Dasha Returned Home Early with Treats from Her Parents, Hoping to Surprise Her Husband, but Instead of a Warm Welcome, John Sent Her to the Shops—The Unexpected Consequences That Followed

Claire arrives home earlier than expected, laden with treats from her parents. She hopes to surprise her husband, but Tom, instead of greeting her warmly, sends her straight to the shops. The consequences turn out rather unexpected.

The heavy weight of the bags digs into Claires shoulder, tugging painfully. Her lower back aches againits been a constant companion for the past two months. She gingerly sets her bags down on the cracked pavement by the bus stop.

Exhaling deeply, Claire feels her baby shift in protest. Six months nowno small feat. Especially when you decide to surprise your husband and arrive home three days earlier than planned. Shes missed him so much these weeks that she spent the last stretch of the bus journey counting lampposts in anticipation.

She wonders what Toms doing right now. Likely he hasnt got a clue that shes this closejust ten minutes walk from their flat. The journey to their block feels endless. The bags, bursting with jars of jam, homemade pies, and fresh apples from her parents, must weigh a ton.

After about fifty meters, Claire realises its hopelessshell never make it. Her back just wont take it.

She pulls out her phone and rings Tom.

Hi, Tom, she whispers when he finally answers.

Claire? Whats wrong? Tom sounds rattled.

Nothings wrong! Im here. Im actually at the bus stop right in front of our building. Please come meet me. The bags are just too heavyMum went overboard

An odd silence lingers on the line. Claire glances at her phone to check the call hasnt dropped.

Youre at the bus stop? Right now? Why didnt you warn me? Wed agreed Thursday! Toms voice rises an octave.

I wanted it to be a surprise, Claire frowns. Arent you happy? Im exhausted. Please come down.

Wait! Tom suddenly cries. Dont come up yet. Or do, but listen, the flats absolutely bare. I finished off everything just last night. How about you nip into the twenty-four-hour shopthe one round the corner? Grab some beefreally good quality. Ive taken a day off today. Wanted to make a proper lunch for you, give you a nice welcome.

What beef, Tom? Claire can barely believe it. Can you hear yourself? Im six months pregnant, in the street, with two enormous bags. My backs killing me. Theres potatoes and eggs at home. Please just come and help me up. I want to eat and lie down.

No, Claire, you dont get it hes speaking faster now, cutting her off. I want everything just right. Its just a quick stop, the shops right there. Grab some beef, pick up fresh potatoesours have gone off. Ask someone to help you, or just do a bit at a time. Please! Its for us. Ill get everything else sorted here.

Claire looks down at her sore, reddened hands. A hot, bitter wave rises in her chest.

Tom, have you lost your mind? Her voice quivers. Youre really asking me, in my state, to go shopping for beef because you fancy making lunch? Cant you come down and do it yourself?

Im just in the middle of prepping! If I leave now, Ill ruin everything. Please, Claire. Eight hundred grams of beef and a small bag of potatoes, in a net. I swear, Im nearly ready!

He hangs up before she can answer. Claire stands staring at the darkened screen. She wants to weep, right there, under the yellow streetlight. Instead of a hug and a warm bedoff to the meat aisle. Maybe he really has planned something amazing? she considers. With a resigned sigh, she hoists the bags and limps towards the shop.

Inside, she pushes her trolley through the aisles, eyeing the sleepy cashiers sympathetic look. The beef weighs a ton, and the net of potatoes is almost impossible to carry. By the time she leaves, her hands are numb, her fingers turned into stiff hooks.

Her phone rings again.

Did you get it? Tom asks cheerily.

Yes, she grits out. Im at the door now. Open up.

Wait! Dont come up yet! Sit on the bench outsidejust ten more minutes.

Youre joking? Claires voice rises, ignoring the few passers-by. Tom, my feet are so swollen I can barely stand!

The surprise isnt ready! he insists. If you come up now, its all for nothing. Just sit five more minutes, I promise! I have to finish this!

Claire has no choice but to slump onto the wooden bench, the shopping bags hitting the ground with a thud. She wants to hurl the useless bag of meat through their third floor window.

Ten minutes crawl past. Then twenty. Inside, Claires bubbling with frustration. She pictures walking inwhats waiting? Flowers everywhere? Breakfast by candlelight? A violinist in the corner? Nothing seems worth making her stand in the cold after such a long journey.

