You Don’t Deserve It — “After my divorce, I thought I’d never trust anyone again,” Andrew admitted, fidgeting with his empty espresso cup. His voice cracked and wavered so convincingly that Kate found herself leaning closer. “You know, when someone betrays you, you lose a part of yourself. She left me with wounds I thought would never heal… I honestly didn’t think I’d survive.” Andrew’s stories poured out for a long time: about his wife who never appreciated him, the pain that wouldn’t let go, the fear of starting over. Each word settled in Kate’s heart like a warm little stone. She imagined herself as the woman who could restore his faith in love—how they’d heal his scars together, how he’d realize true happiness was possible with her by his side. He first mentioned Max on their second date, casually dropped in between dessert and coffee… — “I have a son, by the way. He’s seven. Lives with his mum, but stays with me every weekend. The court said so.” — “That’s wonderful!” Kate beamed. “Children are a blessing.” She started daydreaming: Saturday morning breakfasts for three, trips to the park, TV evenings together. The boy needed a woman’s care, a mother’s warmth. She could become a second mum—not a replacement, but someone close, someone family… — “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Andrew watched her with a crooked smile she mistook for wariness at the time. “A lot of women run when they hear about a kid.” — “I’m not most women,” she said proudly. Her first weekend with Max was a celebration. Kate made blueberry pancakes—his absolute favourite, as Andrew had tipped her off. Patiently, she helped him through his maths homework. She washed his dinosaur T-shirt, pressed his school uniform, made sure he was in bed by nine sharp. — “You should have a rest,” she told Andrew after he’d sprawled out on the sofa with the remote. “I’ve got this covered.” Andrew nodded—or so it seemed then, gratefully. But now she realized it was the nod of a man taking his due. Time marched on. Kate worked as a logistics manager, out by eight, home after seven. Decent salary by London standards—enough for two. But there were three. — “Hold-up on site again,” Andrew would say as if announcing a hurricane, “Client’s pulled out. But there’s a big contract coming, I promise.” The “big contract” hovered on the horizon for a year and a half, sometimes getting closer, mostly never arriving. But the bills always came—rent, utilities, internet, groceries, child support for Marina, new trainers for Max, school contributions. Kate paid all of them, quietly. She skimped on lunches, brought in tupperware pasta, walked home in the rain to save on cabs. She hadn’t had a manicure in a year—did her own nails and tried not to remember the luxury of professional treatments. Three years, and Andrew had given her flowers exactly three times. Kate remembered each bouquet—cheap roses from the convenience kiosk near their tube stop, droopy and with snapped-off thorns. Probably on special offer… The first was an apology after Andrew called her hysterical in front of Max. The second came after an argument about a friend who visited unannounced. The third, when he missed her birthday because he lingered with mates—simply forgot. — “Andrew, I don’t want expensive gifts,” she tried to keep her voice gentle. “Just… sometimes I’d like to know you’re thinking of me. Even a card…” His face contorted instantly. — “So it’s all about money for you, is it? Presents? Don’t you care about love? Or what I’ve been through?” — “That’s not what—” — “You don’t deserve it.” Andrew spat the words at her like dirt. “After all I do for you, you still complain.” She fell silent. She always did—it made things easier. Easier to live, to breathe, to pretend everything was fine. Yet, for mates’ nights, Andrew always found cash. Pubs, football at the local, café Thursdays. He’d come home tipsy, reeking of sweat and cigarettes, flop onto the bed without noticing Kate was still awake. She convinced herself this was how love worked. Love meant sacrifice. Love meant patience. He would change, surely. She just had to be even more attentive, love even harder—after all, look at what he’d suffered… Talk of marriage became a minefield. — “We’re happy as we are, why do we need a piece of paper?” Andrew waved the question away like a pesky fly. “After what happened with Marina, I need time.” — “It’s been three years, Andrew. That’s a long time.” — “Now you’re pressuring me—always pressuring!” He stormed off, ending the conversation. Kate longed for children of her own. She was twenty-eight, the ticking biological clock growing louder each month. But Andrew wasn’t interested in a second round of fatherhood—he had a son, and that was enough for him. Then came that Saturday—she asked for just one day. One day. — “The girls are inviting me over. We haven’t seen each other in ages. I’ll be back by evening.” Andrew looked at her as though she’d announced she was emigrating. — “And Max?” — “He’s your son, Andrew. Spend the day with him.” — “So you’re abandoning us? On a Saturday? When I’m expecting to relax?” She blinked. In three years she’d never left them alone. Never asked for a day to herself. She cooked, cleaned, tutored homework, washed, ironed—while holding a full-time job. — “I just want to see my friends. It’s only a few hours… And he’s your son. Can’t you spend a day with him on your own?” — “You’re supposed to love my child as much as me!” Andrew suddenly roared. “You live in my flat, eat my food, and now you’ve got the nerve to make demands?!” His flat. His food. Kate paid the rent. Kate bought the food. Three years supporting a man who yelled at her for wanting to spend a day with her friends. She looked at Andrew—twisted face, throbbing temples, fists clenched—and saw him for the first time. Not as a wounded soul, not a helpless victim in need of rescue, but an adult who had learned to expertly exploit kindness. Kate, to him, was not a beloved partner, not a future wife. She was a walking wallet and a live-in maid. That was all. When Andrew left to drop Max back to Marina, Kate took out her suitcase. Her hands moved calmly, no shakes, no doubts. Passport. Mobile. Charger. A couple of shirts and jeans. The rest could be bought later. The rest didn’t matter. She left no note. What could she explain to a man who never valued her? The door closed behind her quietly, no fuss, no drama. The calls started within an hour—one, then another, then a barrage—a shrill, endless trill that made her phone quiver. — “Kate, where are you?! What’s going on?! You’ve gone, there’s no dinner! Am I supposed to go hungry now? What the hell?!” She listened—his voice angry, demanding, full of righteous indignation—and marvelled. Even now, as she’d left, Andrew thought only of himself. How inconvenient this was. Who would make his tea? No “sorry”. No “what happened”. Just “how dare you”. Kate blocked his number. Blocked him on Messenger. On every social platform—brick by brick, she built herself a wall. Three years. Three years with someone who never loved her. Who used her empathy as a disposable resource. Who convinced her that self-sacrifice was love. But that’s not love. Love doesn’t humiliate. Love doesn’t reduce someone to a servant. Kate walked through the twilight streets of London and for the first time in ages, she could breathe. She vowed she’d never again confuse love with self-neglect. Never again give herself away to those who prey on pity. And always, always choose herself. Just herself.

