Youre not my wife, youre just a lodger, Victor snarled.
Wheres my shirt?! his voice thundered through the flat. I hung it on the chair yesterday!
Grace stood at the stove, stirring the porridge, not even turning. Steam rose from the pot, dripping onto the extractor. Outside, rain hammered the windows, the glass fogged and grey from the autumn drizzle.
Your shirts in the wash. It was dirty, she replied evenly.
Dirty?! I only wore it once! Victor stormed into the kitchen, flushed and ruffled. I have a meeting in an hour, and you decide to launder it now!
Victor, there was a coffee stain. I couldnt leave it, Grace said, turning to meet his exhausted eyes. Take another.
There are no decent ones! All wrinkled! Do you even iron anything?! he flung open the wardrobe, yanking shirts out and throwing them onto the floor.
Grace clenched the ladle until the bones in her fingers turned white. She stayed silent, counting to ten in her head. One, two, three
And what do you do all day, anyway? Victor continued, pulling at a crumpled white shirt. You just sit at home and accomplish nothing! No order, no proper meals!
The porridge is on the stove. The mince pies are in the fridge, just heat them up, she whispered.
Porridge! Mince pies! Im forty, and you feed me like Im a child! Victor snapped, buttoning his coat, tugging at his collar.
Grace turned back to the stove, a lump forming in her throat, her eyes tightening. She didnt cry. Shed learned long ago not to break down in front of him.
Victor slammed the door so hard the dishes in the sideboard rattled. Grace was left alone in the kitchen. She switched off the burner, covered the porridge with a lid. No one needed her. Victor stormed out, angry, and she, too, swallowed nothing, a tight knot coiling in her stomach.
She sat at the table, wrapped her hands around a mug of cooling tea. Outside, the rain whispered, grey drops racing down the windowpanes. October. Cold, damp, bleak.
Grace and Victor had been together eight years. Theyd met at the same firmshe a secretary, he a sales manager. Hed seemed a prince then: tall, confident, firm handshake. He courted her with restaurant dates and flowers. She fell hard, at thirtytwo, never married before, parents gone, living in a tiny rented room. Suddenly a man, a world of attention.
Six months later Victor proposed. Grace said yes without hesitation. Their wedding was modest, just close friends. Victor rented a twobedroom flat; they moved in together. The first year was happy. Victor was attentive, Grace tried to be the perfect wifecooking, cleaning, ironing, greeting him after work.
Then things shifted. Victor began coming home late, bruisedcheeked, irritable. He blamed work pressure, a demanding boss, scarce clients. Grace tried to support him, but he brushed her off. He started nitpicking: soup too salty, shirt not pressed right, the house too noisy when he wanted peace.
Grace endured, convincing herself it was a rough patch. Months passed, and his coldness deepened. They barely spoke, only exchanging necessities. He would sit in silence, eat, then retreat to the bedroom with his phone.
Grace kept asking what was wrong. Victor dismissed her concerns, saying she was imagining things, that he was just tired. One day he added, If youre bored, go to work.
She had quit her job after the wedding because Victor had said, Why waste your time in an office? Stay home, rest. I can support us both. So she settled into domestic life, reading, walking in the park, feeling content. When Victor finally suggested she return to work, she felt lost. The job market had changed; her age and lack of recent experience worked against her. She sent out a few CVs, got polite rejections, and Victor never raised the subject again.
That morning, another argument erupted over a shirt. Grace finished her tea, began cleaning the kitchenwashing the pot, wiping the stove, polishing the tablemechanically, her mind whirling. What had she done wrong? Why did Victor treat her this way? Had he stopped loving her, or never loved her at all?
Her phone buzzed. A text from her schoolfriend Olivia: Hey Gal, how are you? Fancy a coffee?
Grace hesitated, then replied, Sure. Meet at 3 near the tube?
Olivia was her only close friend, still in a stable job, married with kids, but they met whenever they could.
They met at a café near the underground. Olivia arrived, breathless, coat drenched, hair plastered to her face.
Sorry Im late! The traffic was awful! she shrugged off her jacket and sat opposite Grace. You look not great.
Grace forced a smile, it came out crooked.
Im fine, just tired.
Tired? Youre just at home all day, Olivia ordered a cappuccino. And Victor thinks Im a lazy housewife.
Again? Olivia frowned. Gal, how long can you put up with that? He doesnt value you!
But hes my husband. I love him, Grace whispered.
Love? Does he love you? When was the last time he said something nice, held you, asked about your day? Olivia leaned forward, eyes sharp. Be honest.
Grace searched her memorylast month? Two? Six months? Victor hadnt shown affection in ages. They were more like flatmates.
I dont know, she admitted. Maybe Im at fault. Maybe Im doing something wrong.
Stop blaming yourself! Olivia took Graces hand. Youre kind, caring. Any man would be lucky to have you. Victor just isnt up to the task.
Dont say that, Grace pulled away.
Fine, I wont. But thinkdo you want to keep living on tiptoe, pleasing him, and getting only criticism?
Grace stayed silent. Olivia sighed, sipped her coffee.
If you dont want to talk about it, thats fine. Tell me how life is, any news?
They chatted for another hour, but Grace couldnt relax. Olivias words lodged like a splinter. Was she really to blame? Did Victor truly see her as nothing?
Later that night Victor staggered home past midnight. Grace lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The front door slammed, dishes clanged as he shuffled into the kitchen, then the bedroom where he stripped off his coat.
Victor, have you had dinner? she asked quietly.
Ive eaten, he muttered without turning.
Was the meeting okay?
Fine.
Victor, can we talk? Grace sat up, switched on the bedside lamp.
About what? he pulled his pajama pants up, turning his weary, displeased face toward her.
