“Hey, where are you off to?” she called from the kitchen.
“George, where are you going?” Beatrice peered out from the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron, staring at her husband with surprise.
George, a forty-five-year-old manager 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 taken care of the family. She believed a proper fry-upsausages, eggs, and toastwas the foundation of health and success. When the children were young, she rose before dawn. Three kids demanded total dedication, and Georges salary had allowed her to focus solely on the home.
He stayed silent. Watching Beatrice, his partner of twenty-five years, he convinced himselfhe was doing the right thing. It was time for a change.
His wife had gained weight lately, losing the spark in her eyes that once enchanted him. She no longer excited him. For that, there was Imogenyoung, sharp, with jet-black hair, met at a corporate event in Cornwall. Bold, like him. Thats why he stood there now, suitcase in hand.
Enough! Why stay with a woman he didnt love? The children were independent: James and Peter, graduates, worked in London; Catherine, in her fourth year of medical school, was still supported by him. As for his wife Why keep providing for her? Imogen was rightit was time to split the flat.
“Going on a trip?” Beatrice asked calmly. “You shouldve said. Id have made you sandwiches. Never good to leave on an empty stomach.”
“Always with the food!” George snapped, irritated by his own hesitation. “Think there arent cafés out there? You live in that kitchen like the world doesnt exist!”
“Has something happened?” Her voice remained gentle.
Shed suspected the affair for months. Knew this day would come. But she knew her husband.
“Im leaving!” he burst out. “Im living with someone else. A modern woman, not some housewife!”
“Congratulations,” she replied, as if commenting on the weather.
“Dont I deserve it?”
“You deserve better. Youre hardworking, clever, handsome”
“The flat will be split,” he said, softer now.
“Agreed. Well follow the law.”
George frowned at her ease. Hed expected shouting, not this calm.
“Get a job,” he warned. “I wont support you.”
“I dont need you to. Im remarrying.”
“Remarry?” He laughed, sceptical. “Whod want you?”
“Plenty. Women like me are sought after. Experienced, homely, good cooks And with a flat of my own after the settlement.”
His throat tightened. The thought of Beatrice with another man unsettled him.
“Ive got a meeting,” he muttered, setting down the suitcase. “Dont arrange anything today. Its disrespectful.”
At the office, doubt gnawed at him. Hed planned to return if things with Imogen fell through, but now
By evening, Imogen rang, impatient:
“Where are you? Ive picked a place in Mayfair! We need to furnish the bedroom and book the trip to the Bahamas. Remember your promise?”
“Whats for dinner?” he interrupted.
“Nothing. Im on a diet. We could order sushi”
George hung up. He thought of the shepherds pie Beatrice wouldve made, the quiet comfort of home. And the idea of another man calling her his wife.
No. That wouldnt happen.
