21April
I woke up to the sound of Victor dragging my old suitcase toward the door. Ive decided it would be better for you to stay with a friend, he said, placing the battered leather case just outside the threshold. The words hit me like a cold splash of rain.
I stared at him, heart pounding. Victor, are you serious? Throw away the sofa weve lived on for fifteen years?
He didnt look up. Its old, squeaks every time we sit. Ive ordered a new one; it arrives the day after tomorrow. He paced the living room with a tape measure, scribbling numbers in a little notebook, his focus so sharp it felt as if I didnt exist at all.
I tried to keep my voice steady. Why the rush? We could have chosen together, gone to the store. I still sleep on that sofa, you know.
Victor stopped, turned his gaze on me as if seeing me for the first time. Youll still hate my idea. Youre always dissatisfied.
Its nonsense! I snapped. I just want to be part of the decisions that affect our home.
He smirked. Our home, huh? Funny. A cold knot tightened in my chest. The past few weeks had been strangelate nights at the factory, a withdrawn mood, irritability. Now he was ordering a new wardrobe, rehanging the bedroom wallpaper, bringing in expensive lamps without ever mentioning it to me.
Victor, whats happening? Youve changed, I pleaded.
Changed how? he set the tape measure down. What do you expect? To sit on the same battered couch forever and be afraid of any change?
What does fear have to do with it? We always discussed everything. Now you decide on your own.
Maybe Im tired of debating every little thing, he muttered, walking out onto the balcony.
I was left alone, sitting on the very sofa he wanted to discard. My hand ran over the worn upholstery, remembering how, when we first moved into the flat on Camden Road, we wrestled with that piece of furniture. Victor used to joke that the instruction manual was in Chinese and the pictures made no sense. We laughed, we argued, we finally got it together. And later, after a long day, wed sit on the new couch with tea and talk about our plans.
Sixteen years later, our daughter Olivia is studying in Manchester, on her final year. I work as an accountant for a small firm; Victor is a department manager at the nearby engineering plant. Life feels ordinary, calmuntil the past few weeks started to crack that façade.
One evening Victor left, saying he had a meeting with colleagues. He returned late, smelling of whisky. I didnt ask; I went to bed, but sleep eluded me. I lay awake, listening to his shallow breathing as he turned away on the edge of the bed, as if an invisible wall had risen between us.
The next morning a crash jolted me awake. I rushed into the hallway to find Victor struggling to pull the old sofa through the front door.
What are you doing? Call the removal guys! I shouted.
Ill manage, he growled, his voice hoarse.
The sofa jammed in the doorway. He cursed, pulling harder, while I tried to help, only to be waved away. Dont! Go to the kitchen!
After a frantic tugofwar, the couch finally gave way, spilling onto the staircase landing. Panting, Victor looked at me with a twisted triumph. There. Now theres space.
For what? I asked, my hands shaking.
For a new sofa. I told you, he said, already turning away.
I poured myself a glass of water in the kitchen, feeling something break inside me. I grabbed my phone and texted my friend Mary:Can we meet? I need to talk. She replied instantly:Come over after work.
The day at the office drags on. I miscalculate three times, get a warning from the manager, apologize, but my mind keeps drifting back to Victors strange behaviour, his coldness, his obsession with changing the house.
When I finally arrived at Marys flat, she met me at the door, hugging me tightly. You look terrible. Whats happened?
We sat at her kitchen table. She brewed strong tea, set out biscuits, and I poured out everythingthe sofa, the sudden renovations, Victors distant stare.
Do you think he might have someone else? Mary asked gently.
No, I just I dont want to think about it, I whispered, tears welling. But everything feels like a sign.
She nodded. When a man starts rearranging everything, disappears for hours, and becomes silent, it often means something is off.
I left Marys place feeling hollow. Back at home, Victor was gone. The flat felt foreign: a new vase on the hallway shelf, luxury towels in the bathroom, a nonstick pan Id never seen before. When did all this appear? How had I missed it?
He finally returned past midnight, looking exhausted, and slipped into the bedroom without a word. I asked, Where have you been?
Stuck at work, he replied.
Until eleven?
He stopped, turned, and said, Whats that? Do you expect an explanation now?
