While Im still living with my mother, my sisters coming over, announced Simon, slinging my suitcase into the hallway.
You cant be serious! Its Tuesday, Poppys got school!
Your mum will look after her after lessons, Ive already arranged it.
Arranged? Without me? Simon, what on earth is happening?
Natalie stood in the middle of the bedroom, watching her husband methodically pack her belongings into an old leather suitcase. He pulled sweaters, shirts, jeans from the wardrobe without even glancing at her. His movements were practiced, as if hed rehearsed this scene a hundred times.
Nothings happening, he said calmly. Just Irene is staying for a week, she needs a spare room. You know she cant tolerate any noise. And we have Poppy running around all day, blasting music.
What does Poppy have to do with it? Irene could stay in a hotel! Or crash on the sofa!
Simon finally met her gaze. There was a chill in his eyes Natalie hadnt seen beforedetachment, indifference.
On the sofa? My sister in a hotel? Natalie, are you hearing yourself? This is my house, by the way.
Our house, she corrected softly.
My house, cut him off. Bought with my money. I decide who lives here.
A lump rose in Natalies throat. Twentythree years of marriage. Twentythree years of running the house, raising a daughter, cooking, cleaning, waiting for him to come home. And now he was stuffing her things into a suitcase as if she were a shortterm tenant.
How long? she asked, voice trembling. How long will I have to stay with my mum?
A week, maybe two. Irene hasnt decided yet. It depends on how things go.
What things? Shes on holiday!
Simon slammed the suitcase shut, clipping the locks.
Not your business. Pack up, Ill get you out in an hour.
He left the room, leaving Natalie alone on the bedroom floor. She sank onto the edge of the bed, staring at the battered suitcasethe same one theyd taken on their honeymoon. Back then it was shiny and new, packed with her dresses and his shirts. Now it was being used to evict her from her own home.
Her mother, Margaret, met her at the front door with a sour expression.
Well, look who finally showed up.
Mum, please dont, Natalie muttered, dragging the suitcase inside.
How can I not? I told you what would happen when you married him, when we bought the house in his name. Listen to your mother!
Margaret, seventytwo and as strict as a Sunday school headmistress, kept a sharp mind and an even sharper tongue.
Ill only be staying the night, Mum. It wont be long.
Oh, it wont be long, Ive heard that one before. First a week, then a month, and before you know it youre filing for divorce. Your sisters arrived, you know which one the one who vanished five years ago?
Natalie didnt answer. She retreated to the old bedroom, now turned into Margarets wardrobe and a stash of magazines. The narrow singlebed remained, the one shed slept in as a teenager.
Have a cup of tea, Margaret softened. You look pale. Not given breakfast?
Im not hungry.
Ten minutes later Natalie found herself at the kitchen table, a strong cup of tea and a toast in front of her. Margaret sat opposite, eyes fixed on her.
Somethings up, she declared. He wouldnt just kick you out.
He didnt kick me out, he just asked if I could stay with you.
Natalie, Im seventytwo, but Im not losing my mind. Men dont throw wives out for nothing. Either theres someone else, or theres money trouble.
He doesnt have anyone else.
How do you know? You sit at home all day. Hes at work from dawn till dusk. Have you checked his phone?
Mum!
Oh, you naïve thing. Always have been, always will be.
Natalie finished her tea and rose.
I need to pick up Poppy. Shes out at three.
Simon promised to collect her.
Ill get her myself.
Poppy, a spitting image of Natalie at fifteenchestnut hair, grey eyes, that stubborn set to her mouthburst out of school with her friends, giggling. The moment she saw her mother, her face fell.
Mum? Wheres Dad? He was supposed to pick me up.
Ive decided, Natalie said, hugging her daughters shoulders. Lets go for a walk and talk.
They strolled through an autumnsplashed park, Natalie spilling the beans: shed have to stay with Margaret, Irene was on her way, it was only temporary.
He threw you out, Poppy said flatly.
No, its just
Dads shown me the door, Mum, and hes doing the same to me.
Poppy, dont say that.
Poppy turned, eyes bright with accusation.
Should I tell the truth? Ive noticed Dad acting weird for a month hiding his phone, disappearing at night. Youve seen nothing?
