28October
Im writing this after what feels like an entire lifetime of shouting, tears and the cold bite of an October night. Victor found a set of foreign keys in my handbag, threw me out of the flat without even letting me explain, and the whole world seemed to tilt on its axis.
It all started this morning. Victor burst into the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear, voice sharp.
Youve taken my debit card again! he roared.
I was at the sink, hands slick with suds, my apron damp.
Which card? I havent touched yours. I said, wiping my palms on a towel.
Dont lie! It was on the table in my drawer, and now its gone! he snapped.
I tried to stay calm. Eighteen years of marriage have taught me to expect these sudden eruptions, but each one still cuts deep.
Victor, please, lets look for it together. Maybe it slipped somewhere.
No point looking! Youve taken it because you want to spend my money again!
My money? I have my own salary!
Teachers wages, barely enough for a cup of tea!
I worked as a primaryschool teacher, earning a modest £23,000 a year. It wasnt much, but it was mine.
Lets just find the card, no arguing.
Victor huffed and stalked out of the kitchen. I heard the slam of bedroom doors as he rifled through drawers. I went back to washing the dishes, the everyday clatter of a Monday evening: plates, mugs, a pot of soup. Id just returned from school, cooked dinner, fed Victor and our daughter Olivia, who was at the moment hunched over her homework in her room. Victor always seemed to find a reason for a fight.
Natalie! Come here! he shouted from the hallway.
I set my hands on the counter and followed. He stood with my bag in his hands, dumping its contents onto the side table.
What are you doing? I asked.
Checking! If youre taking my things, I have the right to check yours!
Victor, thats not right! Put the bag back where it belongs!
From the bag tumbled my wallet, phone, hairbrush, lipstick, a pack of tissues. Then something clinked a set of keys, but not the ones I always carry. Different ones.
Victor froze, holding the bundle, turning it over.
Whats this?
I dont know, I said honestly, surprised myself. How did they get in there?
You dont know? Other peoples keys in your bag, and you have no idea?
I swear I didnt put them there. I have no idea how they got there.
He stared at the keys, then at me, his face flushing a deep red.
Whose flat do those belong to?
I have no clue!
Lying! Youve got a lover! Those are his keys!
The floor seemed to drop beneath me.
What? A lover? Are you out of your mind?
Then explain how foreign keys ended up in your bag!
I dont know! Maybe someone put them there by mistake!
Who would mistakenly put keys in the wrong bag?
Maybe a colleague?
Stop lying! Ive figured it out youre having an affair!
Victor, that isnt true! Ive never been unfaithful!
Shut up! he hurled the keys onto the floor. Eighteen years together and this is how you repay me!
I didnt do anything wrong! Lets talk calmly!
Theres nothing to talk about! Pack your things and leave!
I stood frozen, my throat dry.
What did you just say?
I said get out of my flat! I wont have a cheating wife under my roof!
This is our flat, Victor! We live here together! Olivia lives here too!
Its my flat! Its under my name! I can evict anyone I want!
Victor, please! Listen to me!
I wont! Im tired of your lies! Out!
He snatched my coat from the rack and flung it at me.
Go!
Olivia peered out of the hallway, eyes wide with fear. Shes fourteen, and our arguments always knock her down a notch.
Olivia, go to your room, I whispered.
No, Victor said, turning to his daughter. Let her see what kind of mother she has.
Victor, stop! Not in front of her!
Then leave yourself! I dont want you here!
I looked at Victors reddened face, fists clenched, eyes burning. Id never seen him like this. He could be hottempered, but I never thought hed actually throw me out.
Fine, I said quietly. Ill go. Its a misunderstanding, Victor. I did nothing wrong.
Get out now!
I slipped on my coat, grabbed my bag, and the foreign keys fell onto the floor again. I tried to pick them up, but Victor kicked them away.
Dont even think about it! Let them lie as proof!
The door slammed shut behind me, the lock clicking with finality. I stood on the landing, still in my kitchen apron, trying to comprehend how Id gone from washing dishes to being locked out of my own home.
My feet carried me down the stairs and out into the cold, dark October wind. I stopped by the blocks entrance, pulling my phone from my pocket. Who could I call? My parents had long since passed, my sister lived up north, and my friend Irene was crammed into a tiny onebed flat with three kidsno room for me.
A message buzzed from Irene:
Nat, sorry, I forgot to tell you! I left the school keys in your bag when we were having tea in the staff room. You were out on paperwork. Ill collect them tomorrow morning, okay? Thanks for holding onto them!
I read it three times. The keys were from the school, a spare set Irene kept for emergencies. She had asked me to keep them safe while she dealt with the local education office. Id agreed, then forgotten.
My hands trembled as I dialed Victors number. The line rang, clicked, rang again. No answer. I texted:
Victor, those are the school keys! Irene left them! Its a mistake!
No reply. I tried again, same result. I leaned against the stairwell, the cold seeping through my thin coat. My mind was a blank.
I walked aimlessly down the street, not knowing where I was headed, just trying not to stand still. I reached the bus stop and sat on a bench. An elderly woman with grocery bags sat beside me.
Everything all right, love? she asked gently. You look pale.
Just family problems, I managed a smile.
Your husband?
Ive been thrown out of my house.
Oh dear. And why?
I told her about the keys. She shook her head.
