A Man Spent a Week with His Lover to Reform His Wife, Only to Return and Be Stunned in the Entrance Hall

I still recall, as though from a distant age, how Thomas drove away for a week to stay with his lover, hoping the absence would set Eleanor right. When he returned, a pile of parcels waited in the hallway of the old terraced house.

Thomas lounged on the settee, phone glued to his hand, tapping out a message. His jaw was tight, brows knotted. Eleanor had grown accustomed to evenings like thisher husband could sit for hours staring at a screen, ignoring her questions, oblivious to the world around him.

Thomas, will you be having dinner? Eleanor asked, moving away from the window.

Later, he replied curtly, not even looking up.

She sighed and drifted into the kitchen. The twobedroom flat was what she’d inherited from her parents. Her father had passed five years earlier; her mother followed two years after. The lease was in Eleanors name while her parents lived, to avoid the probate maze. When they married, Thomas moved in with her; it seemed sensible thenrent was steep, and the flat was roomy and convenient.

The early years were quiet. Thomas worked as a project manager for a construction firm, while Eleanor taught at the local primary school. They strolled through the park at dusk, escaped to the countryside on weekends, and made plans together. Over time, Thomas grew irritable, latching onto trivialities.

Why did you buy this yoghurt? he asked, opening the fridge. I told you I dont like the flavour.

You never said anything, Eleanor replied calmly. Ill pick a different one next time.

Always your way, isnt it! Thomas snapped, slamming the fridge door.

Eleanor couldnt understand where the grievance came from. Hed never before complained about yoghurt or any other grocery. Now every little thing sparked his discontent.

Their relationship grew strained. Thomas increasingly complained that Eleanor was too independent. He resented her making decisions without consulting himwhere to holiday, what to buy for the home, who to meet on weekendsall seemed to set him off.

You didnt even ask my opinion! he fumed when she mentioned buying tickets to the theatre for Saturday.

Thomas, I suggested that play months ago, Eleanor said, surprised. You even said it would be nice to go.

But you should have confirmed the date! he insisted. I might have other plans on Saturday.

What plans? Eleanor asked. You were going to lie on the settee and watch television.

Thomas flushed, stormed out, slamming the door. Eleanor stood in the sitting room, bewildered. Once, hed welcomed such surprises; now any initiative from her provoked his anger.

The tension peaked when it involved his mother, Margaret. She lived in a modest semidetached house on the outskirts and often phoned Thomas, inviting him over. He visited every weekend; Eleanor kept house. Lately, those trips grew exhausting.

Margaret constantly complained of aches, asked for help with the garden, to mend the fence, to move things in the loft. Thomas dutifully obliged, while Eleanor pitched in around the house. Weekends turned into workdays, and by Sunday night they were utterly spent.

Thomas, could we stay at home this weekend? Eleanor asked one Thursday. Im tired and just want to rest.

How can we stay? he retorted. Mums waiting for us.

Shes waiting every week, Eleanor answered wearily. We could go next weekend.

No, Thomas cut short. Well go on Saturday, as always.

But I dont want to, Eleanor said firmly. I want to stay home and rest.

Thomas rose slowly, his face flushing, fists clenched.

So youre refusing to go to my mothers?

Im not refusing forever, Eleanor tried to explain. Just this weekend. You could go alone if you wish.

Alone?! Thomas exploded. Do you realise what youre saying? My mother is family! Youre obliged to visit with me!

Thomas, dont shout, Eleanor urged calmly. We can discuss this.

Theres nothing to discuss! he roared. Youve become uncontrollable! You do as you please, heed no one! Do you think because the flat is yours you can order me around?

Eleanor fell silent. For the first time since theyd wed, Thomas mentioned the flat. His irritation stemmed not only from the visits but from living in a house that wasnt his. That resentment had been bubbling, spilling into constant nitpicking.

Thomas, Ive never tried to command you, she whispered. The flat is irrelevant.

Everything is relevant! he shouted. Im just a guest in your home! Maybe I should leave so youll see how miserable it is without me!

Everyone is free to act as they wish, Eleanor replied evenly.

Thomas stared at her, expecting tears, apologies, pleas. Eleanor stood, arms crossed over her chest, her heart clenched but her resolve firm.

So thats it? he growled through clenched teeth. You dont care?

I never said I didnt care, she said. But threats wont change anything.

Thats not a threat! Thomas bellowed. Ill stay elsewhere and youll realise how empty it feels without me!

Eleanor felt her blood drain. Elsewhere? He meant another woman. All those hours glued to his phone, the constant irritability, the refusal to spend time togetherall now formed a clear picture.

Understood, she said simply.

Thomas turned and headed to the bedroom. Minutes later he emerged with a bag, face hard, movements abrupt. Eleanor watched in the hallway as he packed his things.

Lets see how you sing when youre left alone, he muttered, ziplocking his suitcase.

No reply, she said. He slipped on his coat, shouldered the bag, and paused at the door.

