Victor found a set of foreign keys in my handbag and threw me out, refusing to hear any explanation.
Again youve taken my debit card! I heard him roar, phone clenched in his fist as he burst into the kitchen.
Emily turned from the sink, where suds swirled around plates. Her apron clung to her damp shoulders.
What card? she asked, hands still coated in foam. I never touched yours.
Dont lie! It was on the nightstand in my wallet, and now its gone!
Victors face flushed. Im not an idiot, Emily. I always put it in the same spot! And youre always rifling through my stuff!
Emily dried her hands on a towel. Eighteen years of marriage had taught her to expect his eruptions, yet each one still cut deep.
Calm down, Victor. Lets look for it together. Maybe it fell somewhere.
No point looking! You stole it because you want to spend my money again!
What money? I have my own salary!
Your teachers pennies wont keep you alive!
Emily pressed her lips together. She taught at a primary school; her wages were modest but steady.
Just help me find the card, without the shouting.
Victor huffed and stormed out of the kitchen. The clatter of drawers opening and slamming echoed from the bedroom.
She returned to the dishes: plates, mugs, a pot of soup. An ordinary Monday eveningshed come home from work, cooked dinner, fed her husband and their daughter Lucy. Lucy was in her room doing homework when Victor found a new excuse for an argument.
Emily! Come here! Victor shouted from the hall.
She wiped her hands and walked toward him. He was shaking her bag, dumping its contents onto the nightstand.
What are you doing?
Checking! If you take my things, I have the right to check yours!
Victor, thats wrong. Put the bag back where it belongs!
Coins, a phone, a comb, a lipstick, a packet of tissues tumbled out. Then something clangedkeys. Not the ones Emily always carried, but another set.
Victor froze, lifting the bundle of keys, turning them over.
What are these?
I dont know, Emily said honestly, surprised herself. How did they get in there?
You dont know? Foreign keys in your bag, and youre clueless?
I really dont understand how they ended up here.
Victor stared at the keys, then at her, his face turning a shade of angry red.
Whose flat do these belong to, Emily?
No idea!
Youre lying! You have a lover! Those are his keys!
Emily felt the ground slip from under her.
What? A lover? Have you lost your mind?
Then explain how foreign keys got into your bag!
I dont know! Maybe someone put them there by mistake!
By mistake? Who would accidentally stash keys in anothers bag?
Maybe a colleague mixed them up
Dont lie! Ive figured it out. Youre having an affair!
Victor, thats not true! Ive never cheated on you!
Silence! he hurled the keys onto the floor. Eighteen years together, and you betray me like this!
I didnt do anything wrong! Lets talk it through!
Nothing to talk about! Pack your things and leave!
Emily stood frozen.
What did you say?
I saidget out of my flat! I dont keep cheats in my house!
This is our flat! We live here together! Lucy lives here too!
Its my flat! Its under my name! I can throw anyone out!
Victor, stop! Listen to me!
I wont listen! Im tired of your lies! Out!
He snatched her coat from the hanger and flung it at her.
Go!
Dad, whats happening? Lucys voice trembled as she peeked from the hallway, fourteen and already bruised by her parents fights.
Lucy, go to your room, Emily whispered.
Dont, Victor snapped, eyes on his daughter. Let her see what kind of mother she has.
Victor, stop! Not in front of the child!
Then leave yourself! I dont want you here!
Emily watched Victors facered, eyes bloodshot, fists clenchedlike shed never seen before. He was quicktempered, but never this far.
Fine, she said softly. Ill go. This is a misunderstanding, Victor. I did nothing wrong.
Leave now!
She slipped on her coat, grabbed her bag. The foreign keys fell onto the floor again; Victor kicked them aside.
Dont even think about picking them up! Let them lie as proof!
She stepped out, the door slammed shut behind her, the lock clicking. Emily stood on the landing, bewildered. Ten minutes earlier shed been washing dishes; now she was outside her own flat, expelled by her husband.
Her feet carried her down the stairs into the night. An October wind bit at her thin coat. She paused at the blocks entrance, pulling out her phone. Who could she call? Her parents were long gone, her sister lived in another city, her friend Irene was cramped in a tiny flat with three childrenno room for her.
