28April2025 London
Ive decided its best if you stay with a friend for a while, Victor said, sliding my suitcase out the front door.
Victor, are you serious? Throw away the sofa weve slept on for fifteen years?
Its old and squeaks, I replied. Ive ordered a new one; itll arrive the day after tomorrow.
Lucy stood in the middle of the sittingroom, bewildered, watching him. He paced with a tape measure, jotting numbers in a small notebook, all businesslike, as if I didnt exist.
But why the rush? I asked. We could have chosen together, gone to the store. I still sleep on that couch, you know.
Victor stopped, looked at me as if seeing me for the first time.
Youll never like my idea, he said. Youre always dissatisfied.
Ridiculous! I just want to be part of decisions about our home!
Thats our home, he smirked. Funny, isnt it?
A tight knot formed in my chest. Lately Victor had been distantlate nights at work, quiet, irritable. Now it was the furniture. Hed ordered a new wardrobe without telling me, repapered the bedroom, brought in expensive lamps.
Victor, whats happening? Youre acting strange.
Strange? he set the tape measure down. And what should I be doing? Sitting on a creaky old settee and fearing change?
It isnt fear, I said. We always discuss everything. Now you decide alone.
Maybe Im tired of debating every little thing, he snapped, stepping onto the balcony.
I was left alone on that very couch Victor intended to discard. I ran my hand over the worn fabric, remembering how we had assembled it when we first moved into the flat in Camden. Hed joked about the Chinese manual and the unreadable pictures. Wed laughed, struggled, but eventually managed. Later wed sat on the new sofa, sipping tea and planning our future.
Sixteen years later our daughter Olivia was at university in Manchester, on her fourth year. I worked as an accountant at a small firm; Victor was a department manager at a manufacturing plant. Life was ordinary, calmuntil recently.
One night Victor left early, claiming a meeting with colleagues. He returned late, smelling of alcohol. I didnt ask, I just went to bed, but sleep eluded me. He lay turned away, at the very edge of the bed, as if an invisible wall stood between us.
The next morning a crash woke me. Victor was dragging the old couch out of the hallway.
What are you doing? Call the removal guys! I shouted.
Ill manage, he muttered.
The sofa jammed in the doorway. He wrestled with it, cursing under his breath. I tried to help, but he brushed me away.
Dont! Go to the kitchen!
Wait! Youll break something!
Finally the couch gave way and tumbled onto the landing. Victor, flushed and sweaty, looked at me with a grim sort of triumph.
There. Now theres space.
For what? I asked.
For a new couch, he replied.
I went to the kitchen, poured myself a glass of water, my hands trembling. Something was terribly wrong. I sent a quick text to my friend Maggie: *Can we meet? I need to talk.*
Maggie replied within minutes: *Of course. Come over after work.*
The day at the office dragged. I made three calculation errors, got a reprimand from my manager, apologized, and kept thinking about Victors odd behaviour, his coldness, his obsession with changing the flat.
That evening Maggie welcomed me at her flat on Oxford Street, gave me a hug.
You look awful. Whats happened?
We sat in her kitchen. She brewed strong tea and set biscuits on the table. I spilled everythingthe couch, the renovations, Victors distance.
Do you think he has someone? Maggie asked gently.
No, I dont know. I cant even imagine it.
It does sound like the classic signs: sudden changes, long hours, emotional distance.
But Victor isnt like that, I stammered. Weve been together for so long. We have a daughter.
Maggie sighed. Sometimes the truth is harsher than we want to admit. Its better to know.
I returned home late. Victor was gone. I wandered the flat, noticing a new vase on the hallway shelf, expensive towels in the bathroom, a sleek nonstick pan in the kitchen. When had these appeared?
Victor came back after eleven. He glanced at me, then headed to the bedroom.
Where have you been? I asked.
Working late.
Until eleven?
He paused, turned.
Is this a report I need to give you now?
Victor, youre my husband. I deserve to know where you are.
He stared at me.
Tell me honestlydo you have someone?
He hesitated, then gathered himself.
What are you talking about? Im just tired of the sameness, of the routine. I wanted a change. Thats all.
A change? I felt a lump rise in my throat. Am I part of that sameness?
Silence stretched, louder than any words.
Victor, I whispered. We could discuss anything. If somethings wrong, we can solve it together.
Its too late, he said, turning away, closing the door behind him.
I stood in the kitchen, tears falling, wondering what he meant.
That night I could not sleep. I lay awake, replaying the weeks when Olivia left for university, when Victors irritability grew, when the house seemed to shrink around us.
Morning found Victor cold and composed. He ate breakfast in silence, dressed, and said, The removal men will bring the new couch this evening. Will you be home?
Yes, I replied, exhausted.
He nodded, Ill be late. He left without a goodbye. I stared at the closed door, feeling the temperature drop inside.
At work a colleague, Sarah, noticed my red eyes. Everything okay? she asked. I said I was just a bit under the weather. She handed me tea with lemon.
That evening the removal crew arrived, wheeling in a massive, darkgrey leather corner sofaexpensive, modern. I signed the delivery note, sat on it, and felt the cold, stiff leather under me.
