My husband, Victor Thompson, pulled my bag out of the kitchen and, finding a set of foreign keys inside, threw me out of the flat without hearing any explanation.
Youve taken my bank card again! I heard him storm in, phone clenched in his fist.
I was standing at the sink, washing the dishes. My hands were coated in suds, my apron was damp.
Which card? I didnt take yours, I said.
Dont lie! It was in my wallet on the nightstand, and now its gone!
I swear I didnt touch it. Did you maybe move it yourself?
Am I an idiot? I always leave it in the same spot! And youre always rummaging through my things!
I wiped my hands on a towel. After eighteen years of marriage I was used to his sudden outbursts, but each one still cut deep.
Victor, calm down. Lets look for it together. Maybe it fell somewhere.
No point looking! You took it because you want to spend my money again!
What money? I have my own salary!
Your teachers pennies wont keep you alive, will they?
I tightened my lips. I taught at a primary school, and my pay was modest but steady.
Lets just find the card without shouting.
Victor snorted and left the kitchen. I heard the clatter of drawers being slammed in the bedroom.
I returned to the plates, mugs, the souppot. It was an ordinary Monday night: Id come home from work, cooked dinner, fed Victor and our daughter Lily. Lily was in her room doing homework while Victor found another excuse to start a fight.
Natalie! Come here! he shouted from the hallway.
I dried my hands and went. He stood there, bag in his grasp, emptying its contents onto the nightstand.
What are you doing?
Checking! Since you go through my things, I have the right to check yours!
Victor, thats not right! Put the bag back where it belongs!
From the bag fell my wallet, phone, hairbrush, lipstick, a pack of tissues. Then something clanged a set of keys, but not the ones I always carry. Different ones.
Victor froze, holding the bundle of keys, turning them over.
What are those?
I dont know, I admitted, genuinely puzzled. How did they get in there?
You dont know? Foreign keys in your bag, and you have no idea?
I really dont understand how they ended up there, Victor.
He stared at the keys, then at me. His face flushed crimson.
Whose flat do those belong to, Natalie?
I have no idea!
Youre lying! You have a lover! Those are his keys!
The ground seemed to drop from under me.
What? A lover? Are you out of your mind?
Then explain how foreign keys got into your bag!
I dont know! Maybe someone put them in by mistake!
Who would accidentally put keys in someone elses bag?
Maybe a colleague mixed them up
Stop lying! I get it youre having an affair!
Victor, thats not true! Ive never been unfaithful!
Shut up! he hurled the keys onto the floor. Eighteen years together and youd do this!
I havent done anything wrong! Lets talk this through calmly!
No need to discuss! Pack your things and leave!
I stood frozen.
What did you just say?
I said get out of my flat! I wont tolerate a cheating wife!
Victor, this is our home! We live here together! Lily lives here too!
Its my flat! Its in my name! I can kick anyone out!
Victor, please stop! Listen to me!
I wont listen! Im fed up with your lies! Out you go!
He yanked my coat off the hook and threw it at me.
Get out, I said!
Dad, whats happening? Lily peeked from the hallway, eyes wide. She was fourteen and always flinched at our fights.
Lily, go back to your room, I said.
No, Victor snapped, looking at our daughter. Let her see what kind of mother she has.
Victor, stop! Not in front of the child!
Then leave yourself! I dont want to see you here!
I looked at my husband: a reddened face, eyes flashing, fists clenched. Id never seen him like this. He could be hottempered, but never this extreme.
Fine, I whispered. Ill go. This is a misunderstanding, Victor. I did nothing wrong.
Leave now!
I slipped on my coat, grabbed my bag. The strange keys fell out onto the floor again. I reached for them, but Victor kicked them away.
Dont touch them! Let them lie as proof!
I stepped out of the flat. The door slammed shut behind me, the lock clicking. I stood on the stair landing, stunned. Ten minutes earlier Id been washing dishes; now I was standing outside my own home, expelled by my husband.
My feet carried me down the hallway and out onto the street. It was a cold October evening, the wind biting. I stopped by the blocks entrance, pulled out my phone. Who could I call? My parents had long since passed, my sister lived in another city. My friend Irene? She was juggling three kids in a onebed flat, nowhere for me to stay.
My phone buzzed. A message from Irene:
Nat, sorry, I forgot to tell you! This morning I slipped the school keys into your bag while we were having tea in the staff room. You were in the office. Ill collect them tomorrow, okay? Thanks for holding onto them!
