“Hey, where are you off to?” she called from the kitchen.
“George, where are you going?” Beatrice peeked out, drying her hands on her apron, her gaze fixed on her husband with quiet surprise.
George, a forty-five-year-old executive at a prestigious construction firm, had made up his mind. While his wife prepared breakfast, he had packed his suitcase. Now, standing in the doorway of their spacious Chelsea flat, he felt the weight of his decision.
Beatrice had always been the heart of the family. She believed a proper fry-upwith sausages, eggs, and toastwas the foundation of health and success. When the children were young, she rose before dawn. Three kids demanded her full attention, and Georges salary had allowed her to focus solely on home life.
He stayed silent, watching Beatrice, his wife of twenty-five years, and convinced himselfthis was right. It was time for a change.
She had put on weight lately, losing the spark in her eyes that once enchanted him. She no longer excited him. For that, there was Isabelleyoung, sharp, with raven-black hair, whom hed met at a corporate event in Brighton. Bold, just like him. Thats why he stood there now, suitcase in hand.
Enough! Why stay with a woman he didnt love? The kids were independent: James and Peter, both graduates, worked in London; Catherine, in her fourth year of medical school, still relied on his support. As for his wife Why keep providing for her? Isabelle was rightit was time to split the flat.
“Going somewhere?” Beatrice asked calmly. “You shouldve said. Id have made you sandwiches. Its not good to leave on an empty stomach.”
“Always with the food!” George snapped, annoyed he couldnt just say it outright. “You think there arent cafés out there? You live in that kitchen like the rest of the world doesnt exist!”
“Has something happened?” Her voice remained gentle.
She had suspected the affair for months. She knew this day would come. But she understood her husband.
“Im leaving!” he burst out. “Im with someone else. A woman of this century, not some housewife!”
“Congratulations,” she replied, as if discussing the weather.
“Dont I deserve it?”
“You deserve more. Youre hardworking, clever, handsome”
“The flat will be split,” he said, softening slightly.
“Agreed. Well do everything by the book.”
George frowned at her ease. Hed expected shouts, not this quiet acceptance.
“Get a job,” he warned. “I wont support you.”
“I dont need you to. Im remarrying.”
“Remarry?” He laughed. “Whod want you?”
“Plenty. Women like me are in demand. Experienced, domestic, good cooks And with a flat of my own after the settlement.”
He swallowed hard. The thought of Beatrice with another man unsettled him.
“Ive got a meeting,” he muttered, setting down the suitcase. “Dont plan anything today. Its disrespectful.”
At the office, doubt gnawed at him. Hed planned to return if things fell through with Isabelle, but now
By evening, Isabelle called, impatient.
“Where are you? Ive found a place in Mayfair! We need to furnish the bedroom and book that trip to Australia. You remember your promise?”
“Whats for dinner?” he interrupted.
“Nothing. Im on a diet. We could order Thai”
George hung up. He thought of the shepherds pie Beatrice would have made, the quiet comfort of home. And the idea of another man calling her his wife.
No. That wouldnt happen.
