“Your time’s up,” her husband said, pointing to the door.
“That smell again! I asked you not to smoke indoors!” Emma flung open the living room windows, angrily swiping at the curtains. “Good grief, even the sofa reeks. What will Lydia and her husband think when they come for dinner?”
“And what will they think?” Mark stubbbed out his cigarette in the ashtray with deliberate force. “They’ll think a normal bloke lives hereone who smokes occasionally. Big deal.”
“Normal blokes, Mark, smoke on the balcony or outside. They don’t choke their families with second-hand smoke. I get headaches from it.”
“Here we go,” Mark rolled his eyes. “Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and suddenly it’s a problem. Maybe it’s the menopause, love?”
Emma froze, lips pressed tight. Thisher age, the changes it broughtwas a topic Mark brought up more often lately, as if aiming to wound. And somehow, he always hit the mark.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” She turned to the window to hide the tears welling up. “I’m just asking for basic respect. Is it really so hard to step outside?”
“Respect?” Mark scoffed. “Where’s yours for me? After work, I want to sit in my chair, have a cuppa, and smoke. Not run about like a schoolboy. Its my house, after all!”
“Our house,” she corrected softly.
“Oh, rightours,” he muttered. “Except I pay the bills. The mortgage. Even your new coat.”
Emma exhaled sharply. Shed heard this a thousand times. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the kids, then caring for his mother, then just settling into the role of a housewife. And Mark had settled into throwing it back at her.
“I dont want another row,” she said wearily. “Just smoke on the balcony. Lydia has asthmaitll be hard for her to breathe.”
“Fine,” Mark conceded unexpectedly. “For your precious Lydia, Ill step outside. But just tonight.”
He pushed up from his chair and headed to the bedroom, tossing over his shoulder, “And why dyou invite them, anyway? Ive a big meeting tomorrowI need sleep, not to entertain your dull friends.”
“Theyre not just friends,” Emma countered. “Michael runs the local library. He might help me find work.”
Mark stopped in the doorway and slowly turned.
“What work?”
Emma hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, once things were settled. But now she had no choice.
“I want a job at the library,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “Three days a week, part-time. The kids are grown, youre always at workI need something to do.”
“And wholl run the house?” he cut in. “Wholl cook, clean, do the laundry?”
“Ill managedont worry. Its not full-time. And the kids hardly visit now, so theres less cooking”
“Your mum turns up every week, though,” Mark grumbled. “And expects pies and roasts each time.”
“Mum helps with the chores,” Emma shot back. “And she doesnt visit that often.”
“Couldnt care less if she came daily,” Mark waved a hand. “But this jobits daft, Emma. Youre forty-seven. Stay home, take up a hobbyknitting or whatever. Your books.”
“My books?” A surge of indignation rose in her. “Mark, do you even remember I have a degree in English? That I taught literature before the kids came?”
“So? That was twenty years ago. Times change. Whod hire you with an old degree?”
“The library,” she repeated stubbornly. “I dont need a fortune, Mark. I need purpose. People. To feel Im good for more than cooking and ironing your shirts.”
“Cheers for that,” Mark sneered. “So home and family mean nothing? Not worthy of a clever woman like you?”
“You know thats not what I meant,” Emma sighed. This argument was tiresomely familiar. “Lets talk later. Weve guests coming.”
She fled to the kitchen, heart pounding. Lately, every conversation with Mark spiralled into a fight. She didnt know when it startedonly that theyd begun speaking different languages. He didnt hear her. Didnt want to.
It hadnt always been like this. Theyd met at universityboth studying literature, both in love with words. Mark wrote poetry; Emma adored it. Then came marriage, first Sophie, then James. Mark landed a job at a publishing house, climbed the ranks. Emma stayed homewith the kids, the house, the books she barely had time to read anymore.
She hadnt noticed the change. How the romantic young man became a cynical, weary stranger who worked late and cared little for her thoughts. By the time she saw it, it was too late. They were two strangers sharing a roof.
Lydia and Michael arrived at seven sharp. Michael, a burly man with a thick beard, launched into politics with Mark. Lydia, a sprightly woman in her sixties, joined Emma in the kitchen.
“Hows Mark taking the job talk?” she asked, chopping salad.
“Badly,” Emma sighed. “Hes dead against it.”
“Surprised?” Lydia shrugged. “Men hate change. Especially if it inconveniences them.”
“But nothing would change,” Emma pulled a casserole from the oven. “Id still run the housejust be out a few hours a week.”
“To him, thats Armageddon,” Lydia chuckled. “Imaginehe comes home, and youre not there. The horror!”
They laughed, and Emma felt the tension ease. Lydia always had that effectcalm, unshakable.
Dinner began civilly. Mark was charming, even joking, quizzing Michael on new books. Emma relaxedmaybe todays mood was just a blip.
