Dont forget, the Thompsons are coming over today, so whip up something special or order in but nothing clichéd! Nina Thompson said, knotting a silk scarf around her slender neck while applying the final touches of a powerdressed look. She swept her commands at her husband, Mark Spencer, like a CEO issuing board orders.
The dust on the balcony is getting a good enough coat to hide the laptop entirely. Give it a wipe, she added.
Since you stopped working out there, the dust has piled up, Mark replied calmly as he stepped out of the kitchen, a kitchen towel draped over his broad shoulder, a freshly washed childrens mug in his hand, and a cotton apron over his Tshirt. He moved to plant a quick kiss on Ninas cheek lips already tinted but she brushed him away, irritation flashing.
Do I have to farm the house too? Isnt the office enough? she snapped.
When you were at home we at least saw you, he said.
Thank heavens thats over! Nina tossed her handbag strap over her shoulder, puffing herself up. Tidy, wash, vacuum, collect the toys, cook satisfy everyone! And a thank you, maybe?
Come off it! No need to haul laundry to the river; the dishwasher does the dishes, the robot vac does the floors, and the girls he sighed, theyre just kids, theyll be a handful regardless.
Fine then, if thats how you see it. Im more useful at work than at home. Someone has to bring home the bacon, Nina said, swinging the front door shut.
Ninas mornings were scheduled to the minute: up at six, a quick jog (shed just taken up running), a contrast shower, breakfast, makeup and hair on the go. The London traffic jam outside her flat was a given, but she left early enough to avoid any delays that day.
A year earlier Marks mornings were similar, except he skipped the workout and lingered a few extra minutes in the warm bed beside his beloved wife. His job was a short walk away, so traffic was a nonissue. By six, or at the latest seven, hed be home, helping Nina with dinner or tidying up, playing with the girls, and often shepherding them to bed before tackling the next chore.
Everything changed twelve months ago. Their younger daughter, Poppy, had been at nursery for two years, the endless sniffles of the adjustment period finally behind them. The older one, Emily, was in Year 4 and now walked to and from the nearby primary school alone, even catching the tram to ballet lessons herself two stops, Mark had taught her to board.
Nina was offered a return to her old office job. She mulled it over: home life was fine, but she craved the buzz of a workplace. A quick promotion was promised, and she accepted.
Three months later Nina got her first raise, then another, plus extra perks and a flexible schedule she adored. Her family saw her less, but Mark explained everything. Nina struggled to juggle being housekeeper, mum, and doting wife. She arrived home exhausted and late.
They sat down and talked. Mark didnt want to gripe; he understood there was no talk of her quitting. They agreed to swap roles: Nina would work without worrying about domestic chores, and Mark would quit his job and take on the thankless side of family life.
Eventually youll find something remote, Nina urged at first, a hint of embarrassment that Mark would have to make porridge, hang and iron laundry, fetch the girls from nursery, drive them to the dentist and the speech therapist. Youll manage, I know you will.
Youre brilliant, Mark said, planting a kiss on Ninas crown. Those were our last cosy family evenings, so keep both home and work happy for you, he added, praising her.
Mark dove in headfirst. The endless texts about what went where, which load to wash, who to pick up at what time, all stopped. He handled the chores with ease. The housework didnt wear him down, the girls didnt irritate him as they sometimes did Nina after a long day. Meanwhile, Nina thrived at her firm, respected by colleagues and bosses, trusted with any task. The family compromise let her shine both as a woman and as a professional, and she felt a thrilling upward trajectory.
Youre home late, the dinners going cold, the girls greeted her at the hallway as she walked in from work. She untied the same silk scarf around her neck, the days endless tasks piling one on another. Is the Thompsons not coming?
What? Nina snarled. Marks driving me mad.
You said
Nina stared at Mark with a mixture of superiority and barelycontained disgust, as if he were a subordinate overstepping his bounds.
I said Id do it at the weekend! she snapped.
You mentioned today, he replied.
Mark, have you forgotten how to listen to me? she muttered irritably, marching into the living room. Whats this mess? Why didnt you change Poppys clothes? Whos tangled the curtains? She lunged at the window, yanking the drapes, Did you two play ball in the flat again? You cant do that in the hallway!
Mark, Emily, and little Poppy stood frozen, unsure how to defend themselves. They hadnt done anything malicious. Say something, Mom, or youll scold Dad, they whispered. Such scenes had become all too common lately.
This is how you expected guests? Nina gestured at the chaos.
Theyve got kids, theyll understandwe were just playing, Mark tried to explain.
Mark! Dont even think about it! Look at you: scruffy, shirt stretched, eyes glazed, Nina barked.