The phone buzzed. A message from Irene:
Emily, sorry I forgot to tell you! I put the school keys in your bag when we were in the staffroom having tea. You were off with paperwork. Ill collect them tomorrow morning, okay? Thanks for keeping them safe!
Emily read the text three times. School keys. Irene, the deputy head, had a spare set and had asked Emily to hold onto them while she went to the education office. Emily had agreed and then forgotten.
Her hands trembled as she dialed Victors number. A busy tone. She tried again. Same result.
She typed a text: Victor, these are school keys! Irene left them! Its a mixup!
No reply. She called once more; the line went straight to voicemail.
Emily leaned against the stairwell, cold seeping through her coat. Her mind was a hollow echo. She started walking down the street with no destination, just to avoid standing still. She reached a bus stop and sat on a bench. An elderly woman with grocery bags sat beside her.
Something wrong, love? the woman asked kindly. You look pale.
Just problems, Emily managed a weak smile.
Family?
How would you know?
I can read it on your face. Ive been a nurse all my life, learned to read eyes. Did you and your husband argue?
He threw me out of the house.
Oh dear. And why?
Emily explained the key incident. The old woman shook her head.
Poor fool, she said. Im sorry Im being blunt, but kicking someone out without hearing them is cruel.
He doesnt believe me.
Hell cool down, then believe. Men get hot, then they think.
What if he doesnt cool down?
He will. You have a daughter; thatll snap him back. Wholl cook, wholl wash?
Emily chuckled despite herself. The woman was right. Victor was only a talker; he expected the wife to do everything.
Do you have anywhere to go? the old woman asked.
Im not sure.
Come to my flat. Its just down the road. Have a cuppa, warm up, and you can decide what to do.
Emily hesitated, but the womans insistence was strong. They walked to the neighboring building, up three flights to a modest oneroom flat, cozy with knitted tea towels, framed photos, and potted plants.
Sit down, dear. Ill fetch the kettle, said the woman, introducing herself as Violet Harper, seventytwo, widowed, children scattered across the country.
They sipped tea with biscuits while Violet talked about her own marriage, its fights, its separations, and how love always pulled them back.
Love is stronger than pride, she said.
What if he doesnt love me? Emily asked.
He does, otherwise he wouldnt be so jealous. Men are like children; they flare up, then think.
Emilys phone buzzed. A text from Lucy:
Mum, where are you? Dads angry, says nothing. Im scared.
Emily replied: Sweetheart, dont be afraid. Dads just in a bad mood. Go to sleep, well talk tomorrow.
Lucy replied: Mum, is it true you have a lover?
Emilys heart froze. Victor had already turned Lucy against her.
No, love, thats not true. I have no one but you and Dad. Its a misunderstanding, Ill explain tomorrow.
Okay, I believe you. I love you.
I love you too, my sunshine.
Emily put the phone down. Violet watched her with a knowing gaze.
Your daughters upset?
Yes. Dad told her all sorts of things.
Shes smarter than we think. Shell see whos right.
Emily stayed the night on Violets couch, a warm blanket and pillow provided.
Sleep well. Tomorrow youll sort it all out with a clear head.
Sleep was elusive. Emily stared at the dark ceiling, replaying the nights chaos. Eighteen years of marriage, a daughter, a homeall toppled over a set of school keys.
The strain had been building for years. Victor, a site foreman, had grown irritable, finding fault in everything: the food, the mess, the way Emily dressed or spoke. She blamed the exhaustion of teaching; he blamed everything on her.
But that night he crossed the line, kicking her out and refusing to listen, even after the schoolkey explanation.
Morning arrived with the scent of coffee. Violet was already in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
Come on, dear, have some, then think about what to do next.
After breakfast, Emily called Irene.
Emily! Im horrified. My keys caused all this!
Its Victors fault. He wont listen.
Should I call him?
He wont answer.
Irene tried to reach Victor, pleading with him, but his silence persisted.
At school, the headmistress, Helen Parker, noticed Emilys pallor and red eyes.
Are you ill, Emily? she asked.
No, Im fine.
I can see somethings off. Lets talk in my office.
Emily broke down, recounting everything. Helen shook her head.
