“I married you out of pity,” Simon said, and I gave him an hour to pack.
A courier job for someone of my standing? No, thanks. At my old firm they valued me, treated me with respect. Now I’m supposed to sprint around town with parcels like a schoolboy?
“Simon, you told me yesterday you’d start at any level,” I said patiently.
“You forced me to say that!”
Simon sprang to his feet and marched across the room.
“You’re always on my case, aren’t you? ‘Simon, find a job,’ ‘Simon, go to the interview,’ ‘Simon, you promised’ Yes, I promised! But I also promised to be your husband, not your puppet!”
Staring at a coffee stain spreading across the white tablecloth, I was suddenly reminded of our first evening. A restaurant in the heart of London, candles flickering, Simon’s confident voice that made me want to believe:
“Blythe, with me you’ll forget all your worries. I’ll turn your life into a fairytale. I have so many plans, so many opportunities”
Back then Simon seemed so solid. Expensive suit (now I know it was a hire), watch (a knockoff), the manners of a successful man (learned from endless business webinars). Most of all, his conviction that he was exceptional, which I mistook for strength. It was all just fluff.
“Well, I’m going for a walk, get some fresh air,” Simon announced, not even glancing at the stain. “You think about your behaviour. Sometimes I feel the problem is you. If you earned less, maybe I’d feel more confident.”
You see, a man needs to feel like a provider. When his wife runs an advertising agency it kills his masculine energy.
He slammed the door. I sank slowly into a chair and stared at the halfeaten scrambled eggs.
Masculine energy? Good heavens, there was none! In the years wed been married he hadnt nailed a single nail. He claimed his hands werent meant for grunt work. What energy was he talking about?
I drifted back through memory, trying to pinpoint when Simon had changed. The more I recalled, the more I realised Id ignored the early warning signs of who my husband really was.
The first alarm rang during our honeymoon, when Simon forgot his wallet at the hotel. Then his credit card got blocked. Later his accounts were temporarily frozen for a routine check. I covered everything, soothing myself with the thought, Everyone has a hiccup, right?
Then the strange calls started.
“Hello, is this Simon Clarke? You promised to repay that loan last month”
He brushed it off as an old misunderstanding that would sort itself out. I wanted to believe him.
I run my own business, built from scratch. Im good at reading people, spotting their motives. Clients, partners, staff I could read them like an open book. Everyone praised my insight until Simon clouded my vision.
My friend and cofounder, Lucy, tried to warn me.
“Blythe, youre sharp, but cant you see hes just”
“What?” I snapped, still defending him. “What is he, Lucy?”
“He’s an opportunist. Finds a successful woman, latches on. How long has he been looking for work?”
“He’s in the process! He has several promising options”
“Give me a break! What options? He spends his days at home playing video games.”
I snapped back at Lucy, accusing her of envying my marriage. She just shook her head sadly.
“Oh Blythe, what a mess youve got yourself into.”
A week after we met, Simon started whining about his former bosses. Apparently none of them appreciated his genius. Later I learned his previous venture collapsed because of conflicts with business partners essentially, debts.
Even his mother, sweethearted Valerie, sighed when she met me:
“Maybe hell finally settle down with you, dear.”
I got up, cleared the table methodically, tried futilely to wipe the coffee stain, and loaded the dishwasher. Mechanical tasks soothed my mind.
The quiet was broken by a ring. Turns out Simon had forgotten his phone when he left. The woman on the line introduced herself as Rebecca, a HR manager. After learning who I was, she said:
“We were expecting him for an interview today, but he didnt show. Is he still interested in the role? Did something happen?”
“He’s fine. He just decided that a courier job is beneath him.”
“But this was a logistics manager position. We were looking for someone with the experience he listed on his CV. The salary is very competitive, full benefits We were impressed by your husbands résumé!”
A logistics manager? I stared, jaw dropping. Simon had told me hed be a courier. Why the switch? To make me feel sorry? To tell me, Dont go, love, this isnt your level?
“May I ask what experience he claimed?” I inquired.
“Ten years in logistics, senior roles at major firms He sounded very confident on the phone.”
“Thanks, Rebecca. Im afraid my husband wont be bothering you any longer.”
After the call I sat at my computer and finally did what Id been putting off for half a year: I ran Simon through every database I could access. My network made it easy.
The picture that emerged was bleak. His last official job was a junior sales assistant at a windowfitting company, dismissed for chronic absenteeism. He owed money to several banks, faced enforcement action from an expartner, and was paying child support for a son hed never mentioned.
I stared at the screen, feeling a strange calm rather than anger. It was as if someone had lifted a fog from my eyes and the world snapped into sharp, clear focus.
Simon returned at dusk, cheerful, clutching a bouquet from the local supermarket promotion price, tag still attached.
“Blythe, Im sorry! I was wrong. It just hit me, you know? But Ive thought it through. Guess what? Im starting my own business!”
I listened in silence as Simon painted yet another castle in the air. He needed seed money, which, of course, I was expected to provide.
“And in six months, maybe a year, Ill return it tenfold! Imagine well buy a house in the countryside, you can keep your company, do whatever you like art, yoga, whatever maybe even have kids!”
“Simon,” I cut him off, “pack your things.”
“What?” he froze, bouquet trembling. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m saying you move out. Today. You can go back to your mothers house or wherever, but this isnt your home any longer.”
“You cant!” his face flushed. “Im your husband! Were married! You have no right to”
“Which marriage? You never wanted kids; you just invented them for the speech. Yesterday you called children a burden that would ruin your great plans.”
“Its all because of your money!” he shouted, hurling the flowers onto the floor. “You crushed me with your wealth, your success! Next to you any man feels like a nobody!”
“No, Simon. Only a man who believes he is a nobody feels that way. Successful men standing beside successful women see themselves as partners.”
“Youve outlived your usefulness!” he screamed, turning on the volume. “I married you out of pity, understand? Out of pity!”
Strangely, his words didnt sting. They fell into place, confirming everything. I finally released the last of my delusions.
“Im giving you an hour to gather your things, Simon,” I said. “After that Im calling the police.”
