Nothing but the grind, I shouted as I slipped a silk scarf around Emilys neck, giving the finishing touch to her powerlady look. Make something special for dinner tonight, or just order inno boring stuff! I barked, handing my husband, James, a list of house chores. The balconys got a layer of dust, the laptops going to disappear if we dont wipe it down.
James, calm as ever, stepped out of the kitchen. He had a kitchen towel draped over his broad shoulder, a halfwashed mug in his hand, and an apron over his tee. He tried to plant a quick kiss on my cheekmy lipstick still freshbut I brushed him off. Do I have to work at home now? Isnt the office enough? I snapped.
You stopped working here, so the dust built up, he replied, shrugging.
Remember when you were homebased? We at least saw you, I retorted.
Thank heavens thats over, I said, tossing my handbag over my shoulder proudly. Clean, laundry, vacuum, toys, dinnerplease, can I get a thankyou?
James sighed. We dont need to wash the laundry by the river, the dishwasher does the dishes, the robot vac does the floor, and the girlswell, theyre just kids, theyll be a handful.
Fine, if thats how you see it. Im more useful at the office than at home. Someones got to bring in the money, I said, slamming the door behind me.
My mornings are scheduled to the minute: up at six, a quick run (Ive just taken up jogging), a contrast shower, breakfast, then makeup and hair on the go. The city traffics a nightmare, but I leave early enough to avoid a jam, unless something at home holds me uplike today.
A year ago Jamess mornings looked the same, except hed linger a few minutes longer in our warm bed, enjoying a lazy stretch with me. His job was just a short drive away, so traffic never bothered him. Hed be home by six or seven, help me with dinner, tidy up, and play with the girls. He often put the little ones to bed, then helped me clear the living room.
Everything changed a year back. Our younger daughter, Molly, turned two and started nursery, finally outgrowing the endless runnynose phase. Our older girl, Lucy, is in Year4 now; she walks to the nearby primary school alone and even catches the bus to ballet on her owntwo stops, just as I taught her. The firm offered me a chance to return to a fulltime office role, promising quick promotion. I thought about it for a while; home was fine, but I craved the buzz of the office. I took the job.
Within three months Id got my first raise, then another, plus extra perks and a flexible schedule that I loved. The girls barely saw me, but James explained everything to them. I was stretched thinhousewife, mother, wifecoming home exhausted and late every night.
James and I finally sat down and talked it out. He never meant to nag; he knew I wasnt quitting. We decided to swap roles: Id focus on work, and James would quit his job and take over the household duties.
At some point youll find something remote, I urged him, feeling a bit embarrassed that hed have to cook porridge, wash and iron clothes, pick up the kids from nursery, drive them to the dentist, and take Molly to her speech therapist. Youll manage, I know you will.
Youre brilliant, he whispered, kissing my forehead. Those were our last cosy evenings together. Youre doing great both at home and at work, he praised.
James slipped into the domestic groove fast. The endless texts about laundry, whos doing what, and school pickups stopped. He handled everything without complaint; the girls didnt bug him like they did me after a long day. Meanwhile, my company valued me, trusted me with big projects, and I was finally climbing the ladder.
One night I got home late, my dinner cooling on the table. Lucy and Molly were waiting in the hallway. I untied the silk scarf again, feeling the days weight. Wheres the Nechaev family? I muttered.
What? James snapped, annoyed.
You said youd?
I glared at him, halfdisdainful, halfexasperated. I said this weekend!
You mentioned today.
James, are you not listening to me? I snapped, marching into the living room. Whats with this mess? Why didnt you change Mollys clothes? Whos tugging at the curtains? Was there a ball game in the flat again? Can you not play that outside?
The kids stood there, unsure what to say. Its become a regular thing lately.
Is this the impression you want to give our guests? I gestured at the chaos.
Theyre kids, theyll understandwe were just playing.
Honestly, James! Look at yourselfmessy hair, stretched shirt, that blank stare.
James tried to stay upbeat, winking at the girls. Come on, love, lets get you something to eat. Still hungry?
Im fed up! Can you even manage the simplest thing I ask? I retorted, feeling my patience snap. You cant earn a living, and you cant handle a mop and dirty plates.