A week will be enough for you to pull yourself together, he declared, and the door slammed shut with a heavy thud.

Silence pressed against Eleanors ears. Her hands trembled, a hollow feeling settled inside. She walked to the sitting room and sank onto the settee.

Thomas truly had goneto another woman, to reeducate his wife, to prove he could live without her, to make Eleanor grateful for his presence.

She stared at a point on the wall, the hurt burning, yet a strange lightness accompanied it. The months of tension, the arguments, the constant nagginghad drained her. Now the flat was quiet. No shouting, no slammed doors, no chastising independence.

Around ten that night the telephone rang. It was her friend Lucy.

Eleanor, how are you? Lucy asked, concerned.

Fine, Eleanor replied. Thomas has left.

I saw him on the high street café. He was with a woman. At first I thought Id imagined it, but then I recognised him.

Eleanor closed her eyes. It wasnt just a threat; he had really gone to his lover, not merely to cool off, but to demonstrate a backup plan.

Lucy, did you hear that? she asked.

Yes, I heard. Thank you for telling me.

Should I come over? Lucy offered.

No, Im alright.

Are you sure?

Yes. Goodnight, Lucy.

She hung up, the phone still warm beside her. Thomas hadnt gone to cool his head; hed gone to a mistress, a woman with whom hed been corresponding for ages. All those secretive calls, the irritabilitynow made sense.

Eleanor rose, opened the bedroom wardrobe, and found half of Thomass belongings still therehed taken only the essentials, assuming hed return in a week to the obedient, frightened wife whod learned her lesson and would submit.

But Eleanor had no intention of waiting or submitting. She dialed a locksmith, found a 24hour service promising arrival within an hour.

Good evening, a male voice answered.

Afternoon. I need the frontdoor lock changed today. Can you come?

Certainly. Whats the address?

She gave the details; the locksmith said hed be there in forty minutes. While waiting, Eleanor walked through the flat, noting what remained of Thomas: shirts in the wardrobe, shoes in the hall, books on the shelf, a razor in the bathroom. He clearly expected to come back as if nothing had happened.

An hour later a middleaged man with a toolbox arrived, inspected the old lock, and offered to fit a new, more robust one. Eleanor agreed. As he worked, she retreated to the bedroom and began packing Thomass clothes into two large suitcasesshirts, jeans, sweaters, shoes, books, razor, toothbrush. She moved silently, methodically, trying not to think.

Done, the locksmith announced, handing her the new keys.

She paid, thanked him, and shut the door behind him, leaning her back against it. Thomas could no longer get inside; the old keys were useless.

She returned to the bedroom, looked at the packed suitcases, and thought she would leave them in the hallway the next morning for Thomas to collect when he returned.

But now she simply lay down, changed into nightclothes, and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be the first day without a husbanda day free of constant nagging, arguments, and reproaches. The thought brought an unexpected ease.

The week passed strangely peacefully. Eleanor went to work, returned, cooked a simple dinner for herself, read books in the evenings, watched the series shed never had time for. No one slammed doors, no one shouted, no one criticized her independence.

On Monday morning she carried Thomass suitcases to the lift, placed them by the stairs, and added a parcel of his papersinsurance policy, work certificates, old receipts. A neighbour, Mrs. Whitaker from the ground floor, spotted her.

Eleanor, what are those suitcases? she asked.

Hell be collecting his things, Eleanor answered shortly.

Ah, I see, Mrs. Whitaker said with a sigh. Young folk these daysno respect for tradition.

Eleanor gave a brief nod and went on to her teaching duties. The day went on as usuallesson plans, marking, chats with colleagues. No one at home expected Thomas to return, and that absence felt oddly pleasant.

On Tuesday evening Lucy called.

Eleanor, any news from Thomas? Has he been in touch?

No, Eleanor replied calmly. And I dont need to.

Did you collect the suitcases?

Theyre still in the hallway.

Looks like hes not coming back, Lucy mused. Maybe he really did go to his lover for good?

I dont care, Eleanor said. Let him live wherever he wishes.

Lucy paused, then said, Right. No point chasing him. He made his choice; hell have to live with it.

Later, Eleanor brewed a herbal tea and sat by the window. Rain smeared the glass, leaves clung to the pavement. Autumn was at its height. The weather, once mournful, now felt soothingstill, quiet, demanding nothing.

On Wednesday she stopped at the shop after school, buying just enough for herselfa small block of cheese, a packet of pasta, vegetables for a salad. Previously shed bought double, feeding Thomas as well. Now she could take only what she wanted.

Thursday and Friday slipped by in the same measured rhythm. She rose each morning, prepared for work, no longer stumbling over Thomass scattered shoes. In the evenings she returned to a tidy flat, no dirty dishes waiting. Before bed she read, free of any snoring.

Saturday she embarked on a thorough cleaning. She washed the floors, dusted, laundered, and by night the flat gleamed. She took a shower, brewed coffee, and settled on the sofa with a book as the street lamps flickered on.