I called Olivia.
Hi, Mum, she said after a pause.
Im fine, honey. How are your exams?
Good, but Mum, Dad sounded different on the phone.
What do you mean?
Just he seemed distant.
Nothing to worry about, I lied. Just a bad day.
Later, Victor returned, glanced at the new sofa with a satisfied smile.
Nice, isnt it? he said.
Yes, I replied, emptytoned.
Go to bed, he said. Ill stay up a while.
I went to the bedroom but didnt lie down. I stood by the window, watching the London lights, wondering why other families seemed happy while mine was falling apart.
The next day, my old blue suitcaseworn at the corners, the one we used for family trips to the seasidesat by the front door.
Victor? I called as I entered.
He emerged, his face unreadable.
Ive decided its better if you stay with a friend for a while, he said calmly, placing the suitcase by the door.
What did you just say? I gasped.
You heard me. Pack your things and go to Maggies, or wherever you like. I need time to think.
Time to think? My voice cracked. Victor, are you out of your mind? This is our home! Our flat!
The lease is in my name, he said coldly. So I decide who lives here.
The ground seemed to shift beneath me.
Youre kicking me out?
Im asking you to clear the flat for a while. I need space.
How long? A week? A month?
I dont know. Until I sort things out.
Tears streamed down. What did I do wrong?
Nothing, he said tiredly. It just happened.
Just happened? Sixteen years of marriage, and thats it?
Lucy, dont make a scene. Pack your stuff.
I stared at the man who once carried me across puddles, who soothed our newborn, who swore forever.
Do you have someone? I demanded.
He stayed silent.
Tell me! I have a right to know!
It doesnt matter, he finally said.
Then what does matter? I sobbed. Why the secret sofa, the new curtains, the pricey towels?
He gave no answer.
Victor, we could have talked. If something was wrong, we could have faced it together.
Its too late, he said, retreating to the balcony and closing the door behind him.
I stood frozen in the hallway, unsure if I was dreaming or living a nightmare. The suitcase was real, his cold stare real.
I began packingdresses, shoes, a coat, a photo of us on the mantel, our wedding picture.
Leave the photo, he called from the doorway.
Why? I asked.
Its what it should be.
I placed the frame back, took my makeup bag, slippers, everything moving mechanically as a fog clouded my mind.
I called Maggie.
Lucy, hi! How are you?
Can you take me in for a night? Ive got my things here.
Of course, come straight away. Do you remember the address?
Yes, thank you.
I grabbed my bag, turned to see Victor crossing his arms, his expression unreadable.
Are you sure? he asked.
Yes.
Ill be waiting for an explanation later.
Later when?
Ill call.
I left the flat, the door closing behind me, the weight of a life Id known for sixteen years suddenly gone. I hailed a black cab and rode to Maggies flat in Bloomsbury. She welcomed me, wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, and brewed tea.
Tell me everything, she urged.
I recounted the affair, the divorce, the new couch, the sudden eviction.
What a scoundrel, Maggie said, exhaling sharply. He has no right to do that.
What should I do?
First, dont let yourself crumble. Stay here, gather your thoughts, then decide how to move forward.
Its humiliating, I whispered. I still love him.
He doesnt deserve your love, Maggie replied firmly. Remember that.
I spent a week at Maggies. Victor called twice, trying to arrange a meeting, but I refused. I needed time to heal.
Olivia flew back from Manchester, met her father, then came to see me. Her eyes were red.
Mum, Dad said were getting a divorce, she said.
Yes, love.
How could he? she sobbed. How could he do this?
I held her.
Adults sometimes make mistakes, I said. Its not your fault.
Its not a mistake! Its cruelty! He betrayed you, lied, then tossed you out!
Olivia, please, I pleaded. Its between me and him.
Its also about me! she shouted. I dont want to see him anymore!
Dont say that. Hes your father.
Hes a bad father! she cried, wiping her cheeks. Mum, youll get through this. Youre strong.
I didnt feel strong. I felt shattered, but for Olivias sake I tried to appear brave.
A month later I found a modest studio flat in Islington. Victor actually sent some moneyperhaps his conscience was pricking him. I moved in, returned to work, and slowly the emptiness began to soften. I found joy in small things: a morning coffee, a good book, Olivias weekly calls.
Maggie visited often, and Sarah from work became a close friend. We went to the cinema, tried new cafés, walked along the Thames.
One evening Victor called.
Hey, how are you?
Fine, I replied curtly.
I wanted to say Lena and I broke up.
What do you want from me?
Nothing. Just thought you should know.
Why now?
I thought maybe we could talk, maybe reconsider?
My mind is made up, I said. You threw me out, broke my heart, and now you want to come back because your affair ended? No.
I hung up. My hands trembled, but a strange lightness settled over me.
I stood before the mirror, looked at my tired eyes, and saw strength staring back. I had survived betrayal, loss, and upheaval. I would build a new life, on my own terms, and be happy.
Lesson: happiness isnt tied to a mans presence; it lives within yourself, nurtured by courage and the willingness to move on.