Im not blind.
Two evenings ago I heard him laughing in the bathroom, as if someone else was there.
Natalie stopped dead.
Who was he laughing with?
I didnt catch the words, just the tone. When was the last time you heard Dad laugh like that?
Natalie stared at the floor, unable to recall.
Back at Margarets flat, the matriarch had already made two beds and set a modest dinner.
I love a good beef stew, and chips with sausage patties, she announced cheerfully. After we eat, Ill put on a proper film about love.
Ill just stay in my room, Poppy said, dropping her backpack. Ive got homework.
Homework on a day off? You should be relaxing!
Poppy slipped away, leaving Natalie and Margaret alone over a steaming bowl of stew.
Shell understand, Margaret whispered. Shes clever, you cant hide anything from her.
They ate in silence. The stew was thick and comforting, the chips crisp, the patties juicy. Natalie forced each bite down.
Call him, Margaret suggested suddenly. Ask how hes doing, ask about his sister. Let him know youre not giving up.
I dont want to call.
You must. You cant leave a man unchecked.
Natalie never dialed. That night, the next, and the one after, she went through the motionshelping Margaret, picking Poppy up from school, keeping the house ticking. Life felt stuck, hovering in limbo.
On the third day her friend Olivia rang.
Nat, where have you vanished to? Ive called you a hundred times!
Sorry, my phone was on silent.
Listen, is it true Simons with some other woman?
Natalie froze.
What? Where did you hear that?
Olivia saw them at the new bistro on High Street. He was kissing her, hand on her waist. I thought it was his sister, but she said she was about thirty, not his sister.
Which bistro?
The one on the corner, the pricey one we never set foot in.
Natalie hung up, hands shaking. The truth was out: Margaret had been right, Poppy was right. He had someone else.
Mum, can I move back home? I need to collect something.
Margaret gave her a long, assessing stare.
Go. Just dont make a scene. First find out whats really happening.
Natalie boarded a bus, trying to steady her nerves. Perhaps it was a mistake, a misidentification. Yet deep down she knew it was real.
Outside her block a sleek foreign car waited. Natalie climbed the stairs, fumbled with her keys, her hand trembling as she slipped the key into the lock.
The flat reeked of expensive perfume, a scent shed never worn. Laughter floated from the lounge, unmistakably female.
She slipped off her shoes, tiptoed down the corridor. The lounge door was ajar.
There, on the sofa, sat a young woman with sleek blond hair, barefoot in a white robe. Glasses of wine and a plate of fruit lay on the coffee table. Beside her, Simon was stroking her arm, murmuring something low.
You promised she wouldnt be back for at least a week, a soft voice said.
Shes at mums, Simon replied.
And the daughter?
Shes there too, dont worry, love. Its just us.
Natalie stood frozen, the word traitor echoing in her head.
When will you tell her? the woman asked.
Soon. First I need to sort the paperwork on the house, so she cant claim anything.
Clever, the woman cooed, planting a kiss on Simons cheek.
Natalie turned and fled toward the exit. She needed to get out before they saw her. As she slipped on her shoes, the keys clinked loudly. Footsteps thundered from the lounge.
Natalie? Simons voice sounded surprised.
She didnt look back, slammed the door, and bolted down the stairs, leaping two at a time, nearly tripping on the landing.
Outside she stopped, gulping air, tears streaming. Passersby glanced her way, but she didnt care.
She didnt return home until evening. Margaret met her at the door, eyes wide with worry.
What happened?
Natalie slipped inside, stripped off her coat, and flopped onto the bed. Poppy peeked in, but Margaret waved her away.
An hour later there was a frantic knock. Margaret threw the door open, only to hear Simons voice from the hallway.
I need to talk to Natalie.
She wont talk to you.
Ill ask myself.
He pushed past the matriarch, entered the flat, and sat on the edge of the bed.
Natalie, lets talk.
Leave.
Its not what you think.
Really? Then tell me, Simon.
Its Irene shes my work assistant. Shes here to help with paperwork.
In a white robe? Barefoot? With wine?
He fell silent.