Meanwhile, Thomas was in his lovers flat, boasting to her over a glass of whisky.

Youll see, in a week shell phone me, begging, he said smugly. Shell realise she cant manage without me.

The lover, named Christine, listened halfinterested. She worked as a receptionist at a local gym, five years younger than Eleanor. Theyd met three months earlier when Thomas bought a gym membership, exchanged messages, met a few times in cafés. Now Thomas had moved in for a week to teach his wife a lesson.

What if she doesnt call? Christine asked, scrolling through her phone.

She will, Thomas replied confidently. Shes used to me being around. She wont pay the rent or change a lightbulb without me. Shell definitely call.

Christine shrugged. She was growing weary of his endless complaints about Eleanor, his stories of how she behaved, how she failed to appreciate him. The novelty of his presence was wearing thin.

On Sunday evening Thomas packed his bag and headed home, convinced Eleanor would be broken, ready to apologise, and he would be the magnanimous husband who forgave and lectured her. He boarded a bus, imagined the scene: opening his flat door to a tearyeyed wife, his forgiveness flowing.

The bus stopped outside a familiar block of flats. He alighted, hoisted his suitcase, and entered the stairwell, climbing to the third floor. He reached his flat, fished the key from his pocket, and turned it.

The lock clicked, but the door stayed shut. He tried againstill nothing. He jabbed the key once more, looked at it, and tried again. No luck.

What the devil? he muttered, stepping back.

He examined the door; the number was correct, the knob familiar, yet the lock was different, glossy, brandnew. Eleanor had changed it.

He lowered his gaze and saw two suitcases against the wallhis. On top lay a packet of papers: the insurance policy, certificates, receipts.

Thomas stood there, stunned, trying to absorb the scene. Eleanor had gathered his things, left them in the hall, and replaced the lock, signalling she wasnt waiting for his return.

He rang the bell. A clear chime echoed, but the flat remained silent. He rang again; still silence. The flat was empty.

Eleanor! he shouted, pounding on the door. Open up! Im back!

No answer. He knocked harder.

Eleanor, stop this foolishness! Open the door!

From the neighbouring flat came the sound of footsteps. The door swung open, and Mrs. Whitaker appeared, eyeing Thomas from head to toe before smiling.

Late, dear. Lessons over, she said.

What? Thomas stammered.

Im saying its late. Youve had a weeknow sort yourself out, she explained. Eleanors done well changing the lock. People like you need a good shove onto the doorstep.

Mrs. Whitaker disappeared back into her flat, leaving Thomas standing bewildered on the landing. He stared at the locked door, unable to grasp what had happened. Eleanor truly had barred him out, packed his belongings, and changed the lock.

He fumbled for his phone, dialed her number. Long rings, then a cutoff. He tried againsame result. He texted, Open the door. We need to talk. The message showed as read, no reply.

Eleanor! he yelled again, his voice hoarse. Enough of this childishness! Open it now!

Silence. No sound, no movement. He sat on the suitcase, trembling, his mind a swirl. How could she, who once waited and wept, now sit calmly, having changed the lock and refused to open?

Thomas realised there was nowhere for him to go. The flat he had called home was now sealed. Staying with Christine was no longer an optionher patience had worn thin after just two weeks. Moving back with Margaret meant a long commute and endless probing.

He tried calling again, only to hear his calls go straight to voicemail. He sent another message: Im sorry, I was wrong. Lets talk. Read, no reply.

In that hallway, the reality settled like dust. Eleanor was not going to let him back in, not to hear apologies, not to accept him. The lesson hed intended to teach had turned on its head.

Inside, Eleanor sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, hearing Thomass shouts through the wall. She did not move to answer. A week without him had shown how much lighter life feltno arguments, no accusations, just peace.

The phone lay on the table, incoming calls from Thomas flashing, messages unread. She ignored them. He had chosen his path; she had chosen hers.

She took a sip of tea, looked out at the rainslick street, where few hurried pedestrians hurried home. She was home, in her own flat, in her own space, free of a husband who thought he could reeducate her by leaving.

The pounding on the door ceased. Thomas must have gone. Eleanor blocked his number, deciding there was nothing left to discuss. The silence settled, and for the first time in years she felt truly calm.

The following day Thomas tried to call from his work phone. Eleanor answered briefly, but the conversation was curt.

Eleanor, open the door. I need my things, he said.

The suitcases are in the hallway. Take them, she replied.

I want to talk. Lets meet.

No. I have nothing to say to you.

Eleanor, Ive apologised! Lets start over!

Thomas, you went to another woman to teach me a lesson. Its over. Take your things and live your life.

She hung up, blocked his number again. He kept trying from different numbers, but she never answered.

A week later Eleanor filed for divorce. She gathered the paperwork, went to the register office, and submitted the petitionShe left the courthouse with a quiet smile, feeling the autumn wind lift the weight of her past and usher in the promise of a freer tomorrow.