The air was thick with the scent of aftershave as Edward adjusted his tie in the hallway mirror. “Dont forget to make a proper dinner tonight,” he said without looking at her. “The boss is coming over. Need to make an impression.”
Margaret nodded silently, buttering toast that stuck in her throat when he added, “And for Gods sake, try to look presentable. Its embarrassing to be seen with you.”
The door slammed, leaving behind the ghost of his cologne and the weight of unspoken words. Margaret caught her reflection in the kettleforty-three, crows feet, grey roots she never had time to dye. When had it happened? When had she faded from the bright-eyed girl whod charmed young Edward the engineer into this tired housewife, unfit for company?
The flat greeted her with its usual silence. Eighteen-year-old Thomas was already at university, fourteen-year-old Emily sleeping over at a friends. Just her, the kitchen, and the endless list: laundry, groceries, that “proper dinner.”
At the shop, she moved mechanicallybeef, vegetables, the expensive wine Edward liked to serve guests. Ahead in the queue, a young mother rocked a fussing baby, murmuring sweet nothings. Margaret remembered rocking her own children, how Edward used to hug her from behind and whisper, “Weve got the best family in the world.”
When had he stopped? When had he last said he loved her?
Back home, old photos spilled from the drawergraduation, Edward grinning as he held her hand; their wedding, her in white, him unable to look away; Thomass birth, Edward kissing her forehead, radiant. Emilys first steps, both of them crouched on the floor, cheering.
Where had that happiness gone? Between mortgage payments and sleepless nights? Between his career climbs and her grocery lists?
She roasted the beef, tossed the salad. Automatic motions, honed over years. Then the phone rang.
“Maggie? Its Sarah.” Her best friends voice was a lifeline.
“Sarah! How are you?”
“Dont ask,” Sarah laughed. “Finalising the divorce.”
“What happened?”
“Just realised I was tired of being invisible in my own life. Fancy coffee? A proper chat?”
“Cant. Edwards bringing his boss tonight.”
“Again? When was the last time you did something for *you*?”
Margaret couldnt remember.
By six, the table was set, her best dress on, hair done. She checked the mirrorpresentable. Why had Edward said otherwise?
The guests arrived promptly: Edwards boss, Mr. Thompson, and his wife, along with another colleague. Margaret smiled, served, made small talk. Then Mrs. Thompson asked, “And what do you do, dear?”
“She keeps house,” Edward cut in, an apology in his tone.
“How lovely! Did you work before?”
“I was an accountant,” Margaret began, but Edward interrupted:
“That was years ago. Once the kids came, we agreed shed stay home.”
*We agreed?* She remembered the maternity leave, the illnesses, his mother moving in. Then Emily. Then Edward saying, *Why work? I earn enough. Just focus on the house.*
And she had. Laundry, meals, shopping. Days blurring into one.
Later, after the guests left, Edward beamed. “Made quite the impression. Mr. Thompson said Ive got a brilliant wife.”
“Brilliant housekeeper, you mean.”
“Whats wrong with that? Youre homefocus on home. Dont start with this nonsense.”
“Edward, remember what we dreamed of when we married? Travel, my finishing degreeyou said youd support anything.”
“Were adults now. Kids, responsibilities. No time for silliness.”
“My life is *silliness*?”
“Your life is our family. Isnt that enough?”
She wanted to say nothat she was suffocating, that shed forgotten what being alive felt like. But she stayed silent. As always.
The next morning, Edward left without a word. Margaret sipped coffee, flipping through old photos. One showed her holding a diploma from a training course. Shed wanted to grow, to build something of her own.
A knock startled hera courier with roses. “For Margaret Hayes?” The card read: *Thank you for last night. Youre a wonderful hostess. Kind regards, Mr. Thompson.*
When had Edward last brought her flowers?
Emily called later: “Mum, can I stay at Lucys? Were seeing a play tomorrow.”
“What about school?”
“Mum, its *Sunday*.”
Shed lost track of the days.
That evening, Edward worked late, ignoring her knock. “Dinner?”
“Later,” he snapped.
She ate alone, washed up, went to bed. He came in after midnight, turned to the wall. Not even a goodnight.
Sunday dawned emptyEdward had gone to his parents without her. *Youd be bored*, hed said.
Wasnt she bored here?
She dug out a bright dress Edward called “juvenile,” did her makeup, and leftno lists, no chores.
The park buzzed with life: families, couples, laughter. A young mother pushed a giggling child on the swings. An elderly man bought his wife ice cream. When had she and Edward last laughed together?
“Margaret? Margaret Hayes!”
She turned. Andrewa schoolmate she hadnt seen in fifteen yearsgrinned at her.
“Andrew! How are you?”
They talked for hours. Hed divorced recently, travelled the world as a photographer.
“Remember how you swore youd see Paris?” he said.
“Childish dreams.”
“Dreams dont expire,” he said. “Im forty-five and finally went last year.”
By evening, she felt alive for the first time in years.
“Come to my exhibition tomorrow,” he said at parting.
At home, Edward was waiting. “Where were you? I called.”
“Out. Phone died.”
“Out? The place is a mess!”
She glanced at two unwashed cups.
“Edward, I need time too.”
“Time from *what*? Sitting at home?”
“From living by your rules.”
He spun around. “*My* rules? I work nonstop to provide, and you complain?”
“I just want to *live*, not just exist.”
“Dont be daft.”
That evening, she went to the exhibition anyway. Andrews photos were stunningvibrant, full of life.
“Youre talented,” she said.
“And youre beautiful. And sad.” He hesitated. “Lifes too short to spend it unhappy.”
Edward was waiting when she got home.
“Where were you?”
“Sarahs.”
“I called Sarah. You werent there.”
“At an exhibition. With Andrew. We met in the park.”
Edwards face darkened. “Lying to me? Meeting men behind my back?”
“It was just”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Youre *my* wife. You stay home like a decent woman should!”
She wrenched free, hitting the wall. Pain shot through her back.
“Dont lie to me again,” he spat, storming off.
The next morning, he acted as if nothing happened. Andrew called later.
“Margaret, everything alright?”
“Fine.”
“Meet for coffee? Talk properly.”
“I cant.”
Days passed. Edward monitored her every movewhere she went, who she spoke to. Then Emily came home with a black eye.
“What happened?”
“Fight at school. Some girls said Dads a tyrant and youre a doormat. I hit one.”
Margaret sat heavily. Even the children saw it.
“Mum,” Emily whispered, hugging her, “you used to laugh. Now youre always sad.”
That night, Edward exploded over a missing yoghurt.
“One simple thing!”
“Edward, they were out”
“Too busy *dusting* to check another shop?”
Something in her snapped.
“Yes, its hard! Hard living with someone who treats me like staff! Hard being *invisible*!”
“Lara, calm down”
“Twenty years Ive swallowed it! When did you last ask what *I* want?”
“I provide”
“Provide? You dont even know Emilys friends names! Were just *background* to your perfect life!”
He stared, silent.
“Remember when we met? You said I was brilliant. Said wed conquer the world. Wheres *that* Edward?”
“We grew up.”
“No. You became selfish. I became a ghost.”
A pause. Then, coldly: “If youre so unhappy, maybe we should divorce.”
She froze. Shed expected apologies, promises. Not this.
“Maybe we should.”
The next day, Edward packed, slamming clothes into a suitcase.
“You ruined this,” he hissed. “We had a good life till you got ideas.”
“Good for *who*, Edward?”
“The kids
