The Ungrateful One — Sarah, we’re hungry! Get up already! — her husband’s irritated voice grumbled in her ear. Her head was splitting, her throat burned, and her nose was blocked. She tried to get up, but her body felt like it was made of lead. No surprise she’d gotten sick. All week the weather had been hot, and then yesterday evening it turned to sleet. Ah, British spring… The taxis were impossible to get, not shocking in this weather. She’d had to take the bus home from work. Waited 30 minutes for a bus that was packed to the brim. Managed to squeeze herself in. After that, there was still quite a walk home. Even though she’d asked her husband to pick her up on his way. — Sarah, Billy and I popped round to Mum’s. We’ll be late. — David had said. As usual. In the end, Sarah arrived home late, soaked and freezing. She glanced at the clock — 8 a.m. Saturday. — Dave, could you bring me the thermometer, please? — she asked. — You alright? Are you sick? — David was surprised. — What about breakfast? — Can you manage it yourself? — she pleaded. — What, on our own? — David was baffled. — And Billy? — He’s ten! And you’re a grown man. Make some eggs, let your son help. I’ve taught him to cook, he’s old enough now. — You taught the boy to cook? — her husband cried out. — Yes. Why not? He spends all day on his phone and won’t do anything — Sarah shrugged. — Are you mad? He’s a boy! Men don’t need to cook, shouldn’t even have to learn! That’s women’s work! — David snapped. — Fine! We’re off to my parents then, since you can’t be bothered with us. Will be back Sunday night. And with that, the “men” packed up and left for David’s parents’. Sarah managed to stand, found the thermometer, put the kettle on, and thought… “When did this happen? When did my husband forget how to look after himself — or me, when I’m ill? When did we stop caring about each other? When did all these chores become mine alone?” The thermometer beeped: 39.2. She took her medicine and crawled back to bed. A little later, the phone woke her. It was her mum: — Sarah, why didn’t you call? You always phone in the morning — I was worried! — Caught something, Mum. Took some pills, fell back asleep, — Sarah croaked. — A little sick, huh?! And where’s David? Off at his mother’s with Billy again? — They left. Didn’t want to catch what I’ve got, — Sarah said, dully. — You really believe that? Not to catch it… More like not to have to wash the dishes! — her mum fumed. — Oh, Mum… — Sarah tried to protest. — Don’t “Oh, Mum” me! I sent you off to be a wife, not a slave! Run a fever? — Yeah, high this morning. A bit better now, just wiped out, — Sarah confessed. — Stay put! Dad will come and get you. This isn’t right — being ill by yourself. Wait there — and her mum hung up. Sarah dragged herself up, washed, packed essentials and her laptop, and was ready when her dad arrived. — Oi! — he clutched his chest seeing her. — What is it, Dad? — she panicked. — Oh! It’s only you! Nearly scared me to death — you’re white as a sheet! — Dad! Don’t frighten me like that! — she managed a weak smile. — Shall we go? — Come on, then. Hold onto me or you’ll get blown away in this wind — he helped her gently into the car. — You look worn out, love. Your mum’s right. You look like you’ve been worked to death. Sorry, but you do. Sarah didn’t argue. She was too tired. At her parents’, it was warm, delicious, and safe. Mum took charge, and by evening Sarah felt a little better. She called David again to explain she wasn’t home, but was met by a lazy: — What do you want? I can’t bring you medicine. Had a few pints with Dad. It’s Saturday after all! Oh, Mum wants a word — David handed the phone over. — Sarah! You’re a woman! You can’t let yourself go and leave your men hungry! What matters in a family? For men? Warm food and quiet! But you? Taking some pills and calling it a day! — her mother-in-law sneered. Sarah’s own mum overheard and grabbed the phone: — My dear in-law! What are men, then? Helpless? Sick? Why do they need to sit at home, fed and fussed over? — she was outraged. — Not helpless, just family men. All men are like that, — the mother-in-law retorted. — How’s things, Vicky? — How do you think?! Pulling my daughter back onto her feet. A real