**Diary Entry 9th March**
*”Your times up,” he said, nodding towards the door.*
“That smell again! I asked you not to smoke inside!” Emily flung open the living room windows, her hands shaking as she pushed back the curtains. “Good Lord, even the sofa reeks. What will Lydia and her husband think when they come for dinner?”
“And what *should* they think?” Mark deliberately stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “That a normal man lives hereone who occasionally smokes. Big deal.”
“Normal men, *Mark*, smoke on the balcony or outside. Not poison their family with second-hand fumes. I get headaches because of you.”
“Here we go.” He rolled his eyes. “Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and suddenly its a problem. Maybe its the menopause, love.”
Emily froze, lips pressed tight. Lately, hed been needling her about agealways aiming where it hurt most.
“Whats that got to do with it?” She turned to the window to hide the sting in her eyes. “Im asking for basic respect. Is stepping outside really so hard?”
“Respect?” He scoffed. “Wheres yours for *me*? After work, I want to sit with my tea and smoke in peace. Not run about like a schoolboy. This is *my* house!”
“*Our* house,” she corrected softly.
“Right, *ours*.” His jaw tightened. “Except *I* pay the mortgage. *I* covered the renovation. That new coat of yours? My money.”
Emily exhaled. Shed heard this a thousand times. Yes, shed left her job fifteen years agofirst for the children, then caring for his mother, then just habit. And Mark had made sure she never forgot it.
“I dont want another row,” she said wearily. “Just smoke on the balcony. Lydia has asthmaitll be hard for her to breathe.”
“Fine.” Unexpectedly, he relented. “For your precious Lydia, Ill step outside. But just tonight.” He rose, tossing over his shoulder, “And why invite them? Ive a big meeting tomorrow. I need sleep, not to entertain your dull friends.”
“Theyre not just friends,” she countered. “Michaels the head librarian. He might help me find work.”
Mark turned slowly. “What *work*?”
Emily hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, once things were settled. Now she had no choice.
“I want a job at the library. Three half-days a week. The children are grown, youre always at the office”
“Wholl manage the house?” he cut in. “The cooking, cleaning, laundry?”
“Ill manage. The children hardly visit now, and”
“Your mother does, every week. Always expecting pies and roasts.”
“Mum *helps*,” Emily snapped. “And its not that often.”
Mark waved a hand. “Whatever. But this job is nonsense. Youre forty-seven. Stay homeembroider, read, whatever entertains you.”
“*Read*?” Her voice sharpened. “Mark, do you even remember I have a *degree* in English? That I taught literature before the children?”
“So? That was twenty years ago. Times change. Whod hire you with that outdated CV?”
“The *library* would.” Her knuckles whitened on the counter. “I dont need a fortune. I need purpose. To feel capable of more than scrubbing pans and ironing your shirts.”
“Charming.” His lip curled. “So home and family arent worthy for someone as clever as you?”
“You know thats not what I meant.” She turned away. “Lets discuss this later. The guests will be here soon.”
In the kitchen, her pulse raced. Every talk lately became a battle. When had it started? Theyd met at universityboth bookish, dreaming of poetry. Then came marriage, children, his rise at the publishing firm. Shed stayed home, her own books gathering dust. She hadnt noticed the changethe romantic boy hardening into a man who cared less for her thoughts with each passing year.
Lydia and Michael arrived promptly at seven. Michael, a bearish man with a peppered beard, launched into politics with Mark. Lydia, sharp-eyed and spry, followed Emily to the kitchen.
“Howd he take the job news?” she whispered, slicing tomatoes.
“Badly. Hes against it.”
“Men hate change,” Lydia sighed. “Especially when it inconveniences them.”
“Id still handle the housejust three short shifts.”
“To him, thats catastrophe.” Lydia chuckled. “*He comes home, and youre not there! The horror!*”
They laughed, the tension easing.
Dinner began civilly. Mark was all charm, quizzing Michael on new releases. Emily dared to hopeperhaps the storm had passed.
“Speaking of books,” Lydia said brightly, “have you told Mark about the reading group?”
“What group?” Marks fork halted mid-air.
Emilys stomach dropped. “Iwe discussed me leading a childrens literary circle. At the library.”
“And when was this meant to start?” His voice chilled.
“Next month,” Lydia blithely answered. “Two hours, twice weekly. Barely a commitment.”
“Fascinating.” Mark set down his cutlery. “And you didnt think to consult me?”
“I tried today,” Emily murmured.
“I recall no *consultation*.” He addressed the guests. “Emilys developed a *whim* for work. At her age, its unwise.”
“Why?” Michael frowned. “Shes highly educated. Wed value her.”
“Perhaps.” Marks smile was glacial. “But she has obligationsto *me*. I forbid it.”
Silence. Lydia shot Michael a panicked look. He cleared his throat. “This roast is superb, Emily. Lydia must get the recipe.”
The rest of the evening limped byweather, news, anything but *the topic*. After they left, Emily stacked dishes in silence.
“How long were you hiding this?” Mark loomed in the doorway.
“I wasnt. I waited for the right time.”
“And when would that be? After youd already started?”
“Why are you so angry? Its just a *job*. Not an affair.”
“To me, its betrayal.” He crossed his arms. “We agreed: you keep the home, I provide. That was the deal.”
“Twenty years ago! The children are gone. I need to feel *useful*.”
“So home isnt useful?” He stepped closer. “Admit ityoure bored. Want freedom. New *friends*?”
“What? This is about *purpose*”
“Spare me.” His laugh was bitter. “Ive seen purpose at the office. First jobs, then office flings, then divorce.”
“Christ, Mark.” Her voice broke. “You think Id take a *lover* between dusty books and elderly readers?”
“I think,” he said coldly, “you wont work. End of discussion.”
Something in her snapped.
“Im taking the job. Ill call Michael tomorrow.”
Mark stared. “*What*?”
“I need to feel like a *person*, not a housemaid.”
“Fine.” He spun on his heel. Minutes later, he returned, thrusting her handbag and coat at her.
“Your times up. If you decide without me, you can live without me. *Leave*.”
“Youre *kicking me out*? Over a *library job*?”
“Its about principle. You broke our vow.”
She numbly slipped on the coat. This couldnt be real.
“Youre serious?”
“Deadly. Go.”
At the door, she turned. “The saddest part? You never asked *why* I need this. You just commandedlike Im property, not your wife.”
“Enlighten me, then.”
“Because Im terrified,” she whispered. “That one day, you wont come home. Youll leave me for that young editor youve been staying late with*Olivia*, isnt it? Her calls every night, you whispering on the balcony Walls are thin, Mark. Im not deaf.”
He paled. “Thats”
She shut the door behind her.
The night air was cool, clean. For the first time in years, she breathed freely.
Pulling out her phone, she rang Lydia. “Its Emily. Can I come over? Now?”
As she walked, it struck herhow life shifts. This morning, shed imagined decades more in that stifling flat. Now, stepping into the unknown, she felt lighter.
Her phone buzzed*Mark Calling*. She declined, powered it off.
Her time *was* up. The time of fear, of shrinking herself. Whatever came next would be hers alone. And for once, she was ready.
