“The Ideal Husband? When One Sentence Shatters a Marriage Built on Indifference”
“Youre the perfect husband, James.” How a simple sentence tore apart a marriage built on indifference.
Emily walked through the front door, arms straining under the weight of two heavy shopping bags. Before she could even set them down, a voice called from the living room:
“Finally back? Its already six?”
“Its seven,” she replied, exhausted, heading straight for the kitchen.
Three teacups on the table betrayed recent visitorsher mother-in-law had stopped by, likely with her sister Margaret in tow. Emily wasnt even surprised. It had become routine: unannounced visits, remarks about her “unladylike” habits, disapproving stares, and the lingering traces of strangers in her home.
“Where were you so long? Im starving,” James said without looking up from his laptop.
“At the supermarket. Stocking up for His Majesty,” she shot back dryly. “But actually, we need to talk.”
He ignored her. So she stepped closer, swivelled his chair toward her, and said calmly, “Were getting a divorce.”
James finally looked up, baffled. “What? Why?”
“Because Ive had enough.”
“Emily, can you just make dinner first? Well talk after. Im starving.”
“No. We talk now.”
“Look, you know meI dont drink, I dont go out, I dont mess around. I stay home, I work, I earn decent money. I never ask for anything. What more do you want?”
She laughed bitterly. “You live in my flat, pay neither rent nor billsthats all me. Groceries, cleaning, cookingstill me. So whats the point of your money?”
“Er I bought a jumper. Upgraded my game. Give a bit to Mum and Aunt Margaret now and then. Thats normal, isnt it?”
“Oh, absolutely. Very normal. Except this morning, I asked you to hang the laundry. Its still in the machine.”
“I was on a break”
“Switching tasks is also a form of rest.”
“But I dont know how. Mum and Margaret never let me near the cooker or the hoover.”
“I know. You dont know how to do anything. Convenient, isnt it? Well, starting today, if youre hungry, figure it out. Im not cooking. Some mates invited me for coffeeId said no, but Im going now. Good luck.”
She stood, hung the laundry, gestured sharply to the kitchen, and left. At the café, wine in hand, her phone buzzedher mother-in-laws number. She silenced it and flipped the screen face-down.
When she returned, Patricia Middleton was waiting in the flat.
“Emily! What on earth got into you?! A divorce?! Do you realise the man you have?! You wont find another like him! He doesnt drink, doesnt cheat, doesnt leave socks lying about! Women envy you!”
Emily studied her calmly. “You talk as if youre praising a well-trained dog. He does nothing wrongthats all you list. But can you name one thing he does right? For me?”
“He works.”
“So do I. Except I also clean, wash, iron, cook, lug heavy bags, pay for everythingfor both of us. And him? What does he do?”
“He buys you gifts! I know! I help him pick them!”
“Ah, so thats why I got a foot spa for Christmas and a woolly scarf for my birthday.”
“Expecting gold, are you?” her mother-in-law sneered.
“A spa voucher or a weekend at the seaside wouldnt have hurt. But no. I get a scarf. And contempt. And the eternal I dont know how. I wont mother him 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 that. Im not.”
“Couldnt you at least try before divorcing? Teach him”
“Sorry. Ive no interest in teaching a grown man to be an adult. I tried. For a year and a half. Not anymore. Pack his thingsyou can leave together, wherever suits you. Im not cruel. Just exhausted.”
Half an hour later, a taxi idled outside the building.
