The Leading Role

26October 2025

I awoke to the muffled snores of Brian, my husband, sprawled across the sofa like a halfcollapsed sack of potatoes. My own sleep had been hijacked the night before by the shrill cries of Mrs. Ethel from the flat above. Shes shouting again! Cant you hear her? I whispered into the darkness, halfexpecting Brian to stir. He didnt; he sank deeper into his dream, oblivious to the chaos that surrounded us.

Frustration boiled over. Enough, Brian! Im going up myself if theres nobody else to quiet that monster! I slipped on my robe, slammed the front door of our flat with a force that rattled the hinges, and stalked up the narrow stairwell, the carpeted steps echoing my irritation.

When I reached the landing, Mrs. Ethels door was ajar, and a guttural, drunken bellow greeted us. Peter, the buildings unofficial gatekeeper, had thrown the door wide open. Inside, the wail of sixyearold Danny could be heard, mingling with Ethels sobs.

Whats the trouble? Peter slurred, his breath reeking of cheap gin. He was barely upright.

Did you check the time? I snapped, eyes flashing. Its the middle of the night!

Peter lunged at me, fists clenched, while Brian finally rose, his face twisted in a mixture of anger and resignation. What do you want, Peter? he growled. In a single, clumsy swing he knocked the intruder flat on the landing, the impact silencing him instantly.

A trembling Ethel emerged from the hallway, her face marked by fresh bruises. She stared at Brian with such fear she could barely breathe. Call the police, Brian said, his tone oddly gentle, and itll all settle itself.

It wont settle, she whispered, tears welling, Hell be back to his drinking.

Are you sure? I asked, halfheartedly.

She shrugged, a feeble smile playing on her lips. I hope so

I cut her off sharply. I wont put up with another night of this circus. I have work in the morning. Take your son and stay with us for the night. Tomorrow youll have to sort it out yourself. I turned a cold gaze on Peter, who slumped back into the hallway, his head hung low.

These nightly dramas have become a grim routine on our council estate. Nobody interferes unless its me or Brian. I watch him repeatedly dash upstairs to rescue Ethel, his sense of chivalry growing stranger by the day. Again? Youre a hero now, I mutter under my breath, though he cant hear me. In his mind I see only Dannys terrified eyes as he clings to his mothers skirts and Ethels pale, terroretched face.

After dealing with Peter, Brian, as usual, ushered Ethel and Danny into our living room, keeping them away from the temptation of the hallway. The next evening Ethel repaid us with a tray of scones and Victoria sponge, a small peace offering that marked the beginning of an uneasy friendship. Soon they were regular visitors, bringing biscuits, helping with chores, and Dannybrighteyed and earneststarted looking up to Brian as if he were a superhero in a tobaccosmelling coat.

I have never wanted children. Brian and I thought wed live a quiet life, but somewhere along the line a quiet ache settled in our home, like a third, invisible tenant. And then Dannys wideopen eyes, full of curiosity, began to fill that empty space.

At work I vented in the staff room, puffing on my cigarettes while the kettle boiled. Can you believe it? Mrs. Ethel came running in tears again last night! Her husband was out of his mind, drunk as a lord! I dont get how anyone can stand that! I said, voice raised. My colleague Valerie, the eldest in the department, offered a tentative sympathiser: She probably loves him when hes sobergolden, you know. I snorted, Gold? Hes a wretched, useless lad. Any decent woman would have left him by now. Younger Ilya chimed in, Maybe she has nowhere else to go, especially with a child. I blew out a plume of smoke, No! Theyre not even married! He lives in her flat! Its time to sweep him out with a broomshe should have some pride! My words sounded louder than intended, almost as if I were trying to convince myself that I was the strong, independent onefar superior to that hapless Ethel.

Yet each evening I returned home to the familiar scene of Brian and Danny huddled over a metal construction set, their laughter filling the room. It was a sound I both craved and envied, a reminder of the happiness I could never claim.

One Saturday, after returning from the supermarket with heavy bags, I stopped at Ethels flather door was ajar. I peered in and froze. Inside, Brian sat on a stool, hammer in hand, while Danny handed him nails with a seriousness that made me smile despite myself. Ethel leaned against the doorway, eyes soft, a contentment radiating from her that chilled me to the bone. They were a picture of a perfect family, something Id never managed to build.

Absurd thoughts, I muttered, backing out. Nonsense! Brian could never Im everything to him. That that Ethel what a foolish bird! I told myself, trying to drown the creeping jealousy.

The next time Ethel knocked for help, I met her at the door and, louder than ever, shouted so Brian could hear: Enough, Ethel! When will you pull yourself together? He isnt even your husband! Why put up with that drunken monster in your own flat? Get him out or keep pretending to be the victim! Your son is watching you! My words fell like poison on already dry ground.

A week later, a dejected Peter shuffled out of the building with a battered suitcase, his shoulders slumped. I felt a strange triumph, as though Id finally reclaimed my peace. No more pastries arriving on Saturdays, no more childrens giggles echoing down the stairwell.

At first the silence was a balmorder, cleanliness. But it soon grew heavy, oppressive. Brian came home, ate his dinner in silence, and stared at the television as if it were a wall. He became more withdrawn, his face shadowed by fatigue.

I tried to reassure myself: Hes just tired, I whispered, Thats why he doesnt laugh at my jokes or look at me across the table. He slept with his back turned to me, as if I were invisible.

Then, a sudden headache forced me out of work early. In the lift, distracted, I pressed the wrong button and found myself on the floor below. Ethels flat door was ajaragain. A déjà vu washed over me, and before I could stop myself I stepped inside.

I lingered in the doorway, watching Brian and Ethel tangled in a quiet intimacy, oblivious to my presence. I slipped out on tiptoe, closing the door quietly behind me. An hour later Brian returned, ate his supper, and vanished into the living room, the televisions glow swallowing him whole. I said nothing. I kept the secret, convincing myself that simply knowing his betrayal was enough to fix everything.

I despised Ethel in that moment, and I hated myself for having helped evict Peter, thinking I was freeing space for my own marriage. But Brian was never truly mine; hed proposed many times, and Id always brushed it off, saying a marriage certificate was just a piece of paper. Now, with this secret weighing on me, I feared he could simply walk away.

I vowed to stay silent, to endure. I would wait.

And I have been waiting, tolerating, for years now. Brian and Ethel carry on their clandestine romance, and I pretend not to see, not to understand. Sometimes Ethel visits with Danny and a tray of cakes, and I smile, bite into the offered biscuit, and keep my mouth shut.

Its been an endless loop of patience.

I never imagined that, when I once called Ethel a pushover, I was actually scripting my own future. Now I sit in a pitiful position, my silence the loudest confession of my own defeat. I fear speaking any more, lest I shatter the fragile happy family role I have been handedthe role of the longsuffering wife.