I never thought Id be able to trust anyone again after my divorce, Andrew was turning an empty espresso cup between his fingers, his voice trembling with such sincerity that Emily couldnt help but lean in closer. You know, being betrayedits like a piece of you goes missing. She left me with wounds I thought would never heal. I honestly didnt think Id make it

Andrew kept going for ages, didnt he? About his ex-wife who never appreciated him. The pain that wouldnt ease up. The fear of having to start all over again. Every word seemed to sink into Emilys heart like warm little pebbles, and she could so easily imagine being the woman to help him believe in love again. To mend his brokenness together. For him to realise true happiness could only ever come from her.

It wasnt until their second date, somewhere between pudding and coffee, that Andrew casually mentioned Max.

Oh, by the way, Ive got a sonhes seven. Lives with his mum, but spends every weekend with me by the courts decision.

Thats brilliant! Emily beamed. Children are such a blessing.

She was already picturing cosy Saturday breakfasts for three, trips to the park, evenings curled up with a film. The boy would need a bit of motherly warmth, a gentle hand. Shed be his second mumnot a replacement, of course, but someone he could feel at home with.

Youre sure youre alright with that? Andrew gave her a look that she mistook, then, for distrust. Lot of women leg it once they find out about Max.

Im not like a lot of women, she said, chin up, proud of herself.

That first weekend with Max felt like a celebration. Emily made blueberry pancakeshis favourite, Andrew had said. She sat patiently with Max over maths homework, making it simple, even fun. She washed his dinosaur t-shirt, ironed his school uniform, and made sure he was tucked up in bed right on nine.

You should put your feet up, she told Andrew once, noticing him slouched on the sofa, telly remote in hand. Ive got this.

Andrew noddedthankful, she thought at the time. Now she saw it for what it was: the nod of someone expecting things to be done for him.

And then the months became years. Emily worked as a manager at a logistics firm. Out the door at eight, rarely back before seven. Her salary was pretty decent, for London, anyway. Enough for two, really. But there were three of them.

Theres another delay on the site, Andrew would sigh, pulling that face like hed just announced the house had flooded. The clients stitched me up. But theres a big contract coming, I promise.

This big contract was always just on the horizona year and a half of promises, now and again just close enough you could almost believe it. Meanwhile, bills turned up faithfully: rent, electricity, broadband, shopping, maintenance money for Maxs mum, new trainers for Max, school trips. Emily paid every single time. She gave up lunches out, took leftovers to work, and walked everywhere, even on rainy days. No money for taxis or posh coffees for her. She hadnt had her nails done in over a yearjust filed them herself and tried not to think about how things used to be.