I pressed, Victor, are you cheating? Who is she?
He looked taken aback for a second, then steadied himself. What are you talking about?
Youve changed. Youre renovating everything, youre never home, you barely speak to me.
Im just tired of the monotony, he said flatly. I wanted a change. Its normal.
Change? I felt a lump rise in my throat. Am I part of the monotony too?
His silence said more than any answer.
Victor, I whispered, we can talk about anything. If somethings wrong, lets face it together.
He turned away. Its too late, he said, closing the door behind him.
The night stretched on without sleep. I lay in the dark, replaying every moment, wondering when things went wrong. Was it when Olivia left for university? Or had we simply drifted apart, unnoticed, until the gap became a chasm?
The next morning Victor was detached, eating breakfast in silence, dressing, and saying, The removal men will be here this evening with the new sofa. Will you be home?
Yes, I answered, weary.
He left without a goodbye. At work, Sarah, a colleague, noticed my red eyes. Everything all right? she asked. I said I was just a bit under the weather. She offered tea with lemon, and I accepted gratefully.
That evening the movers arrived, hauling in a massive darkgrey leather corner sofaexpensive, modern, utterly alien. I signed the delivery note, feeling the weight of the new furniture pressing into my life. I sat down; it was stiff, cold, unfamiliar.
I called Olivia. She answered after a pause. Hey, Mum. How are you?
Fine, I tried to sound upbeat. Hows your exam prep?
Its going, Mom. Are you okay? You sound off.
Just tired, I said, then hesitated. Victor has he been talking to you lately?
Dad called last week, she replied. He seems fine.
I hung up, realizing that Victors voice had reached my daughter, while his words had become a wall between us.
The next day, Victor placed my suitcase by the front door again. Ive decided it would be better for you to stay with a friend, he said calmly, as if discussing the weather.
What? I stammered.
You heard me. Pack your things and stay with Maryor anyone you like. I need some time to think.
Time to think? I shouted, my voice cracking. Are you out of your mind? This is our home!
Its my flat, legally, he replied coldly. 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. He looked away, his eyes empty.
Tears streamed down my face. What did I do wrong?
Nothing, he said wearily. It just happened.
Just happened? Sixteen years of marriage, and thats it?
Lucy, dont make a scene, he warned. Just pack.
I felt the man I once knewwho used to carry me across puddles, who soothed baby Olivia at night, who vowed forevervanish into this stranger.
Do you have someone else? I demanded, voice shaking.
He stayed silent.
Tell me! I have a right to know!
It doesnt matter, he finally muttered.
Why does it not matter? My breath hitched. Victor, please, talk to me. Who is she?
Pack, he repeated, stepping onto the balcony and closing the door behind him.
I stood in the hallway, stunned, unsure whether I was dreaming. The suitcase at the door felt real, his cold stare real.
I began to fold clothes in the bedroomdresses, blouses, shoesmy hands moving on autopilot, my mind a fog. I lifted a framed wedding photo from the dresser. Dont, Victor called from the doorway. Leave the photo.
Why? I asked, bewildered.
Because thats how it should be. He turned away.
I took my makeup bag, my robe, my slippers, everything that felt like pieces of a life I was abandoning.
I called Mary. Lucy, can you take me in? Just for a few days.
Of course, she replied instantly. Come straight away.
I grabbed my suitcase, turned toward the door, and he stood there, arms crossed, asking, Are you sure?
Yes, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Just know Ill be waiting for answers. You cant just kick me out without a reason.
He shrugged. We can talk later, he said.
Later when? I asked.
Ill call. He didnt look back as I stepped out onto the stairwell, the door closing with a final click. Yesterday I had a family, a home, a husband. Now I had nothing.
A cab took me to Marys flat in Islington. She welcomed me with a hug, offered tea, and said, Come in, lets get you settled. We sat in her kitchen, I poured out everythingthe secret lover, the divorce, the new sofa, the emptiness.
Its a monster, Mary said, shaking her head. He has no right to treat you like this.
What do I do? I asked, tears still falling.
First, dont collapse. Stay here, gather your thoughts, then decide what to do next. She handed me a blanket.
