I decided it would be better for you to stay with a friend, I told my husband, setting my suitcase by the door.
Victor, are you serious? Throw away the sofa weve slept on for fifteen years?
Ive already mentioned it, Lydia. Its old and creaks. Ive ordered a new one; itll arrive the day after tomorrow.
Lydia stood in the middle of the sitting room, bewildered, watching me pace with a tape measure, scribbling numbers in a notebook. I was all business, focused, as if she didnt exist at all.
But I dont understand why youre in such a hurry. We could have chosen together, gone to the shop. I still sleep on that sofa, by the way.
I stopped, looked at her as if Id just seen her for the first time.
Youll never like my idea, you say. Youre always dissatisfied.
Nonsense! I just want to be part of decisions that affect our home!
Our home, I smirked. How amusing.
Lydia felt something tighten inside her. In recent weeks Id been acting oddly staying late at the office, becoming silent and irritable. And now this sofa drama. Id ordered a new wardrobe without telling her, changed the bedroom wallpaper, brought in expensive lamps.
Victor, whats happening? Youre acting wrong.
Wrong? I set the tape measure down. And how should I act? Sit on a sagging piece of furniture and fear any change?
What does fear have to do with it? We always discussed everything. Now youre making decisions alone.
Maybe because Im tired of debating every little thing, I replied, heading for the balcony.
Lydia was left alone. She sat on the very sofa I was about to toss, ran a hand over the worn upholstery. So many memories were tucked into that fabric how wed assembled it together when we first moved into the flat in Manchester, laughing at the incomprehensible Chinese instruction manual, fumbling with the bolts, yet finally getting it right. In the evening wed lounged on that same sofa, sipping tea and planning our future.
Sixteen years later our daughter Emily was studying in another city, on her fourth year. Lydia worked as an accountant for a small firm, and I was a department manager at a factory. A quiet, ordinary life or at least it had seemed until recently.
One evening I left, saying I had a meeting with colleagues. I came home late, the smell of alcohol on me. Lydia didnt ask any questions; she went to bed, but sleep eluded her. She lay awake, listening to my breathing as I turned on my side, as if an invisible wall had grown between us.
The next morning a crash woke her. She ran into the hallway and saw me trying to drag the old sofa out of the flat.
What are you doing? Get the movers!
Ill manage, I muttered.
The sofa jammed in the doorway. I tugged, swearing under my breath. Lydia rushed to help, but I waved her away.
No, go to the kitchen!
She protested, but finally the sofa gave way and fell onto the landing. I, panting and flushed, looked at her with a sort of triumph.
There, now theres space.
For what?
For a new sofa. I told you.
Lydia poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen, hands trembling. Something felt terribly wrong. She texted our friend Marina Clarke: Can we meet? I need to talk.
Marina replied quickly: Of course. Come over after work.
The workday dragged on. Lydia made three calculation errors, got a reprimand from the manager, apologized, and redid the work, but her mind kept drifting to me my strange behaviour, the coldness, the urge to change everything in the flat.
When she arrived at Marinas flat that evening, Marina greeted her at the door and gave her a hug.
You look terrible. What happened?
They sat in the kitchen; Marina brewed strong tea and set out biscuits. Lydia poured out everything the sofa, the renovations, my odd mood.
Did you ever think he might have someone else? Marina asked gently.
No, Lydia shook her head. I just I dont want to think about it.
It sounds like a classic sign, Marina said. A man suddenly starts rearranging the house, stays late, becomes distant.
But Victor isnt like that, Lydias voice quivered. Weve been together for so long. We have a daughter.
That doesnt mean anything, Marina sighed. Sorry to be blunt, but you deserve to know the truth.
Lydia returned home late to find me gone. She walked through the flat, noticing a new vase on the hallway shelf, expensive towels in the bathroom, a fancy nonstick pan in the kitchen. When did all this appear? How had she missed it?
I came back after eleven oclock, saw her in the kitchen, nodded, and went to the bedroom.
Where have you been? she asked.
Late at work.
Until eleven?
I turned, a hint of annoyance in my voice.
What, you want a report now?
Victor, youre my husband. I deserve to know where you are.
I told you Im at work. Do you not trust me?
Lydia stepped closer.
Tell me honestly. Do you have someone?
I hesitated a split second, then steadied myself.
What are you even talking about?
Youve changed. Youre renovating everything, youre rarely home, you barely speak to me.
Im just tired of the monotony, I snapped. I wanted a change. Its normal.
A change? Lydia felt a lump rise in her throat. Am I part of that monotony too?
Silence stretched, louder than any words.
Victor, we can discuss anything. If somethings wrong, we can sort it out together.
Its too late, I said, turning and heading into the bedroom, closing the door behind me.
Lydia stood in the kitchen, tears flowing unbidden. It was indeed too late.
That night she lay awake, trying to pinpoint when things went wrong. Had it been when Emily left for university? Or earlier? Perhaps the distance had crept in slowly, unnoticed, until a chasm yawned between them.
The next morning I was cold and detached at breakfast, got dressed and said,
The movers will arrive this evening with the new sofa. Will you be home?
Ill be here, Lydia answered wearily.
Then youll be waiting. Ill be late.
I left without a goodbye. Lydia stared at the closed door, the room growing colder.
At work a colleague, Sarah, noticed her red eyes and asked if everything was alright. Lydia lied, saying shed caught a cold. Sarah nodded sympathetically and brought her a cup of tea with lemon.
That evening the movers finally came, hauling in a massive corner sofa upholstered in dark grey leather pricey, modern. Lydia signed the delivery note and was left alone with the new piece of furniture. She sat down; it was stiff, cold, foreign.
She called Emily. The daughter answered after a pause.
Mum, hi! How are you?