I read the text three times: school keys, Irene had left them. She was the deputy head, with a spare set of keys to the school building, and shed asked me to keep them safe while she was at the education office. Id agreed, then forgotten.
My hands trembled. I dialed Victor. The line rang, went to voicemail. I tried again, same result.
I typed a text: Victor, those are school keys! Irene left them! Its a misunderstanding! No reply. I tried once more; still nothing.
I leaned against the blocks wall, the cold seeping through my thin coat. My mind was a blank.
I began walking down the street, not knowing where to go, just trying not to stand still. I reached the bus stop and sat on a bench. An elderly lady with grocery bags sat beside me.
Everything alright, love? You look pale, she asked kindly.
Just a family problem, I managed a weak smile.
With your husband?
How would you know?
I can read a lot from a face. Ive spent my life as a nurse, watching people. Did you both argue?
He threw me out.
Thats terrible. What for?
I told her about the keys. She shook her head.
What a fool. Im sorry for speaking about your husband, but kicking someone out without hearing them is wrong.
He wont believe me.
Hell cool down and then see sense. Men are hotheaded, but they do settle.
What if he doesnt?
He will. You have a daughter, you said. Hell think of her and change. Who will cook, who will wash?
I chuckled despite myself. The old lady was right; Victor only saw himself as the head of the house, expecting me to do everything.
Do you have somewhere to stay? she asked.
Im not sure yet.
Come to my flat. Its right next door. Have a cuppa, warm up, and then we can figure things out.
I wanted to refuse, but she was insistent. We walked to her building, up to a thirdfloor flat. It was small, oneroom, but cosy, with knitted tea towels, family photos, and potted plants on the windowsill.
Have a seat, dear. Ill put the kettle on, she said, introducing herself as Margaret Hughes, a seventytwoyearold widow whose husband had died years ago and whose children lived far away.
We sipped tea with biscuits while Margaret talked about her life, about arguments with her late husband and how they always made up because love was stronger than pride.
What if he doesnt love me anymore? I asked.
He does, otherwise he wouldnt be so jealous. Men are all the same: they blaze up at first, then they think, she replied.
My phone buzzed again. A text from Lily:
Mom, where are you? Dads angry, says nothing. Im scared.
I typed back: Sweetheart, dont be scared. Dads just having a bad mood. Go to sleep, well talk tomorrow.
She replied: Mom, is it true you have a lover?
My heart stopped. Victor had already twisted Lily against me.
No, Lily. Thats not true. I have only you and Dad. Its a misunderstanding, Ill explain tomorrow, I wrote.
I believe you, Mum, she texted back. Love you.
I set the phone down. Margaret looked at me with understanding.
Your daughter is worried? she asked.
Yes. Dad told her all sorts of things.
Children can be smarter than parents. Shell see the truth.
I stayed the night at Margarets. She laid a warm blanket and a pillow on her sofa.
Sleep well. Tomorrow youll have a clear head and can sort things out, she advised.
Sleep didnt come. I lay staring at the ceiling, replaying the days disaster. Eighteen years of marriage, a home, a child, all undone by a pair of school keys.
The problems hadnt started today. For years Victor had become irritable, picking on everything: the food, the mess, the way I dressed, the way I spoke. I blamed it on fatigue from his job as a site manager on a construction project, a stressful, noisy line of work. But today hed crossed a line, throwing me out and refusing to listen even after I explained the keys.
Morning came with the smell of coffee. Margaret was already in the kitchen, making breakfast.
Come on, love, have some, then think about what to do, she said.
After breakfast I called Irene and explained everything. She gasped.
Nat, Im so sorry! Those keys caused all this! Its my fault!
Its Victors fault for not listening, I replied.
She offered to call him, but Victor didnt answer.
At school the staff noticed I was off. My cheeks were pale, my eyes red.
Natalie, are you ill? asked the headmistress, Eleanor Parker.
No, Im fine, I tried to hide it.
You dont look fine. Lets talk in my office, she said.
In her office I finally broke down, spilling the whole story. Eleanor listened, nodded.
Your husband is a fool. Not listening and kicking you out is cruel. He doesnt need the truth; he needs an excuse to get rid of you. Maybe hes having an affair himself?
The thought struck me. Could Victor be cheating and using this as a cover?
I dont know, I admitted. Maybe.
Youre a good teacher, a good mother. If he doesnt value that, thats his problem. Dont apologise for something you didnt do. Live with dignity.