A flash of anger crossed his face, but he kept his cool with the kids watching. I headed to the kitchen, ready to pick apart his mistakes.
You ordered dinner, but you didnt think about me? I dont like spicy, greasy food. Make me a tea, Im starving.
Make it yourself! James shouted, hoisting Molly onto his back and lifting Lucy like a feather. Were brushing teeth, its late, off to bed. Tomorrow school and nursery. By the way, Molly had a photo shoot last week; the pictures have been on the mantel for two days. You never noticed.
They left, laughing, while the bathroom echoed with childrens chatter and water splashing. Ten minutes later James returned to the kitchen. I was still at the table, stewing over my tealess disappointment.
Calmed down? he asked. Anything at work?
No, works fine. Its home thats a mess.
Emily, youre losing it! James leaned in, his tone serious. Im not your assistant, Im not your secretary, Im not a subordinate. I never nitpicked when you were home, because youre not a robotyou could miss a thing, thats okay. Well sort it together.
Its easy for you to say! I used to juggle the girls and work from home. Now theyre older, they understand. You always said the dishwasher, washing machine, and food delivery would handle everything. Why cant you handle the basics?
Jamess mouth twitched with fury, but he held back. What have you become? A loafer, a nobody, a housemanager. Youll grow a belly soon.
Emily!
Dont shout, I get it, he muttered, storming off to the bedroom. He grabbed a pillow, headed to the lounge, and tossed out, Im going back to work tomorrow. Find yourself another house help.
Wimp! All because of a few dirty plates, I shouted after him.
He slung the pillow over his shoulder and left. I paced, realizing James couldnt start a new job that night, not tomorrow. I didnt chase after him, apologised in the morning, and agreedhed need time to find someone to pick up Molly, drive the girls, etc. My wait a bit stretched to three months; his bossy tone at home became the norm. I left him a daily chores list and checked it each evening. If anything was missing, we both got a lecture.
One day youll have to pick up Molly yourself, James said one night flatly.
And you? I asked.
I cant. Ive got friends out.
Great! Im pulling twelvehour shifts, and youre off drinking with mates! I wont let you off. Ive got a planning meeting at seven tonight.
Im not asking permission, Im informing you. Youve got meetings or emergencies every day.
I said no!
James headed for the coat rack. Where are you going? I yelled down the hall. Im not letting you leave!
Im not your employee or housekeeper. Bye. He slammed the door, and I hurled a string of insults his way.
He didnt come home that night. In the morning I sent him a message with a list of taskswho to pick up, where, what to do. He didnt reply. Later that day a nursery teacher called, saying Molly was the only child left and needed to be collected. I sprinted across town, typing angry texts to James along the way. He stayed silent. He didnt return that night.
I was furious, not jealouswho needs a man like that? But James kept quiet, and I kept venting over texts. I had to manage everything myself. I was surviving, but after two weeks I was drainednerves frayed, sleepless nights, a harsh boss, nannies pulling out one after another.
I called James, demanding he come home. Ill pick up the girls on the weekend, but Im not coming back, he said.
Youre serious? You liked the stressfree life? I wont be stuck with your kids either
Im filing for divorce, he said, hanging up. I was speechless. I couldnt believe hed go that far. The kids heard my angry voice over the phone, calling me a waste.
Later, Mom was helping Lucy with a stubborn stain on a school blouse. How did you get that on the sleeve? she asked. Lucy pulled out a blue packet of oxygen bleach. Just soak in hot water then wash at forty. Works every time. Mom sighed, remembering how many tiny chores James used to handle so I could focus on work.
They eventually split. I set a schedule for the kids, and James still picks up Molly from nursery and drives Lucy wherever she needs to goquietly, without hearing my bosss shouting. One day Lucy asked, Mum, will dad ever come back? I answered, Hell be around, just not in the way you expect. She walked off, understanding.
James went back to his old job and, a year after the divorce, remarried. Hed occasionally take the girls for a week or two, which suited me. The only thing that still irritated me was how my ex, now a nonambitious drudge, managed to land a decent gig so quickly. Im successful, smart, and goodlooking, but men I meet either disappear after a first date or never call back. So I started looking inwardwhats wrong with me?
And thats where we are now, love. Quite a mess, huh? But at least weve both figured out who we are.