I heard everything, Natalie said. About the papers, about making sure I get nothing. Do you think Im an idiot?
Nat
Twentythree years, Simon. Twentythree years Ive been your wife, raised your child, kept this house running, and you treat me like a nuisance so you can bring a lover home?
Shes not a lover!
Then who?
Simon rose, paced.
I met Rita half a year ago. She works in the office next door. We clicked. I didnt plan it, it just happened.
Just happened, Natalie repeated. Twentythree years didnt just happen, and now, out of the blue, it does.
You dont understand! I dont feel the way I used to. Were practically flatmates. When was the last time you asked about my job?
You came home, ate, went to bed. Whats there to ask?
Exactly! You never tried! Rita she listens, she gets me.
Shes young and pretty, thats all, Margaret interjected from the doorway. And you, Simon Vasilyev, are just a common dog.
Margaret, thats not your business!
How can it not be? Shes my daughter!
And my wife! I have the right to decide who I live with!
You do, Natalie replied evenly. Just not in my house.
Simon smirked.
In your house? Im the registered owner.
We bought that house together. Its joint property.
Prove it. Got money for a solicitor? Time for courts?
Natalie was silent. She had no money; she hadnt worked in a decade, spent it all on the home and Poppy.
Thats why, Simon said, heading for the door, youre the one to blame for getting us here.
He slammed the door. Natalie sat staring at the empty space. Margaret wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
Dont cry, love. Hes not worth it.
Natalies tears had already run dry; only a numb emptiness remained.
The next days were a blur of routine. She collected Poppy from school, helped Margaret with meals, tried to keep busy.
Olivia called one afternoon.
Nat, you need a solicitor.
How am I supposed to pay?
Ill loan you what I can. You have a right to half the house.
Its in his name.
Doesnt matter. You were married when you bought it, so its jointly owned.
He says I cant afford a court fight.
You have a case. A good solicitor will prove it.
Natalie wanted to believe, but years with Simon had taught her not to argue, not to question. He always called the shots where to live, how to spend, where to holiday.
Mum, Im fed up, Poppy said one evening. I want to go back home.
We cant, love.
Why? This is our house! Why are we living here with that that woman and Dad?
Because Dad decided.
And you? Did you decide too?
Natalie looked at her fifteenyearold daughter, who seemed wiser than most adults.
I dont know what to do.
Then Ill tell you what: we need to go in there and kick her out. This is our home, yours and mine, and Granddads too, in a way. He just handed it over to some stranger!
Mum
No, I wont stay silent! Youve endured his shouting over undercooked soup, his forgetting your birthday, his drunken latenight arrivals. Youve put up with it all. And look where that got us!
How do you know all this?
Im not deaf, love. I heard you crying in the kitchen, thinking I was asleep.
Natalie hugged her daughter, truly for the first time in days, pressing her close.
Im sorry, sweetheart.
No apologies needed. We need to act.
The next morning Natalie, for once in a week, put on a bit of makeup, slipped into a decent coat and a pair of low heels. Margaret gave a approving nod.
Much better. Where are you off to?
To a solicitor.
Olivia handed her the address of a local solicitor, Marina Peters. Marina welcomed her into a cramped office, listened patiently.
I see, she said, jotting notes. Its a classic case. He thinks that because the property is in his name, he can do whatever. Thats not how marital property works.
I have no money for a trial.
First consultation is free. If we win, hell cover the costs.
Do you think well win?
Im confident. The house was bought during the marriage, you have a minor child, the court will favour you.
Natalie left the office feeling a lightness she hadnt felt in ages.
But when she got back, the hope crumbled. Poppy stood in the hallway, eyes red.
Mum, Dad called. He said if you dont give up the house, hell apply to strip us of parental rights.
What?
He called me unfit, said I abandoned the family, that hed have us separated.
Margaret tried to reassure her.
Hes bluffing. He wont.
Natalie knew her husband could bluff. He always got his way, whatever the cost.
That night she lay awake, thinking about the house, about Poppy, about the future. She realised the house wasnt worth losing her daughter.
In the morning she rang Simon.
Ill keep the house, if thats what you want.
She hung up, feeling a strange peace as she turned toward rebuilding her own life.
