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As Katya settled the bill, Sergei drifted away. Just as she began to organise her shopping bags, he slipped out. Upon leaving the shop, Katya spotted Sergei, who was enjoying a smoke.
*Diary Entry*
While Emily was paying at the till, George lingered by the door, distant. By the time she began packing the groceries, hed already stepped outside. Exiting the shop, Emily found George leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.
“George, take the bags, please,” she said, holding out two heavy shopping bags.
He looked at her as if shed asked him to commit a crime. “What about you?” he snapped.
Emily hesitated. What did he mean, *what about you*? It was only natural for a man to help. Strange, really, watching her struggle with loaded bags while he strolled empty-handed.
“George, theyre heavy,” she pressed.
“So?” he shot back.
She saw the stubborn glint in his eyehe wouldnt budge. On principle. Quickening his pace, he strode ahead, knowing she couldnt catch up. *Carry the bags? What am I, a pack mule? Some errand boy? Im a man. Ill decide if I lift a finger. Let her manageshe wont collapse.* Today, he fancied putting her in her place.
“George, where are you going? Take the bags!” Emilys voice wavered, tears threatening.
The bags *were* heavyhed filled the trolley himself. The house wasnt far, just five minutes on foot. But laden down, it might as well have been miles.
Emily trudged home, blinking back frustration. She half-expected George to turn back, laughing it off as a joke. But nohe only grew smaller in the distance. Part of her wanted to drop everything right there. Instead, numb, she kept going. Reaching the building, she sank onto the entry bench, exhausted. Rage and weariness clawed at her, but she refused to cry in public. Swallowing it? No. He hadnt just slighted herhed humiliated her. On purpose. And this from the man whod once doted on her.
“Hello, Emily!” A familiar voice snapped her from her thoughts.
“Hello, Mrs. Wilkins,” she replied, forcing a smile.
Mrs. WilkinsMartha to friendslived one floor below. Shed been close to Emilys grandmother, and after the old womans passing, shed stepped in as family. Emily had no one elseher mother lived in another county with a new husband and children, her father long absent. Martha was all she had left.
Without a second thought, Emily decided to give her the shopping. At least carrying it hadnt been pointless. Marthas pension was meagre, and Emily liked spoiling her with treats.
“Come on, Mrs. Wilkins, Ill help you up,” she said, hefting the bags again.
In Marthas kitchen, she unpacked everything, insisting it was for her. Tinned salmon, pâté, peaches in syrupall Marthas favourites, things she could rarely afford. The older womans eyes welled up, and guilt prickled at Emily for not doing this more often. They parted with a kiss on the cheek before Emily climbed the stairs home.
George was in the kitchen, chewing lazily.
“Wherere the bags?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.
“What bags?” Emily matched his tone. “The ones you helped carry?”
“Oh, dont be dramatic,” he chuckled. “Youre not still cross?”
“No,” she said calmly. “Just drawing conclusions.”
George stiffened. Hed expected shouting, tears, a rowthis quietness unnerved him.
“What conclusions?”
“I dont have a husband,” she sighed. “Thought Id married one, but turns out I married a fool.”
“Not following,” he feigned offense.
“Whats not to follow?” She held his gaze. “I want a husband whos a man. And you? Seems you want a wife whos a man.” A pause. “So what you *really* need is a husband.”
Georges face flushed, fists clenching. But Emily didnt seeshe was already in the bedroom, packing his things.
He fought it to the end. Refused to leave. Couldnt fathom how something so trivial could wreck a marriage.
“It was fine! Whats the harm in carrying bags once?” he protested as she tossed clothes into his suitcase.
“Your suitcasehope you can carry *that* alone,” Emily said, tuning him out.
She knew this was just the first warning. If she swallowed disrespect now, the slights would only grow. So she ended it, shutting the door firmly behind him.
*Lesson learnt: A man who wont share the load doesnt deserve a place at your table.*
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