If you think I do nothing for you, try living without me!” — wife finally snaps

“If you think I dont do anything for you, try living without me!” snapped Emily.

That evening, the silence in the house felt heavier than usual. Emily stirred the soup absentmindedly, listening to the monotonous ticking of the clock on the wall. Once, the sound had grated on her nervesback when the house was full of their sons voices, laughter, and constant bustle. Now, it was the only company in the hollow space of what used to be a lively home.

She glanced at her husband. James, as usual, was glued to his phone. The screens glow reflected off his glasses, casting odd little glimmers. There was a time shed found it comfortingthere he was, her husband, home and close. Now, it just pricked at her patience.

“Dinners ready,” she said, forcing her voice steady.

He nodded without looking up. She set out the platesthe good ones, from the china set she saved for special occasions. Though what counted as special these days? The boys rarely visited, no grandchildren yet. It was just the two of them now in this big house, every corner whispering memories of better times.

She ladled the soup, carefully topping it with fresh herbsparsley and dill from the windowsill, grown specifically for his favourite dishes. Beside the bowl, she placed slices of freshly baked bread.

James finally put his phone down and picked up his spoon. She held her breath. First spoonful. Second. On the third, his face twitched.

“Tastes off,” he muttered, pushing the bowl away.

Something inside her snapped. Emily looked at her handsred from hot water, skin roughened. Shed spent the whole day on her feet: washing his shirts, ironing his trousers, making this blasted soup. On the stove, his favourite tea still simmeredthe one she brewed just so, because “otherwise its no good.”

Her gaze flicked to the pile of folded laundryevery item perfectly arranged, the way he liked. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of folding shirts a certain way because “otherwise theyll crease.”

“You know what” Her voice shooknot with tears, but fury. “If you think I dont do anything for you, try living without me!”

He looked upreally looked at her for the first time all evening. His expression was pure shock, as if he couldnt believe this quiet, obliging woman had raised her voice.

Emily stood abruptly. The chair screeched against the floor, but she didnt care. She grabbed her coatthe old one, bought three years ago because “why do you need a new one? This ones still fine.”

“Where are you going?” There was a note of panic in his voice, but she was already gone.

The front door slammed behind her. The crisp evening air hit her face, and for the first time in years, Emily felt like she could breathe properly. She had no idea where she was going. No plan. But for the first time in forever, the unknown didnt scare her. It felt exhilarating.

The tiny flat on the third floor greeted her with an unfamiliar quietnot the suffocating kind from home, but something light, almost airy. No ticking clock measuring out her life, no disapproving looks, no endless “why havent you?”

She woke earlyold habits die hard. Years of rising at six to make breakfast, iron shirts, pack briefcases But today was different. Emily lay in an unfamiliar bed, watching sunlight crawl across the wall. No one was rushing her. No demands. No expectations.

“I can just lie here,” she whispered, then laughed softly at the novelty.

But old habits tugged at her. Her hands itched to make the bed, wipe surfaces, dive into chores. Emily stopped herself.

“No. Today, I do what *I* want.”

She stood a long time before the bathroom mirror, really looking at herself. When had she last done that? Not a quick glance to check her hair, but *properly*? The wrinkles around her eyes were deeper, more grey in her hair. But her eyes they looked alive again.

Outside, the morning was fresh. October air smelled of fallen leaves and coffee from the café down the street. Shed passed it a hundred times, always rushing to the shops. “Waste of money,” James would say. And shed agree, telling herself home-brewed was better.

The bell jingled as she stepped inside. The scent of fresh pastries and cinnamon wrapped around her. Emily hesitated in the doorway, feeling like an intruder in this cosy space.

“Morning!” The young barista smiled. “Whatll it be?”

“I” She faltered. Years of making coffee for others, and shed never stopped to think what *she* liked. “What do you recommend?”

“Our signature caramel-cinnamon lattes lovely. And the almond croissants just came out of the oven.”

In another life, shed have refusedtoo pricey, too indulgent, what would James say But today was different.

“Yes, please. And a croissant too.”

She sat by the window, watching passersby. At the next table, a group of young women chatted animatedly, bursting into genuine laughter. When had she last laughed like that? Not politely, not obligingly, but *freely*?

The first sip of coffee flooded her tongue with caramel warmth. She closed her eyes, savouring it. Good Lord, had life always been this *delicious*?

Her phone stayed silent in her bag. For the first time in twenty-five years, James wouldve woken to no breakfast, no ironed shirt, no packed lunch. Was he angry? Confused? Or had he not even noticed, lost in his phone?

“More coffee?” the barista asked, passing by.

Emily checked her watchold habit, ingrained. Normally, shed be back from the shops by now, starting lunch. But today

“Yes, please. And another croissant.”

The phone rang as she unpacked in the rented flat. “Daniel” flashed on the screenher eldest. Her hand trembled. For the first time, she didnt want to answer her own childs call.

“Hi,” she said, quieter than usual.

“Mum, whats going on?” Daniels voice was sharp, just like his fathers. “Dad says youve left. Whats this nonsense?”

Emily sank onto the bed. How could she explain to her grown son what she barely understood herself? The years of quiet despair, of feeling invisible, of her very self dissolving in service to others?

“Dan, I”

“Oh, come *on*!” He cut her off. “Youre an adult. So Dad criticised the souphes always been like that! Hardly worth leaving over!”

His tone was patronisinglike scolding a toddler. A lump rose in her throat. Even her boy, the child shed carried, loved, sacrificed for, couldnt see her as a person with her own wants.

“Its not about the soup,” she said softly.

“Then what?” Command crept into his voice. “Whats so terrible? Dads beside himself, by the way. Cooked for himself last nightcan you believe it?”

She pictured it: James fumbling with vegetables, swearing at the stove. Once, that image wouldve sent her rushing back. Now

“See?” A wry smile touched her lips. “Turns out he *can* look after himself.”

“Mum!” Daniel sounded scandalised. “Youre breaking up the family! What will people *say*? Arent you ashamed?”

*People, people* The word echoed. Shed spent a lifetime worrying about these invisible “people.” The neighbours, the relatives. Now even her son wielded their judgment.

She stood, walking to the window. A pigeon perched on the ledge, preening its feathers. Free. Unburdened.

“Have you ever asked how *I* felt all these years?” Her voice grew steadier. “Ever wondered what *I* wanted?”

“Whats that got to”

“Everything!” She surprised herself with her own firmness. “Twenty-five years I lived for you. Cooked, cleaned, supported, sacrificed. And you you didnt even *see* me. I was just part of the furniturealways there, always functioning.”

Silence. Then, softer: “Mum you *wanted* that. You always said family came first.”

“It does,” she agreed. “But *Im* part of that family too. Im a person. And I cantwontbe just the hired help anymore.”

“But Dad”

“Im not coming back,” she said firmly. “Not now. Maybe never. I need to learn to live for *me*.”

After the call, she stayed by the window. In the shopfront opposite, a womans reflection stared backspine straight, shoulders back, something new in her eyes. Resolve? Dignity? Freedom?

The phone rang againher youngest. Emily muted it and thought, for the first time: *Theyre grown. Theyll manage.*

The doorbell rang.