a place in a good nursery, then Ill work fulltime.
My dear, its your choice. I wont try to sway you. Once a man cheats, hell likely do it again. Do what feels right. Im disappointed; I never saw it coming, and he even discusses his childrens mother with a stranger. Ill help with the kids.
Mother, what would I do without you? Emily clung to her, gratitude bright in her eyes.
Before the holiday, George again stumbled in after midnight. Emilys face showed no curiosity; she turned away as he began to explain a long shift followed by a night at the pub. She cut him off, telling him to go to bed.
The following morning, while feeding the little ones, George presented her with a kitchen food processor, saying, Look, a little something to help around the house. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her cheek.
She set the gift aside and, with steady voice, announced she had a present for him as well. She led him to the hallway, where two suitcases waited.
These are your things. Im ending this marriage. You wont have to weave tales about late nights with colleagues, and you can go on relaxing with your blonde.
What? How dare you? George stammered, shocked.
I saw you in that fitting room, buying a gift for her. You can give her the processor too; perhaps shell enjoy fiddling in the kitchen.
Angry, George snapped, Look at yourself! Shes pretty and all that. Youve let yourself go, turned into a clumsy woman, and you live on my money. Do you think you have the right to tell me where I spend it?
My money, my money! And what do you expect? A piece of bread? You gave me a stipend for the house, which you then spent yourself. Emily, weary of the hollow argument, pushed him toward the door with the suitcases, Dont come back.
That night she slept soundly, waking refreshed as if reborn. That very day she filed for divorce and for maintenance. A few days later the doorbell rang; her motherinlaw stormed in, shouting.
What are you doing, youve thrown my son out and now demand money? He owes you nothing. Withdraw the claim!
How odd that some men think they pay exwives rather than their children. Perhaps hell have less for his lover now. Its no longer my problem.
You think youll become rich on maintenance? You never worked a day since marriage. Youll get pennies, if anything.
Emily, calm but firm, said, Out, youre a mirror of him. Im sorry it took me so long to see this. She pushed the woman out, warning, One more word and Ill call the police.
When the motherinlaw left, Emily exhaled a deep sigh. The children soon secured places at a reputable nursery, and she began fulltime work. George soon learned they were employed at the same company. One afternoon they crossed paths in the staff kitchen.
Hello, he said, attempting a smile. Shall we talk?
I have work to do, Emily replied without looking up.
Then perhaps lunch together?
The word together no longer applies to us, she cut him off, her gaze steady. George looked weary; his former lover had abandoned him when she realised half his earnings would go to support the children.
