*The Ideal Husband? When One Sentence Shatters a Marriage Built on Indifference*
*”You’re the perfect husband, Richard.”* How a single sentence destroyed a loveless marriage.
Emily stumbled through the front door, arms weighed down by two bulging shopping bags. Before she could even kick off her shoes, a voice cut through the quiet from the living room.
*”Finally back? Its already past six!”*
*”Its seven,”* she muttered, exhaustion lacing her voice as she trudged toward the kitchen.
Three empty teacups sat on the tableproof of yet another unannounced visit. Her mother-in-law had been here, no doubt with her sister, Margaret. Emily barely flinched. It had become routine: surprise drop-ins, snide remarks about her “unladylike” habits, disapproving stares, and the lingering traces of intruders in her own home.
*”Where were you? Im starving,”* Richard called, eyes glued to his laptop.
*”At the supermarket. Feeding His Majesty,”* she shot back, bitter amusement curling her lips. *”But actually, we need to talk.”*
He ignored her. So she strode forward, spun his chair around, and said, deadly calm:
*”Were getting a divorce.”*
Richard blinked, stunned. *”What? Why?”*
*”Because Im done.”*
*”Emily, just make dinner first. Well talk after. Im starving.”*
*”No. We talk now.”*
He scoffed. *”Look, you know meI dont drink, I dont cheat, I dont leave socks lying around. I work from home, earn a decent salary. I never ask you for anything. What more do you want?”*
A hollow laugh escaped her. *”You live in my flat. You dont pay rent or billsI do. The shopping, the cleaning, the cookingstill me. So tell me, whats the point of your money?”*
*”Well I bought a new jumper. Upgraded my gaming setup. Sent Mum and Aunt Margaret a bit now and then. Thats normal, isnt it?”*
*”Oh, perfectly normal,”* she mocked. *”Except this morning, I asked you to hang the laundry. Its still in the washing machine.”*
*”I was on a break”*
*”Switching tasks *is* a break.”*
*”I dont know how! Mum and Margaret never let me near the cooker or the hoover!”*
*”Right. You dont know how. Convenient, isnt it?”* She grabbed her coat. *”Well, from now on, if youre hungryfigure it out. Im not cooking. My mates invited me for coffee. I declined earlier, but Ill go. Good luck.”*
She yanked the damp clothes onto the drying rack, jabbed a finger toward the kitchen, and left.
At the café, wine in hand, her phone buzzedher mother-in-laws number. Emily silenced it and flipped the screen down.
When she returned, Margaret Whitmore was waiting in her flat.
*”Emily! Have you lost your mind? Divorce? Do you realise the man youve got? They dont make them like him anymore! He doesnt drink, doesnt cheat, doesnt leave mess everywhere! Women envy you!”*
Emily studied her coolly. *”You talk about him like hes a well-trained dog. Doesnt do anything wrongthats your entire pitch. But can you tell me one thing he does *right*for me?”*
*”He works!”*
*”So do I. Except I also clean, cook, haul shopping, pay all the billsfor both of us. What does he do?”*
*”He buys you gifts! I help him pick them!”*
*”Ah, that explains the foot spa at Christmas and the itchy scarf for my birthday.”*
*”What, you wanted gold?”* Margaret sneered.
*”A spa voucher or a weekend by the coast wouldnt have been rejected. But no. I get a scarf. And contempt. And the eternal I dont know how. I wont be his mother anymore.”*
*”Thats just how he is. In our family, men dont do those things.”*
*”Exactly. You raised a man who expects to be waited on. And hes fine with it. Im not.”*
*”Couldnt you at least try? Teach him”*
*”No. I wont teach a grown man how to be an adult. I tried. For eighteen months. Now Im done. Pack his thingsyou can take him wherever suits you. Im not cruel. Just exhausted.”*
Half an hour later, a cab idled outside the building.