Mark, still in a cheery mood, winked at the girls: Mums joking, shes tired. He tried not to react to her provocations.
Lets head to the kitchen, well feed you. Exhausted? he asked gently.
Yes! Im fed up with this attitude! Is it really so hard to do what I ask? Even a fool could manage. You cant earn a living, nor can you cope with the mop and dirty plates, Nina fumed.
A flash of anger crossed Marks face, but he didnt argue in front of the children. He slipped into the kitchen and found yet another complaint waiting.
You ordered dinner, didnt think about me? I dont like spicy, greasy food. Make me a tea, since Im still hungry.
Make it yourself! Mark retorted, hoisting little Poppy onto his back and lifting Emily like a feather. Were off to brush teeth, its late, bedtime. Tomorrow the girls have nursery and school. By the way, Poppy had a photo shoot last week, I told you the pictures have been on the mantel for two days. You didnt even notice.
They fled, chuckling, the flat now quiet except for a few minutes of childish chatter in the bathroom and the splash of water. The nursery door closed and silence settled. Ten minutes later Mark returned to the kitchen. Nina was still at the table, sipping bitterness instead of hot teaher husband clearly didnt get her.
Calmed down? he asked. Whats up? Work trouble?
No! Everythings fine at the office, its just home
Nina, youre losing it! Mark leaned in, staring straight into her eyes. Im not your assistant, not your secretary, not a subordinate. I never nagged you over little things when you stayed home, even when there was cause. Youre not a robot; you can slip upthats 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 does the dishes, the washing machine washes, you can order foodwhy cant you handle basic tasks? Why?
Marks lips twitched with fury, but he held his tongue.
What have you become? A butler, a wretch, a housemanager. Youll soon grow a belly to match, he snapped.
Nina!
Dont shout, I see what youre getting at.
Mark stormed off to the bedroom. When Nina followed, he grabbed a pillow, trudged to the living room and declared, Tomorrow Im back at work! Find yourself another househelp.
Wimp! All because of a few dirty plates, youre running away, Nina shot back.
Mark, pillow under his arm, shuffled to the sofa. Nina fumed, then realised Mark couldnt go back to work just yet not tomorrow. She didnt chase him that night, apologised in the morning, and agreed he needed a job, but not immediately; they had to find someone to collect Poppy from nursery, help around the house. Her wait a bit stretched to three months; his bosslike tone at home became the norm. She left him a daily chore list, checked it each evening, and if even one item was missed, both he and the girls got a reprimand.
Tomorrow youll pick up Poppy yourself, Mark announced one day.
And you?
I cant. Were meeting friends.
Are you serious? Im working until seven, eight, sometimes ten, and youre off for a pint with the lads! I wont let you off! Ive got a planning meeting at seventhirty tomorrow.
Im not asking permission; Im giving notice. Your days are full of meetings and emergencies.
I said no! Mark shouted, grabbing his coat.
What are you doing? I wont let you go! Nina yelled down the hallway.
Im not your employee or housekeeper. Bye. He slammed the door, and Nina flung a string of barbs his way.
He didnt return that night. In the morning Nina left him a message with instructions: who to pick up, where to go. He didnt reply. Later, an unexpected call came from Poppys nursery: they needed someone to collect her, the last child left. Nina tore herself away from work, sprinted across town, firing angry texts at Mark. He stayed silent. That night he didnt come home.
Nina was furious, not jealous. She didnt care if he left; who needed him? People like him never left. Yet Mark kept his silence, and Nina only hurled negativity in messages. She had to manage alone, juggling work, exhausted nerves, sleepless nights, a dissatisfied boss, and nannies turning down the job one after another.
She called Mark, demanding he return.
Ill collect the girls at the weekend, but Im not coming back.
Youre serious? Enjoyed the quiet? Im not going to shoulder your kids any longer
Im filing for divorce, Mark said, hanging up, knowing Nina would have nothing sensible to say.
She was speechless. She couldnt believe hed stoop so low. The children witnessed their mothers frantic calls, hearing her curse him over the phone, calling him a nothing.
Later, Emily asked, Mum, why wont Dad ever come back?
Where would he go? Hell sit at Mums place and pop over now and then. Who does he need besides us? Nina replied smugly.
Emily walked off, realising Dad was gone for good and Mum wasnt going to change.
Mark returned to his old job, remarried a year after the divorce obviously hed need a mop, Nina thought wryly. He often took the girls for a week or two; Nina was fine with that.
The only thing that irked her was this: her exhusband, a nobody with no ambition, had quickly settled into a decent gig. She, meanwhile, was successful, smart, goodlooking, stylish, yet no man stuck around after a few dates; they vanished after the first meeting, leaving no hope or number. She began to wonderwhat was wrong with her?