But Lily
Shes old enough to understand. Shell eventually see whos right.
I returned to class. The little ones were busy drawing and asking silly questions, pulling me back into the simple joy of teaching.
Later Lily called.
Mum, where are you?
Still at work, darling. Whats up?
Dad said you wont come back.
He said that?
Yes, and that you have a lover and betrayed us.
My stomach twisted. I swallowed.
Lily, I have no lover. Those keys belong to Irene. Theyre school keys. Your dads imagination is running wild.
I believe you, Mum. But Dad wont believe.
Im scared, she whispered.
Hold on, love. Ill think of something.
That evening I went back to Margarets. She welcomed me with a hot dinner and kind words.
How are you holding up? she asked.
Bad. He wont believe me, Lilys scared, I cant get back in.
Then act. First, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Find somewhere to stay. Talk calmly with Lily. Prove Victor wrong.
He wont listen.
He will, when he sees you standing strong. Men are like children; they need attention. If you deny it, theyll chase it.
I thought about her advice. Id been shrinking, pleading, hoping he’d change. It was time to take control.
The next day a fellow teacher, Sarah, offered me a spare room in her flat. My daughter moved out, the rooms empty. You can stay as long as you need, Ill only ask a token rent.
I moved in. The room was tiny but comforting, my own space with no shouting.
I kept working, meeting Lily after school. Shed come over, wed walk and talk. I explained the situation without trashing her father, but also without hiding the truth.
Dads angry because he thinks I cheated, I said. But Im not. I love you both.
I know, Mum. I trust you, she replied.
A week passed and Victor never called. I stopped waiting for a miracle and settled into my new routine.
One evening there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Victor, dishevelled, shoulders slumped.
Can I come in?
Why?
I need to talk.
I let him in. He looked around the modest flat.
This is where you live?
Yes.
He sat heavily on a chair.
Natalie, Im sorry. I was wrong. I didnt listen, I threw you out like a fool.
Yes, you were.
Im sorry for humiliating you in front of Lily, for accusing you of an affair. It was those school keys, Irene explained everything. I was angry and jealous.
You humiliated me, Victor. In front of our daughter you called me a cheat and kicked me out of my own home.
I know. Im a fool, a complete fool.
What now?
Please, let me come back. Lily cries every day, I cant bear it. I miss you.
I stared at him, his eyes pleading. Part of me wanted to reject him outright, but another part recalled the years wed shared.
I need time to think, I said.
Think about what?
Whether I can ever trust you again after everything.
He stood, walked over and took my hands.
I love you, truly. I promise Ill change. Ill stop accusing you without proof, Ill listen before I act.
Promises are easy. Youve broken them before.
He lowered his head.
I realise that. I was wrong to throw you out. I want to earn back your trust.
I need a week, maybe two, to sort my feelings.
He nodded.
Alright. Ill wait, but only if you keep your word.
He left, and I sat by the window, watching the dark street, wondering whether to forgive or start anew.
I called Margaret and told her what had happened.
I told you hed come round, didnt I? Now its your decision. Do you want to go back?
Im torn. Eighteen years together, a child, a familiar life, but he treated me like dirt.
Hes humbled, thats true. People do make mistakes. The key is whether he truly learns. If he slips again, you must walk away. But you have the right to give him a chance if you wish.
I thought for days, weighing pros and cons. Victor called each day, asking how I was, never pressuring, just checking in. Lily also called, begging me to return.
Dads changed. Hes cooking, cleaning, saying hes sorry, Lily said.
I still need a bit more time, I replied.
Two weeks later I made my choice. I called Victor.
Ill return, but only if you never accuse me again without hearing me out. If something bothers you, ask me. No shouting, no accusations, no humiliation.
I promise, I swear on my life.
And apologise to Lily for turning her against me.
I will.
Then Ill be back on Sunday.
Sunday arrived. I packed my things, said goodbye to Margaret, who smiled warmly.
Youre going back? she asked.
Yes. Im giving him another chance.
Good. Family matters, but dont forget yourself. If it goes wrong again, leave straight away.
I wont forget. Thank you for everything, Margaret.
Back at the flat, Victor and Lily greeted me. Victor carried my bags, Lily clung to me, not letting go. The apartment was spotless, the table set with a modest dinner.
I made this, Victor said proudly. Its not perfect, but I tried.
The salad was uneven, the meat a bit dry, but the effort was clear.
Thank you, thats sweet, I repliedWe sat down together, hopeful that this time love would finally heal the wounds.