“Speaking of books,” Lydia turned to Emma. “Have you told Mark about the reading group?”
“What group?” Mark looked up from his plate.
“Well” Emma faltered. “We discussed me leading a childrens book club. At the library.”
“And when was this happening?” Marks voice took on an edge.
“Next month,” Lydia supplied, oblivious. “Twice a week, two hours. Barely anything.”
“Fascinating,” Mark set down his fork. “Were you planning to discuss it with me?”
“I tried today,” Emma said quietly.
“Dont recall a proper discussion,” Mark addressed the guests. “You see, Emmas obsessed with working lately. At her age, starting a career seems unwise.”
“Why?” Michael frowned. “Emmas highly educated. We need people like her.”
“Perhaps,” Mark nodded. “But she has responsibilities. To her family. Her husband.”
“Mark,” Emma flushed with shame. “Not in front of guests.”
“Why not?” Mark scanned the table. “Were all adults. Im simply clarifying: I wont have my wife working. Full stop.”
An awkward silence fell. Lydia glanced helplessly at Michael, who coughed and changed the subject.
The rest of the evening passed in stiff small talk. When the guests left, Emma silently cleared the table.
“How long were you hiding this?” Mark leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
“I wasnt hiding it,” she stacked plates. “I was waiting for the right time.”
“And when was that? After youd started?”
“Mark, why are you so angry?” She turned to him. “Its just a job. Not an affair. Not a crime.”
“To me, its betrayal,” he said coldly. “We agreed youd keep the home. That was the deal.”
“That was twenty years ago!” Emma cried. “The kids are grownI have time. I need to feel useful!”
“So home isnt enough?” Mark stepped closer. “Admit ityoure bored. Want freedom? New people?”
“What? This isnt about”
“Ive seen it at work,” he cut in. “Women finding themselves. Next thing, theyre shagging colleagues and divorcing.”
“Good God, Mark,” Emma stared. “You think Ill take a lover at a library? Surrounded by dusty books and pensioners?”
“I think nothing,” he snapped. “Im saying no. End of.”
Something inside Emma snapped. This was it. The end of the argument, the hope, maybe even their marriage as she knew it.
“Then Ill do it anyway,” she said softly. “Ill call Michael tomorrow and accept.”
Mark gaped. “What did you say?”
“Im taking the job,” she repeated, oddly light. “Not for money or friends. To feel like a person againnot just an extension of this house.”
“I see,” Mark nodded slowly. “So youve decided. Without me.”
“I tried deciding with you. You wouldnt listen.”
“Brilliant,” Mark turned on his heel.
She heard him pacing, muttering. Then he returned, holding her handbag and coat.
“Your times up,” he said, pointing to the door. “If you make choices without me, live without me. Get out.”
“Youre kicking me out?” Emma couldnt believe it. “Over a library job?”
“Im kicking you out for betrayal,” he said coldly. “For trampling our agreement. Putting yourself first.”
Emmas eyes stung. “This isnt ambition, Mark. Its a tiny jobso I dont lose my mind from loneliness! Youre always at work, the kids are gonewhat am I meant to do? Bake cakes for an empty house?”
“Take up bloody macramé!” he barked. “A deals a deal. I work, you keep house. Simple.”
He thrust her coat at her. “If Im so dull, go. Maybe your precious Lydia will take you in.”
Mechanically, Emma put on her coat. It felt surreal. Theyd fought before, but hed never thrown her out. Never been this cruel.
“Youre serious?” she asked, searching his face. “Over a job?”
“Im serious about respect,” he said. “Now go.”
Emma took a breath and stepped to the door. Then turned.
“You know whats saddest, Mark? You never asked why I want this. Just forbade itlike Im property, not your wife.”
“Why, then?” he challenged.
“Because Im terrified,” she said quietly. “That one day you wont come home. That youll leave me for that young editor youve been staying late with for months. And Ill be aloneno job, no money, no purpose. Because I gave everything to this family. To you.”
Mark recoiled. “What editor?”
“Olivia,” Emma said calmly. “She calls every night. Sometimes you take it on the balcony so I wont hear. But the walls are thin, Mark. And my hearings good.”
She walked out, closing the door softly behind her. The hallway was quiet, save for jazz drifting from the flat above.
Emma descended the stairs, stepped into the cool night air. For the first time in years, she felt oddly free.
She dialled Lydias number. “Its Emma. Sorry its late Yes, we talked. Can I come over? Now?”
Walking to the bus stop, she marvelled at lifes strangeness. This morning, shed thought shed spend her days in that house, with that man. Now she was stepping into the unknownand it felt like freedom.
Her phone rang. Marks name flashed on the screen. Emma hesitated, then declined the call and switched it off.
Her time was up. The time of fear, doubt, silent endurance. Now began something newterrifying, but hers. And she was ready.