Fine, Lydia tried to sound upbeat. Hows university?
All good, exams coming up. Mum, are you alright? Your voice sounds off.
Im fine, love. Just a bit tired. Lydia hesitated. Dads been distant lately?
He called last week, didnt he?
Yes, what about him?
He seemed normal.
Right, Ill let you get back to studying.
Lydia hung up, the conversation confirming that Victor was speaking to Emily normally, but to her it felt like she was speaking to a stranger.
I returned late, looked at the new sofa, and said,
Good, isnt it?
Yes, Lydia replied, flatly. Beautiful.
Go to bed, I said. Ill stay up a while.
Lydia went to the bedroom but didnt lie down. She stood by the window, watching the night-lit city, wondering where the happy families lived, how theirs was falling apart and why.
The following day, after work, Lydia came home to find her old blue suitcase, worn at the corners, waiting by the entrancethe one wed used for trips down to the coast.
Victor? she called as she stepped inside.
I emerged from the hallway, expression unreadable.
Ive decided it would be better for you to stay with a friend, I said calmly, placing the suitcase at the door.
What? she gasped. Did you just say that?
You heard me. Pack your things and stay with Marina or anyone you like. I need time to think.
Time to think? Lydias voice rose in a shout. Victor, are you out of your mind? This is our home!
The lease is in my name, I replied coldly. So I decide who lives here.
Lydia felt the ground slip away.
Youre throwing me out?
Im asking you to clear the flat for a while. I need some space.
How long? A week? A month?
I dont know, I looked away. Until I sort things out.
Sort what out? tears streamed down her face. Victor, explain! What did I do wrong?
Nothing, I said tiredly. It just happened.
Just like that? Sixteen years of marriage, and just like that?
Lydia, dont make a scene. Pack your things.
She stared at the man who had once carried her across puddles, cradled her baby daughter at night, sworn to love her forever.
You have someone else, dont you? she demanded.
I stayed silent.
Say it! I have a right to know!
It doesnt matter, I finally said.
How can it not matter? Lydias voice cracked. Victor, for Gods sake, talk to me! Who is she?
Pack your things, I repeated, heading to the balcony and closing the door behind me.
Lydia stood in the hallway, unable to move. Was this really happening or a nightmare? The suitcase was real, my cold stare was real.
She went to the bedroom and mechanically began folding clothes dresses, shoes, coats. Her hands moved on autopilot, her mind a fog. She took the framed wedding photo from the dresser.
No, I said from the doorway. Leave the photo.
Why?
Because thats how it should be.
She placed the frame back, grabbed her makeup bag, robe, slippers. Everything felt surreal.
Ill call Marina, she whispered.
Call her, I nodded.
Marina answered straight away.
Lydia, love, whats happening?
Marina, can you take me in? Just for a short while.
What? Right now?
Hes thrown me out with my suitcase.
Oh my God, come straight away! Do you remember the address?
I do. Thanks.
Lydia grabbed her suitcase and bag, turned to see me standing in the hallway, arms crossed.
Are you sure? she asked.
Yes.
Fine, she said, lifting her chin. Just know Ill be waiting for explanations. You cant just kick me out without a reason.
We can talk later, I replied.
When?
Ill call.
She left the flat, the door closing behind her, the world outside suddenly unfamiliar. She hailed a taxi and headed to Marinas house. Marina met her, gave her a hug, led her inside, made tea, and covered her with a blanket.
Tell me everything, Marina said.
Lydia recounted the affair, the divorce, the new sofa, the whole mess.
What a scoundrel, Marina sighed. Im sorry, but hes no good.
What should I do?
First, dont give up. Yes, it hurts, but youre not at fault. He chose to betray, to ruin a family.
I still love him, Lydia murmured.
He doesnt deserve your love, Marina said firmly. Remember that.
Lydia stayed with Marina for a week, during which Victor called twice, suggesting a meeting to discuss details. She refused; she needed time to recover.
Emily flew back from university, met her father, then came to Lydia. Her eyes were red.
Mum, Dad said were getting divorced.
Yes, love.
How could he? Emily sobbed. How could he do this?
Adults sometimes make mistakes, Lydia said, hugging her.
Its not a mistake! Its cruelty! He cheated, lied, then threw me out!
Its between me and your father, dear.
No! It affects me too! I dont want to see him!
Dont say that. Hes your father.
Bad father! Emily wiped her tears. Mum, youll get through this. I know youre strong.
Lydia didnt feel strong. She felt shattered, empty, but for Emilys sake she tried to hold on.
A month later she found a tiny rented flat on the outskirts. Victor actually handed over some money perhaps his conscience was pricking him. She moved in, settled, went to work, returned to an empty home.
Gradually the pain eased. She learned to find joy in small thingsa morning coffee, a good book, a call from Emily. Marina visited often, Sarah from work became a close friend. They went to the cinema, cafés, walked around the city together.
One evening Victor called.
Hey, how are you?
Fine, Lydia replied curtly.
Listen, I wanted to say he hesitated. Lena and I broke up.
And what do you expect from me?
Nothing. Just thought you should know. Maybe we could meet?
Why?
I thought maybe we rushed the divorce.
Lydia felt a tightening in her chest, not hope but anger.
Victor, you tossed me out, humiliated me, broke my heart. Now, when your lover has left you, you want to come back?
I just thought
Dont think. Its too late. You said it yourself. Remember?
Lydia
Dont call again. Live your life. Ill live mine.
She hung up, hands trembling, yet a strange lightness settled inside. She had let go.
Lydia stood before the mirror, looked at her reflection tired eyes, a thin face, but a strength there now. She had survived the pain and would build a new life without him, and she would be happy. Because happiness isnt determined by whether a man stands beside you; its decided solely by yourself.