At minute thirty-five, the door squeaks open and Tom appears, looking triumphanthis T-shirt inside out, sweat on his brow, hair standing up in tufts.

Oh, there you are! he beams, grabbing her bags. Why the grumpy face? Look at the weather well, I suppose it is grim. Lets go up!

Why are you soaking? And why can I smell bleach from halfway down the road? Claire asks as she struggles to her feet, clutching the handrail.

Youll see! Tom bounds towards the lift, barely containing himself.

As they reach their flat, Tom dramatically swings the door open. Claire steps inside, hit by a wave of chlorine and cheap air freshenersomething pretending to be Sea Breeze.

She wanders from room to room, then checks the kitchen and bathroom. The place is immaculatealmost eerily so. The bits and bobs usually scattered about have vanished. The rugs vacuumed (damp marks partly visible), the shelves dusted, her ornaments huddling in a corner.

Well? Tom grins, glowing with pride. What do you thinksurprise!

Claire turns to him, her voice barely audible. Is this it?

What do you mean is this it? Toms offended, almost squatting. Claire, look! I spent three hours cleaning! Mopped everywhere, even under the sofa! Washed all the dishes, loo shines like new! I wanted you to walk in and find everything spotless. Didnt lift a finger when I was at home last time, did I? Youre always saying I dont help out! So I fixed it while you popped to the shop.

Claire feels a lump rise in her throat.

You made me go to the shop with all those bags, because you were mopping the floors? Shes fighting not to cry. You couldnt come meet me because you were cleaning?

Well, yes! Tom claps his hands. I just wanted to do something nice! Youre always on at me for not doing anything round the house. Then you arrive early, and Im not finished. I had to keep you out a bit longer. And now, instead of thank you, you look like I spat in your tea!

Tom, are you being serious? Now Claires shouting. I dont care about the floors! My back aches, the bags were killing me! Im pregnant, Tom! I just wanted you to hold my hand and get me homenot swing a mop about!

Tom turns red, flinging the dishcloth onto the sink.

Oh, here we go! he shouts back. Nothings ever good enough, is it? Ive been up since five, scrubbing every corner for you. You come home shouting! Did you even see how clean it is? The flat wasnt this tidy on our wedding day!

What good is all this if I had to nearly crawl home? Claire can hardly breathe through her anger. You left me waiting outside for half an hour. My legs are throbbing. You made me buy beef and potatoes when I could barely walk! This isnt a surprise, its just cruel!

Oh, cruel, is it? Tom storms around the kitchen, arms waving. Excuse me for not being perfect! Any other woman would be delightedher husband cleaned everything and wants to cook. But you you just moan about yourselfoh, my back, my feet. And what about me? I was up all night waiting for you, trying to work out how to make you happy!

Claire covers her face.

You just dont get it, she sobs. Youd rather I was uncomfortable than the skirting boards had dust.

For goodness sake! Toms shouting again. You showed up early! If youd come Thursday, like you said, Id have been finished, flat spotless, all perfect. But no, you had to turn up and make me look like the bad guy! Youre so ungrateful, Claire, truly ungrateful.

He storms out of the kitchen, slamming the bedroom door behind him.

The baby kicks inside her. Claire sinks onto a chair, staring at the bag of beef Toms left on the counter. She feels sick, the nausea mounting.

Ten minutes later, Tom pokes his head in.

So, am I cooking the meat? Or are you too cross now to eat, just to spite me?

No, Tom, Claire says quietly, staring at the floor. Leave me alone. I just want to sleep.

Fine! Tom bellows, slamming the door.

Claire stumbles to the bathroom. In the mirror, she barely recognises herselfpale, shadowed eyes, hair stuck out. All those hours on the bus, picturing Toms arms around her, a soft Thank God youre home. Of course. Some welcome.

When she comes back from the bathroom, the argument flares up again. Tom has another go at her for some minor thing.

Its the last straw. She leaves, not even stopping to change, and returns to her parents.

Everyone tries to talk her out of a divorceToms parents, his sister, distant relatives. Tom rings constantly, begging her to come back, promising he understands. But Claires mind is made up: she knows now she doesnt want a husband who cares more about polished skirting boards than the wellbeing of their baby. Divorce is the only answer.