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Get Back in the Kitchen!” My Husband Yelled – And That Was the Last Straw
” Go to the kitchen! I heard from my husbandand I couldnt take it anymore.
Vera stared at her phone screen. Andrew had messaged for the fourth time in half an hour: *”Take the call, you daft cow.”*
She was behind the wheel of the learner car, her instructor explaining parallel parking. The phone buzzed again.
Can I answer? My husbands worried.
Of course.
*Andrew, Im driving*
Why arent you picking up? Im calling!
Youre not supposed to talk while
Right. Getting your license is more important than your husband. When will you be home?
In an hour.
Whos making dinner, then? Or am I supposed to do it myself?
The instructor looked away, pretending not to hear.
Ill cook when I get back.
Good. Thought Id married some high-powered businesswoman now.
At home, Andrew scrolled through his phone on the sofa. Hed been out of work for three monthsclaimed it was temporary, but the job hunt dragged on.
Hows driving school, then? Rocket science, is it?
That familiar mocking lilt in his voice.
Fine. Worked on parallel parking today.
Oh, very serious. Proper brain surgery, that.
Vera walked into the kitchen. In the sink sat unwashed disheshis breakfast.
*Andrew, maybe we could finally unpack those boxes? Its February, and we might as well have moved in yesterday.*
He glanced up from his screen.
Whats there to unpack? You can manage.
We could do it together. And clean up while
Andrew stood, moving closer. Something cold flickered in his eyes.
*Go to the kitchen.*
He said it quietly, but sharp as a blade. Not shoutedjust spoken. The silence of it was worse than any scream.
Vera froze.
*What did you say?*
You heard me. Make dinner.
We were talking about the boxes
Talking? You were whinging. I said you can handle it.
Something inside Vera snapped. Not from hurtfrom understanding. She remembered New Years Eve at his mates place, where hed been the life of the party.
Flirting with every woman, cracking jokes, helping the hostess. Then in the car afterward:
*Whyd you sit there mute all night? Embarrassed you, did I?*
*Im not going to the kitchen!*
His eyebrows shot up.
*What?*
*I wont!*
Vera, dont push me. We were having a civil chat.
*Civil? When was the last time you spoke to me like a person?*
Andrew set his phone aside.
Whats your problem? I was only joking.
Joking? *”Take the call, you daft cow”*that a joke too?
Cant I text my own wife?
You can. Just not like *that.*
Christ, whats the difference? You know I dont mean it.
I do. Thats why Ive stayed quiet this long.
Vera sat on the edge of the bed.
Know what my instructor said today? *”Youve got steady hands.”* Imagine that. Steady. At home, Im scared to ask for help with boxes.
*Scared?*
Andrew laughed.
Oh, give over!
I *am.* Because I know youll find a way to make me feel worthless.
Thats bollocks! Youre imagining things.
Am I? Remember when you told your mates I was *”messing about in driving school”*?
It was funny!
To *you.* To me, it was humiliating.
Andrew sat beside her on the sofa.
Look, if you dont like how I talk
Then what?
The doors right there.
Silence. Vera studied his face. No apology. No explanation. Just the door.
Alright.
She stood, pulled a suitcase from the wardrobe, started packing.
Whatre you doing?
What you suggested.
Wherell you go?
To Sophies.
Youll stomp off, have a cry, then slink back. Same as always.
*Same as always?*
Women love a drama. Slam doors, whinge to their mates.
Vera packed her documents, makeup, charger.
Then come crawling home!
She opened the box of wedding photos. Pulled one outthem at the registry office, beaming.
Would you have spoken to me like this *then?*
Andrew glanced at it.
People were watching.
And here? Whos here?
Family. I can relax.
Vera placed the photo back gently. Closed the suitcase.
*Relax.* Right.
Wait. Lets talk.
Whats to talk about? Youve shown me what I am to you at home.
She pulled on her coat in the hallway. Andrew stood barefoot in joggers.
Dont be daft! All couples row.
We didnt *row.*
Vera gripped the doorknob.
You just decided youre allowed to now.
The door slammed. From behind her:
*Wont get far!*
Two weeks later, a text arrived: *”Ill come by tomorrow, when Ive got time.”*
Her friend Sophie shook her head.
Why even see him?
I need to know Im right.
The café by the station. Andrew was half an hour late.
Howve you been?
He sat without apologising.
Fine.
Where you staying?
With Sophie for now.
The *”for now”* slipped outan old habit of softening things.
Place is a tip. Dishes piled up, laundry rotting. Good job the neighbour helped with shopping.
A waitress approachedpretty brunette, mid-twenties.
Whatll you have?
Two coffees, Andrew said, smiling at her.
Whats sweet here?
Our cakes are lovely
Bring us your best, then.
He slipped off his wedding ring, set it on the table.
Now theres no one to nag about the mess, Ill treat myself.
The waitress giggled.
Can you cook, then?
Course! Mans got to eat. Main thing is, no one whinges about socks on the floor.
Vera stared at the ring.
And no one nags about unpacking boxes.
He kept going. Right then, she realisedhe was turning their marriage into a joke for this stranger.
So, he turned back to his wife, *done with the theatrics?* House is dead without you.
No.
*No?*
Im not coming back.
For the first time, Andrew really *looked* at her.
You serious?
Yes.
Vera stood, left cash for the coffee.
Wait. You know what youre doing?
I do. For the first time in months.
*Vera!* Were adults!
Exactly why Im leaving.
Wet snow fell outside. In the café, Andrew was explaining something to the waitressprobably complaining about his mad wife.
A month later, Vera rented a flat. Passed her test. Got a new job.
Once, she saw Andrew in the supermarket with a young woman. They laughed, picking out groceries. Vera walked past unnoticed.
She wondered*how long before he tells her to “go to the kitchen”?* A month? Two?
That evening, Vera stood by her window with tea. Her phone lay silent on the table. No more *”take the call, you daft cow.”*
She thought of the women who stay. Who believe *he doesnt mean it,* that *all men are like this.* She felt no judgmentonly sorrow.
The phone lit upa colleagues message about tomorrows meeting. Polite. Professional.
Vera smiled, replied. Then sat on her sofain her own home, where she could ask for help without fear of mockery.
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