Men can be dense. They shout, they kick, then they cool off and think. Youll see, the little one will make him realise hes wrong. He cant cook or clean without you.
Her words struck a chord. She introduced herself as Valentina James, seventytwo, living alone since her husband died. She offered me a cup of tea in her flat upstairs, just next door.
We climbed three flights to a cosy oneroom flat, curtains with floral prints, knitted tea towels, fresh flowers on the windowsill. She poured tea, handed me a biscuit.
Sit, dear. Warm yourself, she said. Its lonely when the house is empty.
We talked, and she shared stories of her own marriage, of fights and makeups, of love being stronger than pride.
My phone buzzed again. A text from Olivia:
Mum, where are you? Dads angry, says nothing. Im scared.
I replied, Olivia, dont be afraid. Im fine. Dads just having a bad mood. Go to bed, love you.
She sent another:
Mum, is it true you have a lover?
My heart clenched. Victor had already turned our daughter against me.
No, love, its not true. The keys belong to Irene, from the school, I typed. Dad just made it up.
She answered, I believe you, Mum, but Dad wont. Hes shouting, hitting the table, saying all women are the same.
Its okay, sweetheart. Ill figure something out, I whispered to the phone.
Later, Valentinas tea turned into dinner. She listened as I recounted everything, her eyes soft with understanding.
Your daughter is scared because her dad is feeding her lies, she said. Children are smarter than we think; shell see the truth.
She suggested I look for a place to stay. The next day a colleague, Sarah, offered a spare room in her house for a symbolic rent. I moved in, set up my own little sanctuary, away from shouting and accusations.
Work at the primary school went on, though I was pale and my eyes bloodshot. The headmistress, Mrs. Eleanor Clarke, called me into her office.
Natalie, are you ill? she asked.
No, Im fine, I replied, fighting tears.
She pressed a hand on my shoulder. Your husbands behaviour is unacceptable. Hes not listening, and thats cowardly. If he cant trust you, thats his problem, not yours.
After school, Olivia called again.
Mum, where are you?
Im still at work, love. Whats up?
Dad said youll never come back. He said I have a lover and that you stole him.
My chest tightened. I tried to stay calm.
Olivia, I have no lover. Those keys belong to Irene. Dads angry, thats all. I love you, darling.
She whispered, I love you too, Mum. Im scared.
I told Valentina everything that night. She gave me practical advice: stop feeling sorry for yourself, find a place, talk calmly with Olivia, prove Victor wrong.
The weeks passed. I never heard from Victor again. I settled into my new routine: teaching, meeting Olivia after school, staying with Sarahs family. One evening, there was a knock at the door. Victor stood there, hair unshaven, shoulders slumped.
May I come in? he asked.
For what?
I need to talk.
I let him in. He looked around my modest flat, then sat heavily on the chair.
Im sorry, Natalie, he began, voice low. I was wrong. I didnt listen, I threw you out. It was the school keys, Irene explained everything. I was jealous, angry, and I blamed you.
I stared, feeling the old hurt rise.
You humiliated me, Victor. You accused Olivia, you kicked me out, you never gave me a chance to speak.
I know. Im a fool. I promise Ill change.
He asked to come back, to take Olivia home. I told him I needed time to think.
How much time? he asked.
I dont know. A week, maybe two. I have to sort my feelings.
He nodded, left, and I sat by the window watching the street below, pondering forgiveness or a fresh start.
I called Valentina, telling her about his visit.
See? I told you hed think again. Now its your choice. Go back or not?
I thought of the eighteen years, the shared memories, the pain Victor caused, and the small, quiet life Id rebuilt. I also thought of Olivia, still a child caught between parents.
Victor called daily, asking after me, never pressuring. Olivia also called, hoping Id return. She said, Dad is nicer now, he cooks, cleans, says he understands.
I replied, I need a bit more time, love.
Two weeks later I called Victor.
Ill come back, but on one condition.
Whats that?
No more accusations without hearing me first. If something bothers you, talk about it calmly. No shouting, no blaming.
I promise, he said, earnest.
And apologise to Olivia for turning her against me.
I will, he promised.
Ill be home on Sunday.
Sunday arrived. I packed my things, thanked Sarah, and visited Valentina one last time.
Ready to go back? she asked.
Yes. Im giving him another chance.
She smiled, Family is precious, but dont lose yourself. If things go wrong again, leave straight away.
Back at the flat, Victor greeted me at the door, carrying my bags, while Olivia ran into my arms, not letting go. The kitchen was tidy, a modest dinner laid out.
Its my first attempt, Victor said proudly, presenting a slightly overcooked roast and a crooked salad.
Its lovely, thank you, I replied, smiling despite the uneven food.
After Olivia went to bed, Victor and I sat at the kitchen table. He apologized again, swearing he would change. I listened, hopeful but cautious.
Why did you come back? he asked.
Because I love you, and I believe people can change. You have a second chance, Victor. Dont waste it.
I wont, he said, eyes earnest.
Life has settled back into a familiar rhythm: school, work, evenings with tea, occasional arguments that resolve quickly. Victor truly seems calmer now, helping with chores, asking about my day. Trust is slowly rebuilding.
Six months later, as I sip tea with Victor and watch Olivia doing her homework, I realize the worst days are behind me. Those terrifying moments of being tossed out of my own home remain a stark reminder that respect and trust are the foundations of any relationship. I survived, I learned, and Im still standing.