I spent the night on a pullout sofa, staring at the ceiling, replaying the past weeks. The next morning at work, Sarah noticed my pallor. You look ill, she said, offering another cup of tea.
Im fine, I lied. Just my husband asked me to leave.
She gasped. Thats terrible. Why?
He just said he needed time to think. I shrugged, unable to find words.
Later that day Olivia called. Mum, Dad said were getting a divorce, she said, her voice trembling.
No, love, I replied, forcing calm. Everythings okay. Its just a a misunderstanding.
She cried. Hes cheating, Mum. Hes lying.
I know, I whispered. Well get through this.
That evening Victor called, asking if I could meet the next day. I agreed, setting the time for seven oclock. My heart hammered with dread.
When I arrived at the flat the next evening, the place looked immaculate, as if no one had lived there for years. The new sofa was decorated with cushions Id never seen. Victor opened the door, let me in without a word.
He gestured to a chair. Sit, he said.
I sat, trying to steady my breath. Victor, whats going on? Why are you doing this?
He sighed. I have someone. A woman. Weve been together for six months.
My stomach dropped. Who is she?
It doesnt matter, he said coldly. Shes a colleague, younger. We were together.
You love her? I asked, voice cracking.
He stayed silent. The silence was louder than any accusation.
Im ending this marriage, he finally said. I cant keep living a lie.
How can you just end sixteen years, a daughter, a home? I shouted, tears streaming. All because of a new sofa? New wallpaper? Youve been planning this for months!
I was tired of the same routine, he replied. I wanted change. I thought I could handle it, but I cant keep hurting you.
Do you think money will fix everything? I asked, recalling the cash he offered to buy me a new flat. Youve betrayed me, betrayed our family!
He looked away. Im sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.
I stood, clutching my suitcase. You think you can buy your way out? Ill fight for my life, for my daughter, for the home we built.
He sighed, Lets try to part amicably. Ill help with the mortgage, find you a place.
I left the flat, stepping out onto the cold London street, rain beginning to fall. The weight of the city pressed in, but for the first time I felt a strange lightness. I walked to the park where Victor had once proposed, sat on the bench, and remembered the day he got down on one knee. That memory now felt like a distant story.
My phone buzzed. It was Mary. Lucy, where are you? she asked, worried.
Im at the park on the Southbank, I replied. Give me a minute; Ill be there.
She arrived twenty minutes later, wrapped me in a warm coat, and drove me back to her flat. We sat with mugs of tea, and she listened as I recounted everything.
Hes a pig, Mary said, shaking her head. You deserve better. Dont let him dictate your worth.
What should I do? I asked, voice trembling.
First, dont let yourself crumble. Yes, youre hurt. Yes, its painful. But this is his choice, not yours. You are still youstrong, capable.
I stayed with Mary for a week. Victor called twice, trying to arrange meetings, but I declined. I needed space to heal.
Olivia flew back from Manchester, met her father briefly, then came to see me. Her eyes were red. Mum, Dad said about the divorce, she whispered.
Its true, I said, holding her close. Well get through this together.
She sobbed, Hes a terrible father! I tried to soothe her, Adults sometimes make mistakes, love. Well be okay.
Weeks passed. I found a modest studio flat in a quiet suburb, using some of Victors money to pay the deposita small, bitter irony. I settled in, returned to work, and began to find small joys: a perfect cup of tea each morning, a good novel, a laugh with Mary over a comedy show.
One evening Victor called, his voice tentative. Hey, Lucy. How are you?
Fine, I replied coolly.
I I wanted to say that Lena and I have split, he said, the name of his lover slipping out.
What do you want from me? I asked, anger flaring.
Nothing. Just thought you should know. Maybe we could talk sometime?
Why now? I snapped. You threw me out, ruined years, and now youre looking for a chat?
He was silent. I hung up, feeling a strange mixture of relief and lingering anger. The weight of his betrayal finally loosened.
I stood before the mirror in my new flat, looked at my tired eyes, and saw a glimmer of strength. I had survived a marriage that crumbled, a home that was stripped away, and a lovers betrayal. I could rebuild, find happiness on my own terms. The future felt uncertain, but for the first time in months I felt I could shape it myself.