About us. I feel somethings wrong. Weve drifted apart, she chose her words carefully.
Everythings fine. Youre imagining it, Victor lay back, facing the wall.
Im not imagining! You dont even listen to me! Do you even notice me? her voice cracked.
Im tired, Gal. Lets discuss tomorrow, he yawned.
No, now! It matters to me! she reached for his shoulder.
Victor snapped upright, irritation flaring.
What matters? What do you want to hear? That I love you? That everythings wonderful? Fine, Gal, I love you, everythings wonderful! Now can we sleep?
You dont love me, she whispered. Is that true? You dont love me.
Victor fell silent, his gaze drifting away, then said coldly,
Youre not my wife, youre a lodger. Thats the truth.
Grace froze. The words struck like a slap. Lodger. She was his lodger.
What? she managed to gasp.
You heard me. You live here, eat my food, spend my money. Whats the point? You cook poorly, clean halfheartedly, have no kids, refuse to work. Just a lodger, Victor said in a matteroffacts tone, as if commenting on the weather.
Grace couldnt believe her ears. Her husband of eight years, the man shed married, the man shed loved, reduced her to a tenant.
Victor, how can you say that? Im your wife! tears flooded her eyes, breaking the dam.
A wife on paper. In reality youre just paying rent in my flat, he pulled the blanket over himself. Good night.
Grace curled into a ball, sobbing uncontrollably, her body shaking. How could eight years of love, care, hope be erased in a single breath?
She rose, left the bedroom, walked to the kitchen, sat on a stool, wept until the tears ran dry, then sat there, empty, hollow.
By dawn she made a decision. She would no longer tolerate being a lodger in her own marriage. If Victor saw her only as a tenant, she had no place here.
When Victor staggered into the kitchen, Grace was already dressed, a suitcase at her side.
Where are you going? he asked, startled.
Im moving out. Since you call me a lodger, I have no reason to stay, she replied evenly.
Where will you go? You have no one! Victor frowned.
To Olivias. Shes offered me a place until I find a room, Grace said, gripping the suitcase.
Gal, dont make a scene. I said it in the heat of the moment, Victor stepped forward.
No. You said what you think, and youre right. I was just a lodger. I wont be any longer, she opened the door.
Gal, wait! Are you serious? his voice trembled with sudden worry.
Absolutely, she walked out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
She descended the stairs, called a cab, her hands shaking as she dialed Olivia.
Gal, whats happened? Olivia answered instantly.
I left him. Can I come over? Graces voice cracked.
Of course, come straight away! Olivia replied.
Olivia met her at the door with open arms, ushered her into a snug flat, set a strong tea on the table. Grace poured out everything. Olivia shook her head.
What a scoundrel! I knew it! she exclaimed. You did the right thing, Gal.
I dont know what to do now, Grace clutched her tea mug.
Well figure it out together. Rest first, get your bearings. Stay here as long as you need, then well see, Olivia said, hugging her friend.
Grace stayed with Olivia for a week. Victor called a few times, begged her to return, claimed hed overreacted. She didnt answer. She needed time to decide.
Olivia helped her land a job as an administrator at a small dental practice. The pay was modest, but enough to start. Grace felt alive againshe had a routine, responsibilities, colleagues. The dentist was fair, the staff friendly. She learned quickly.
A month later she rented a single room in a shared house, with its own kitchen and shower. Olivia helped move in, brought a few pieces of furniture. Grace bought fresh bedding, hung curtains, and for the first time in ages felt like the owner of a home, not a guest.
Victor stopped calling. Through mutual acquaintances she learned he was seeing a young woman from his office, about twentyfive. The news stung, but also lifted a weightshed made the right choice.
Six months later Grace filed for divorce. Victor didnt contest, signed the papers. Their split was quiet, no drama. There was nothing to splitno joint property, the flat was still rented.
Grace kept working at the practice, got promoted to senior administrator, received a raise, and moved into her own onebedroom flat. She decorated it with plants on the windowsill, hung art on the walls. It was her sanctuary.
One afternoon Olivia grinned, Gal, youre glowing. You look younger!
Grace laughed, feeling younger, freer. She no longer tiptoed around, no longer feared saying the wrong thing. She lived the way she wanted.
A new patient walked into the clinica man in his midforties, glasses, a warm smile. He signed up for an appointment, then lingered at the reception, chatting with Grace about procedures and prices, genuinely interested. When he left, he slipped a card onto the desk:
Im Sam. If you have any questions, give me a call.
Grace tucked the card into her coat pocket, later at home turning it over in her hands. She wasnt ready for another relationship yet; the wound from the divorce still throbbed.
A couple of days later Sam returned, booked another visit, then asked her out for coffee after work. Grace hesitated but his hopeful look convinced her.
They met at a café, sipped coffee, talked. Sam explained he was an engineer, divorced, no kids, lived alone. Grace shared her story, unembellished. Sam listened, nodding.
I get it. My ex treated me like an ATM, he said. After the divorce I felt reborn.
Same here, Grace smiled.
They met a few more times, casually, no pressure. Walks, movies, easy conversation. Sam was attentive but never pushy. Gradually Grace warmed up, allowing herself to be open again. Their friendship blossomed into a quiet romance, introductions to each others friends, evenings at Olivias, laughter.
Grace no longer feared. She knew her worth, knew what she wanted. If anything went wrong, shed surviveshed already survived.
One day, by chance, she spotted Victor on the street, arm in arm with the young woman from his office. He glanced at her, a brief, startled look. Grace offered a small smile and kept walking. No pain, no resentmentjust a past chapter closed.
Ahead lay a new life with Sam, a steady job, loyal friends, and most importantly, herselfstrong, confident, finally free.
