*The Ideal Husband? How a Single Sentence Shattered a Marriage of Indifference*
*”You’re the perfect husband, Oliver”how one simple phrase tore apart a union built on apathy.*
Charlotte staggered through the front door, arms laden with bulging shopping bags. The moment she crossed the threshold, a voice drifted from the sitting room:
“Finally back? Is it already half six?”
“It’s seven,” she sighed, trudging toward the kitchen.
Three teacups sat abandoned on the tableevidence of an unannounced visit. Her mother-in-law had been here, no doubt with Aunt Margaret in tow. Charlotte wasnt even surprised anymore. It had become routine: sudden appearances, remarks about her “unladylike” ways, disapproving glances, and these lingering traces of outsiders in her own home.
“Whereve you been? Im starving,” Oliver muttered, eyes glued to his laptop.
“At the supermarket. Feeding His Majesty,” she shot back dryly. “Actually, we need to talk.”
He ignored her. She stepped forward, swivelled his chair toward her, and said evenly, “Were getting a divorce.”
Oliver blinked. “What? Why?”
“Because Ive had enough.”
“Charlotte, cant you just make dinner first? Well talk after. Im famished.”
“No. We talk now.”
“Look, you know meI dont drink, dont go out, dont mess about. I stay in, I work, I earn decent money. I never ask for anything. What more do you want?”
She let out a hollow laugh.
“You live in *my* flat. You dont pay rent or billsthats on me. The shopping, the cleaning, the cookingstill me. So whats the point of your money?”
“Well I bought a jumper. Updated my game. Give a bit to Mum and Aunt Margaret now and then. Thats normal, isnt it?”
“Of course. Perfectly normal. 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.”
“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. Very convenient, isnt it? Well, starting today, if youre hungry, sort it yourself. Im done cooking. Some friends invited me for coffeeId said no, but now Ill go. Best of luck.”
She stood, hung the laundry, jabbed a finger toward the kitchen, and left.
At the café, wine in hand, her phone buzzedher mother-in-laws number. She silenced it and flipped the screen down.
When she returned, Beatrice Holloway was waiting in the flat.
“Charlotte! What on earths gotten into you?! A divorce?! Do you realise what youve got?! Men like Oliver dont grow on trees! He doesnt drink, doesnt cheat, doesnt leave socks lying about! Women envy you!”
Charlotte studied her calmly.
“Youre talking like youre praising a well-trained dog. He doesnt do anything *wrong*thats 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, haul heavy bags, pay for everythingfor both of us. And him? What does he do?”
“He buys you gifts! I knowI help him pick!”
“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 day or a weekend at Brighton wouldve been nice. But no. I get a scarf. And contempt. And that eternal I dont know how. I wont play mother to 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 it. Im not.”
“Couldnt you at least *try* before divorcing? Teach him”
“Sorry. Ive no interest in teaching a grown man how to be one. I tried. For a year and a half. Not anymore. Pack his thingsyou can take him wherever suits you. Im not cruel. Just exhausted.”
Half an hour later, a cab idled outside the building.
