**Diary Entry**
*Where are you off to?* she called from the kitchen.
George, where are you going? Beatrice peered out, drying her hands on her apron, watching her husband with quiet surprise.
George, a forty-five-year-old executive at a well-known construction firm, had made up his mind. While his wife was busy preparing breakfast, hed packed his bag. Now, standing in the doorway of their spacious flat in Chelsea, he felt the weight of his decision.
Beatrice had always put the family first. She believed a proper breakfastsausages, cheese, and warm toastwas the foundation of health and success. When the children were young, shed rise before dawn. Three kids demanded her full attention, and Georges salary had allowed her to focus solely on home life.
He stayed silent, watching Beatrice, his wife of twenty-five years, and convinced himselfthis was right. It was time for a change.
Lately, shed put on weight, her eyes dull compared to the spark that once drew him in. He no longer felt the same attraction. There was Isabelle nowyoung, sharp, with jet-black hair, someone hed met at a corporate event in Cornwall. Bold, just like him. Thats why he stood there, suitcase in hand.
Enough! Why stay with a woman he didnt love? The children were grown: James and Peter, both graduated, worked in London; Catherine, in her fourth year of med school, still relied on his support. As for his wife Why keep providing for her? Isabelle was rightit was time to split the flat.
Going somewhere? Beatrice asked calmly. You shouldve told me. I made you sandwiches. Its not good to leave on an empty stomach.
Always with the food! George snapped, irritated by his own hesitation. Do you think there arent cafés out there? Youre stuck in that kitchen like the world doesnt exist!
Has something happened? Her voice stayed soft.
Shed suspected the affair for a while. Knew this day would come. But she also knew her husband.
Im leaving! he burst out. Im with someone else. A modern woman, not some housewife!
Congratulations, she replied, as if discussing the weather.
Dont I deserve it?
You deserve more. Youre hardworking, clever, handsome
The flat will be divided, he said, softening slightly.
Agreed. Well handle it properly.
George frowned at her ease. Hed expected shouting, not this calm.
Find a job, he warned. I wont support you.
I dont need you to. Im getting married again.
Married? He scoffed. Whod want you?
Plenty would. Women like meexperienced, good cooks, homemakersare in demand. And with my own flat after the settlement
He stiffened. The thought of Beatrice with another man unsettled him.
Ive got a meeting, he muttered, setting the suitcase down. Dont book anything today. Its disrespectful.
At the office, doubt gnawed at him. Hed planned to return if things with Isabelle fell through, but now
By evening, Isabelle called, impatient.
Where are you? Ive found a place on Oxford Street! We need to furnish the bedroom and book that trip to Barbados. Remember your promise?
Whats for dinner? he interrupted.
Nothing. Im on a diet. We could order sushi
George hung up. He thought of the shepherds pie Beatrice wouldve made, the quiet comfort of home. And the idea of another man calling her his wife.
No. That wouldnt happen.