man can’t even buy his sick wife medicine, just down the pub with you! He’s happy when she’s sick — useless! — the two women didn’t get on, and the mother-in-law had met her match here. — Nonsense. They left so Sarah wouldn’t be bothered. What a little madam! So she wants medicine and care now? She’s just lazy! Forgot about her men — but they’re her family! Never mind! I’ll look after my boys! Your daughter’s a cuckoo! Vicky stared silently at the silent phone. — Is it worth it, love? You’re still young! This is too much, — her mum said, indignant. Then a message from David came in: “Sarah, send some money? Not enough until payday. Had to buy a load for Billy’s clubs and kit!” “I’ve been paying all the bills and food all month. That’s fair?” — Sarah was stunned by his cheek. “Of course it is. The flat’s yours! Come on, send it — I’m at the shop!” — he replied impatiently. “No money. Spent it on medicine,” — Sarah lied. “What do you mean, no money? Your illness is costing us! Ask your folks,” — came his next suggestion. “Ask your own mum” — Sarah shot back. “Ha! She’d never understand where my wages went,” — David said. “I don’t either,” — Sarah replied. “I’m a grown man. I can spend my money how I want, no need to explain myself to anyone! I’m at the shop. Hurry and send it!” — angrier now. “Not sending it!” — she replied. He shot back that she was stingy, ungrateful, a bad mum and wife, and much more. At last, Sarah replied to her mum: — No need, Mum. I’ve had enough. All evening and night David and his mother bombarded her with angry texts. He raged, his mother “educated” her. Sarah just muted her phone. On Sunday morning, while the family was at breakfast, David called: — Sarah, Billy and I will stay at Mum’s for now. She cares about us, unlike you! She was right, saying I shouldn’t rush into marriage. When she said “you never know what sort of mother she’ll be”, I should’ve listened. You’re a terrible mother! A cuckoo! — and hung up. — Well, that’s a relief! What do you think, darling? — her dad, Ian, looked carefully at her. — I only see one way out. Divorce. I’m done, — Sarah stared gloomily at her fluffed-up omelette with herbs. She’d made up her mind. But oh, how hard it is! — Good! Love, take your medicine, mute your phone, and get some sleep. You need to get better, — her mum said gently. So Sarah did. She woke up at lunchtime — just as her father returned. — Here. Yours. Chuck the other set! — he handed over new keys. — What? — Sarah was confused. — Changed the locks at your flat, packed David’s and Billy’s things, took them to his mother. If I missed anything, give it back later. Stay with us for a bit, alright? And don’t answer the phone. Safer that way. Her mum was happily busy in the kitchen. Both parents had secretly wished for this outcome for a long time, but had kept out of it — their daughter needed to make her own choice. Sarah filed for divorce. She heard no end of insults thrown her way: “home-wrecker”, “bad mother”, “ungrateful”, and worse. But, for the first time in ages, she was happy. The divorce went through quickly — after all, there were no joint kids or assets. David had decided a year after the wedding that taking his son was cheaper than paying child support. His ex-wife didn’t object. He’d just forgotten to ask Sarah — or even mention it. He didn’t care that Sarah and Billy didn’t get on, or that the boy made her life miserable. He forgot his son needed new clothes, clubs to pay for, shoes, and a flat to live in — which was Sarah’s, as it happened. Forgot even about his wife. Why worry? He was the man! The father! And Sarah? She was just… ungrateful! That’s all! But the court set everything right—David’s own doing, as he was the one who started it all. Now, David and Billy live with his mum, who keeps their spending on a tight leash and is teaching them both to run a household. Turns out, three men are a handful, not just one! It’s hard work. And Sarah? Sarah is happy! She bought herself a car — now she won’t get sick commuting in bad weather again. So what if she’s only 27, just out of a tough divorce? She knows exactly what to do now: love herself!

Emma, we’re hungry! Stop lazing about, will you? came Davids grumbling voice right by her ear.
