“– Anna’s off to the kitchen! – My husband shouted – and I couldn’t hold back”

Come on, get into the kitchen! I heard my husband say, and I could no longer hold back.

Emily stared at the glow of her phone. James had texted, for the fourth time in half an hour: You daft, pick up the handset.

She was perched behind the wheel of a teaching car; the instructor was explaining parallel parking. The phone buzzed again.

Can I answer? Hes worrying.

Of course.

James, Im driving

Why arent you answering? Im calling!

You cant talk while

Right, I get it. Getting a licence is more important than a husband. When will you be home?

In an hour.

Whos cooking dinner? Me?

The instructor turned away, pretending not to hear.

Ill be back soon, Ill sort it out.

Good. I was beginning to think my wife had turned into a business magnate.

At home James lounged on the sofa, scrolling.

It had been three months since hed lost his job. He kept saying it was only temporary, but the search dragged on.

Hows the driving school going? Tough stuff?

His voice carried a familiar smile.

Fine. We practised parallel parking today.

Oh, really? Thats a whole science, isnt it?

Emily slipped into the kitchen. The sink was piled with unwashed disheshis breakfast remnants.

James, shall we finally unpack the boxes? Its February, and we still look like we just moved in.

He lifted his head from the screen.

Whats there to unpack? Youll manage.

We could do it together. And clean at the same time

James stood and came closer. A cold flash flickered in his eyes.

Come on, get into the kitchen!

He said it softly, but with a weight that made the silence louder than any shout.

Emily froze.

What did you say?

What you heard! Go cook dinner!

We were talking about the boxes

What were we talking about? You were silent. I said youd manage on your own.

Something snapped inside Emilynot hurt, but a sudden clarity. She remembered the New Years party at his friends house, where hed been the life of the gathering, flirting with every woman, cracking jokes, helping the hostess. Later, in the car, hed asked:

Why were you quiet all night? Was it awkward?

Im not going to the kitchen!

He raised an eyebrow in surprise.

What?

I wont go!

Emily, dont make me look bad. We were talking just fine.

Just fine? When was the last time you spoke to me normally?

James set his phone aside.

Whats the complaint? I was just joking.

Joking? You daft, pick up the handset was a joke too?

Cant I text my wife?

You can, but not daft.

Oh, come off it! You know I never mean harm.

I know. Thats why I stayed silent all this time.

Emily sank to the edge of the bed.

You know what the instructor said today? You have confident hands. Imagine thatconfident. Yet at home Im terrified to ask for help with the boxes.

Afraid?

James laughed.

Good for you!

Im afraid because I know youll find a way to prove how useless I am.

Thats not true! Youre making it up.

Making it up? Remember when, at a party, you bragged that I was having a laugh at driving school?

It was funny!

It was funny to you. I was mortified.

James sat beside her on the sofa.

Listen, if you dont like how I speak

Then what?

The doors where it always was.

Silence stretched. Emily stared at him. He offered no apology, no explanation, just pointed at the door.

Fine.

She stood, pulled a travel bag from the wardrobe, and started packing.

What are you doing?

Doing what you asked.

Where are you going?

To Sarahs.

Youll run a bit, then come back. Like always.

Like always?

Women love a good drama. Slam the door, cry to the girls.

Emily tucked documents, cosmetics, a charger into the bag.

And then crawl back!

She opened a box of wedding photos, pulled out the picture of them at the registry office, smiling.

Would you talk to me like that here?

James glanced at the photo.

There were people then.

And now?

Heres family. You can relax.

Emily placed the photo carefully back, zipped the bag.

Relax right.

Wait. Lets discuss.

Discuss what? Youve already shown me what I am to you at home.

In the hallway she slipped on her coat. James stood barefoot in his house trousers.

Throw it away! All the couples argue.

We didnt argue.

Emily grabbed the doorknob.

You just decided you can now.

The door slammed. Behind her, a voice echoed:

You wont get far!

Two weeks later a message arrived: Ill be there tomorrow, as soon as I sort the time.

Sarah shook her head.

Why are you meeting him?

I need to be sure Im right.

At the café by the station, James arrived thirty minutes late.

How are you?

He sat, not apologising for his tardiness.

Good.

Where are you staying?

At Sarahs for now.

Now slipped out, a habit of softening blows.

Its a mess at home. Dishes dirty, laundry undone. Good thing the neighbour helped with the groceries.

A young waitress, a pretty brunette of about twentyfive, approached.

What would you like?

Two coffees, James said, smiling at her.

Anything sweet?

We have marvelous scones

Then everythings perfect.

He slipped his wedding ring off and laid it on the table.

Now that the house is tidy, I can treat myself to dessert.

The waitress laughed.

Can you actually cook?

Of course! A man can boil porridge. The only thing you dont want is socks scattered on the floor.

Emily watched the ring.

And no one asks for help cleaning the flat.

He kept talking. In that instant she realised he was turning their whole story into a joke for some other woman.

So, he turned to his wife, shall we finish the performance? Its dull without you at home.

No.

What, no?

Im not coming back.

James finally met her gaze, really looked.

Seriously?

Yes.

Emily rose, set the money for the coffee on the table.

Wait. Do you understand what youre doing?

I understand. First time in three months.

Emily! Were adults!

Thats why Im leaving.

Outside, wet snow fell. In the café James was explaining something to the waitress, probably complaining about an impossible wife.

A month later Emily rented a onebed flat, got her licence, and started a new job.

One day she spotted James in a supermarket with a young woman. They laughed while choosing fruit. Emily passed by unnoticed.

She wondered: how long before he says, Come on, get into the kitchen again? A month? Two?

That evening Emily stood by her flats window with a mug of tea. On the table lay her phone, silent, calm. No more messages like You daft, pick up the handset.

She thought of the women who stay, who believe he isnt evil, that all men are like that, and felt not judgement but sorrow.

The phone blinkeda message from a colleague about tomorrows meeting. Formal, courteous.

Emily smiled, replied, then sank onto her sofain her own home, where she could ask for help without fearing mockery.