“Where on earth are you off to?” she called from the kitchen.
“George, where are you going?” Beatrice peeked out, wiping her hands on her apron, eyeing her husband with a mix of surprise and suspicion.
George, a forty-five-year-old executive at a well-known construction firm, had made up his mind. While his wife was busy making breakfastsausages, cheese, and warm toast, because nothing said “good morning” like a proper fry-uphed quietly packed his suitcase. Now, standing in the doorway of their spacious Kensington flat, he felt the weight of his decision.
Beatrice had always been the backbone of the family. She believed a hearty breakfast was the foundation of health and success. Back when the kids were young, shed be up before dawn. Three children demanded her full attention, and Georges salary had allowed her to devote herself entirely to home life.
He stayed silent, watching Beatrice, his wife of twenty-five years, and convinced himself: this was right. It was time for a change.
Lately, shed put on weight, lost that spark in her eyes that once charmed him. She didnt excite him anymore. Thats where Imogen came inyoung, sharp, with jet-black hair, whom hed met at a corporate event in Cornwall. Bold, just like him. And thats why he stood there now, suitcase in hand.
Enough! Why stay with a woman he didnt love? The kids were grown: James and Peter had graduated and were working in London; Charlotte was in her fourth year of medical school, still on his payroll. As for Beatrice Why keep supporting her? Imogen was rightit was time to split the flat.
“Going somewhere?” Beatrice asked, eerily calm. “You mightve mentioned it. I made you sandwiches. Never good to leave on an empty stomach.”
“Always with the food!” George snapped, irritated he couldnt just say what he meant. “You think there arent cafés out there? You live in that kitchen like the outside world doesnt exist!”
“Something wrong?” Her voice stayed sweet.
Shed suspected the mistress for months. 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 commenting on the weather.
“Dont I deserve it?”
“You deserve more. Hardworking, clever, handsome…”
“The flat will be split,” he said, softening slightly.
“Fine by me. Well do it properly.”
George frowned at how easy this was. Hed expected shouting, not this unsettling calm.
“Get a job,” he warned. “I wont support you.”
“Dont need to. Im remarrying.”
“Remarrying?” He scoffed. “Whod want you?”
“Plenty. Women like me are in demand. Experienced, good cooks, homemakers Plus, Ill have my own flat after the settlement.”
He swallowed hard. The thought of Beatrice with another man didnt sit right.
“Ive got a meeting,” he muttered, putting the suitcase down. “Dont book anything today. Its disrespectful.”
At the office, doubt gnawed at him. Hed planned to return if things with Imogen went south, but now
By evening, Imogen called, impatient.
“Where are you? I found a flat in Mayfair! 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 do.