Her head was pounding, her throat felt like sandpaper, and her nose was completely blocked. She tried to get up, but her whole body felt like it was made of lead. Honestly, it was no surprise she was ill.
All week the weather had been unusually warm for March, and then yesterday evening, it suddenly poured and even hailed. British spring at its finest, right? She couldnt get a taxi home in that weather not that anybody would be driving. Ended up waiting half an hour at the bus stop for the number 23, crammed in like sardines when it finally showed up. Then, of course, a good ten-minute walk home from the stop.
Shed even called David, begging him to pick her up on his way.
Em, Ive popped to Mums with Harry. Well be late, just eat something, yeah? David had messaged.
Typical.
So Emma made it home soaked to the bone and freezing, long after most people would already be in bed. She checked the time 8am. Saturday.
Davy, can you bring me the thermometer, please? she croaked.
What, youre ill? David sounded genuinely surprised. Well, what about breakfast?
Can you two do it yourselves today? Emma asked hopefully.
Us? On our own? he seemed lost. And what about Harry?
Hes ten now, and youre, you know, an adult. Make some scrambled eggs? Let Harry help, Ive shown him how, hes old enough.
You taught him to cook? her husband was appalled.
Yeah, I did. So what? Otherwise, hed just stare at his phone all day. He never wants to help with anything she sighed.
You must be really ill! Men dont need to cook, thats for women thats your job! David muttered crossly. Right, Im taking Harry to Mums, since you cant be bothered. Well be back tomorrow evening.
With that, the two of them packed up and vanished off to Davids mums.
Emma dragged herself out of bed, hunted down the thermometer, boiled the kettle, and just sat there, a little shell-shocked.
When did this happen? she wondered, staring at her tired reflection in the kettle. When did David forget how to cook a simple breakfast for either of them? When did caring for each other get so one-sided? When did everything at home become entirely her responsibility?
The thermometer beeped 39.2. Lovely.
She took some painkillers and crawled straight back to bed.
A while later, her phone rang. It was Mum.
Em, why havent you rung? Im used to your call in the morning, love Victorias worried voice came crackling down the line.
Sorry, Mum, just feeling rough. Took some meds and nodded off again Emma rasped.
Hmph, sure. And wheres David? Off with Harry at his mums again? grumbled Victoria.
Yeah, they went so they dont catch this Emma offered half-heartedly.
Rubbish! More like they didnt want to actually do anything round the house. God forbid he has to wash up! Victoria huffed.
Oh, Mum Emma tried to protest, but Mum was on a roll.
Dont Mum me! Youre not a servant, youre his wife! Have you checked your temperature?
Yeah. Was sky high, feels a bit better now. Im just wiped out.
Stay put! Dad will come and get you. Its not right you being ill on your own. Wait there and off she went, line dead.
Emma pulled on her dressing gown, packed some things, grabbed her laptop, and waited at the window for her dad.
Good heavens! Dad clutched his chest when he saw her. What happened to you?
Its just me, Dad! she laughed, weakly.
Come on then, lets get you in the car before the wind blows you away. He helped her, looking her up and down. You really dont look well, love. Your mums right, its like theyve worked you into the ground. No offence, but you need a break.
Emma didnt argue. She just sat, exhausted.
It was brilliant at her parents place warm, comforting, and full of good food. Her mum fussed over her all day, and by evening, Emma was feeling almost human again.
She rang David to let him know she wasnt at home, and all she got was:
What do you want me to do about it? I cant bring you any medicine, Ive had a couple of pints with Dad. Its Saturday! Were watching the footie. Oh, Mum wants to talk to you and off he went.
Emma! Youre a wife! You cant just leave your men hungry. Dont you know whats important in a family? Especially for men? Full bellies, warm house, peace and quiet! And you say youre poorly Take a paracetamol and get on with it! his mum, Joyce, scolded down the phone.
Victoria, passing by, overheard and took the phone.
Look here, Joyce! Are men helpless now? Are they invalids? Why cant they make themselves some toast? she snapped.