In three years, Andrew brought her flowers exactly three timesshe remembered each one. Come to think of it, they were always the tired roses from the all-night petrol station, past their best, stems cracked and mostly leafless. Probably on discount

The first time, hed forgotten himself and called her hysterical in front of Max. The second, after a row when her friend visited unannounced. The third bouquet arrived when he forgot her birthday altogetherwell, hed got caught up at his mates. Or just plain forgot.

Andrew, Im not after expensive presents, she tried to say gently, picking her words. But sometimes, its nice to just know youve thought about me. Even just a note

His face darkened.

All you care about is money, isnt it? Presents, giftswhat about love? Or everything Ive been through?

Thats not what I

You havent earned it. Andrew spat the words at her like an insult. After all I do for you, youve got the nerve to complain.

Emily fell silent like she always did. It was easier that way. Easier to live, easier to breathe, easier to pretend everything was fine.

Funny how Andrew could always scrape together the cash for drinks with his matespubs, match nights, curry on Thursdays. Hed swagger back late, smelling of lager and cigarette smoke, flop onto their bed, without a clue Emily was still awake.

She kept telling herself: this is how its meant to be. Love means sacrifice. Love means patience. Hell changehe must do, if shes just patient enough, if she just loves him a bit harder. Hes been through so much…

By this stage, even talking about marriage was like walking on eggshells.

Were happy enough, arent we? Whats a bit of paper do, anyway? Andrew would wave her off like she was a fly buzzing round his nose. After what I went through with Maxs mum, I need time.

Three years, Andrew. Thats a long time.

Youre pressuring me! Always on at me! Hed storm off, shutting himself away, and that would be that.

Emily desperately wanted childrenher own, the ones shed dreamt about. Shed just turned twenty-eight, and the ticking of her biological clock sounded louder every single month. But Andrew was done being a dadhe already had a son, that was enough.

That Saturday, she just asked for a single day. Just one day.

The girls want to get together. I havent seen them in ages. Ill be back this evening.

Andrew looked at her like she just announced she was emigrating to Australia.

What about Max?

Hes your sonyou can have a day just you two.

So youre abandoning us? On a Saturday? When I thought Id catch a break?

Emily blinked. Three years, and not once had she asked for a day to herself. Shed cooked, cleaned, helped with homework, washed and ironedon top of a full-time job.

I just want to see my friendsfor a few hours. And hes your son, Andrew. Cant you manage him for a day without me?

Youre supposed to love my boy as much as you love me! Andrew suddenly yelled. You live in my flat, eat my food, and now youve got the cheek to act up?!

His flat. His food. Emily paid that rent. Emily bought those groceries with her salary. Shed spent three years supporting a man who shouted at her when she dared ask for a single day with friends.

Looking at Andrewhis twisted face, the vein throbbing at his temple, his fists clenchedshe saw him properly for the first time. Not a helpless victim. Not a lost soul needing rescue. But a grown bloke whod got downright good at living off someone elses kindness.

To Andrew, Emily wasnt a partner, wasnt his future wife. She was a piggy bank, a housekeeper, nothing more.

The moment Andrew left to take Max to his mum, Emily went and grabbed her overnight bag. Her hands were steady, sureno shaking, no second thoughts. Passport. Mobile. Charger. A couple of tops. Jeans. The rest she could replace. None of it mattered.

She didnt leave a note. No point explaining to someone who never saw her as a human being.

The door clicked quietly shut behind herno drama, no fanfare.

The calls started within the hour. One, then another, then a torrentthe phone buzzing in her bag nonstop.

Emily, where are you?! Whats going on?! I get home, and youre not here! You think you can just swan off? Wheres my dinner? Am I supposed to starve now? What the hell do you think youre playing at?

She listened to his voiceangry, entitled, full of outrageand just stared in disbelief. Even now, when shed finally left, all Andrew cared about was himself. His inconvenience. Who would make him dinner.

Not a single Im sorry. Not one Are you alright? Just, How dare you?

Emily blocked his number. Then his WhatsApp. Then every social media account she could findanywhere he might reach her, she built a wall.

Three years. Three years spent with a man who never loved her. Who used her kindness up as if it would never run out. Who convinced her that loving him meant erasing herself.

But thats not love. Love doesnt shrink you. Love doesnt turn you into someones housemaid.

Emily walked out into the evening air in London. For the first time in ages, she could really, properly breathe. She made herself a little promise: to never again confuse love with self-sacrifice. To never rescue those who only manipulate your sympathy.

And to always, always choose herself.