Course theyre not helpless its just that men are men, arent they? Joyce huffed, not expecting Victoria to chime in.
Well, Im helping my daughter get well. Shame your son cant look after his wife cant even fetch her medicine because hes too busy with the beers! Tell you what, sounds like my daughters better off here.
Youre spoiling her. Shes a healthy young woman, just cant be bothered! Forgotten about her family, thats all. Ill look after my boys, thanks, and you deal with your daughter Joyce bit back.
Victoria looked at Emma, shaking her head.
You hear that, love? Is this the life you want? her mum asked, deeply hurt.
Ping a message from David.
Emma, can you send some money? Im short til payday. Got stuff for Harry. Had to pay for his after-school football and buy him new kit!
All month, Ive paid for the food and bills. Thats fair? Emma stared in disbelief.
Yeah, well, its your flat isnt it? Come on, Im heading to Sainsburys! short and sharp.
Sorry, spent the lot on medicine, Emma fibbed.
What, nothing? Your illness is getting expensive for us! Ask your parents then.
You ask your own mum, Emma shot back.
Shell just have a go at me! Shell never understand where my moneys going.
Neither do I.
Look, Im a grown bloke, yeah? Ive got my own needs. Dont need to account for every penny to you, or my mum. Im in the shop, send it! he snapped.
No. That was it.
Then came the barrage greedy, ungrateful, rubbish mum and wife, heaping on the insults.
Emma sighed, turned her phone to silent, and answered her mums earlier question.
Dont worry, Mum. Im all right now.
That evening and all night, David and Joyce peppered her with angry messages, one after another, alternating between scolding and guilt-tripping. Emma just turned it all off.
Sunday morning, as everyone at her parents sat down to breakfast, David called:
Emma, Harry and I are going to stay at Mums for a bit. At least she loves and cares for us, not like you! She told me not to rush into marriage she was right. Never knew what sort of mother youd turn out to be. Youre just a cold-hearted woman, a total let-down! and he hung up.
Well, that settles it then! her dad, Ian, looked at her over his mug of tea. What do you want to do?
Divorce. I cant do this anymore, Dad Emma stared into her fluffy cheese omelette and made her decision.
Hard though it was.
Good for you. Mum, Im popping out might miss lunch. he called as he left.
Emma, take your meds, turn your phone off, and get some proper rest. You need to get well her mum beamed at her.
So, she did. It was Sunday, after all, and Monday meant back to work.
She only woke up around lunchtime, just as Dad came home.
Here, these are yours. Toss the others. he handed her a new set of keys.
Whats this? Emma was a bit groggy.
Swapped the locks at your flat. David and Harrys things have all been sent to his mums. If they missed anything, well get it to them. Just stay put here a while, yeah? And for heavens sake, ignore your phone.
In the kitchen, her mum was happily making soup. Truth be told, theyd been wanting her to come home for ages, but waited for her to see it for herself.
Emma filed for divorce.
She heard it all selfish, home-wrecker, cuckoo, bad mother, ungrateful, and that was the polite stuff.
But honestly? She was happy. For the first time in years.
The divorce went through quickly no joint kids, nothing shared except a never-ending pile of housework.
David had brought Harry to live with him a year into their marriage said it was cheaper than paying maintenance. His ex-wife hadnt argued. He never even asked Emma how she felt or bothered to warn her. It didnt matter that Harry and Emma just didnt get on the boy went out of his way to make her life difficult. David never thought about the cost of school trips, trainers, or the fact that the flat was Emmas. He forgot about everything. Including his wife. Because that was easier for him. Hes a man, a father!
And Emma? Well, apparently she was just ungrateful.
But in the end, the court made sure it was all sorted fairly.
David and his son live with Joyce now, who not only manages the purse strings, but makes them do housework, too. Three blokes under one roof thats a handful.
As for Emma, shes genuinely happy.
She saved up and bought herself a car no more standing in the rain waiting for buses.
What else should a 27-year-old do after a tough divorce?
Thats right she finally learned to love herself!