Your husband is a fool. Not listening, kicking you outthats low. He needs to own up.
He doesnt believe me.
He doesnt need the truth; he needs an excuse to push you out. Maybe hes covering his own infidelity.
Emily shivered at the thought.
What if hes cheating?
Maybe. But youre a good teacher, a good mother, a good person. If he cant see that, thats his problem. Dont degrade yourself.
What about Lucy?
Shes growing up; shell understand eventually. If you stay strong, shell stay with you.
Emily returned to her lessons, the firstgraders scribbles and laughter grounding her.
Later Lucy called.
Mum, where are you?
Still at work, love. Whats up?
Dad says youll never come back.
He said I have a lover and that you betrayed us.
Emily closed her eyes, the hurt sharp.
No lover, Lucy. Those keys belong to Irene. She left them in my bag for safekeeping. Theyre school keys.
I know, Mum. I trust you. But Dad wont.
Im scared, Mum.
Im scared too. He bangs the table, shouts that all women are the same.
Lucy, Ill figure something out.
Okay, Mum. I love you.
I love you too.
That evening Emily returned to Violets flat.
Hows it going? the old lady asked.
Bad. Victor wont believe, Lucys scared, he wont let me back.
What to do?
Stop feeling sorry for myself, find somewhere to live, talk calmly to Lucy, prove Victor wrong.
He wont listen.
He will, once he sees you standing on your own.
Emily contemplated. Violets wisdom sank in.
The next day a colleague offered a spare room, cheap rent, a place to stay. Emily moved in, a small but cosy space where no one shouted. She kept working, meeting Lucy after school, explaining without vilifying her father.
Lucy listened: Dads upset. He thinks I betrayed him, but its not true. I never betrayed our family.
I know, love. I believe you.
Weeks passed. Victor never called. Emily stopped waiting for a miracle. She built a routineteaching, cooking, sleeping.
One evening a knock sounded at the door. Victor stood there, dishevelled, shoulders slumped.
May I come in?
Why?
We need to talk.
She let him in. He surveyed the tiny room.
This is where you live?
Yes.
Its enough for me.
He sat, silence heavy.
Emily, Im sorry.
She said nothing, eyes fixed on him.
I was wrong. I didnt listen, I threw you out, I accused you of cheating. It was the school keysIrene explained them, but I was too angry to hear.
You humiliated me, Victor. In front of Lucy you said I was a cheat, you kicked me out of my own home.
I know. Im a fool. Ill change.
What now?
Give me a chance to fix things.
Emily felt a tug of old love and fresh hurt.
Victor, I need time to think.
How much?
I dont know. A week, maybe two. I have to sort my feelings.
He nodded.
Okay. Ill wait. Remember, I love you, and Lucy loves you. Were waiting at home.
Victor left, and Emily stared out the window at the dark street, weighing forgiveness against selfrespect.
She called Violet, recounting the visit.
See? I told you hed come round. Now the choice is yours. Return or stay.
Im torn. Eighteen years together, a daughter, a familiar life. But you also humiliated me.
Humiliation is real. We all err. The key is whether he truly changes.
If he doesnt?
Then you walk away forever. But right now you can give him a chance or not. Its your right.
Emily spent days weighing pros and cons. Victor called daily, gentle, no pressure, just checking in. Lucy also called, pleading for him to come home.
Dad, youre nicer now. You cook, you tidy, you say you understand how hard its been for me.
I need a bit more time, love.
Two weeks later Emily decided. She called Victor.
Ill come back, but on one condition.
Whats that?
No more accusations without hearing me first. If something bothers you, ask. No shouting, no blame, no humiliation.
I promise. I swear.
And apologise to Lucy for turning her against me.
Ill do that.
Ill be back on Sunday.
On Sunday Emily packed her things, thanked Violet, and left.
Victor and Lucy met her at the door. He carried her bags; Lucy hugged her tightly. The flat was immaculate, a modest feast on the table.
This is my cooking, Victor announced proudly, though the salad was uneven and the roast a bit dry.
Thank you, Emily said, smiling despite the quirks.
After dinner, Lucy went to bed. Victor and Emily sat, tea steaming between them.
Why did you come back? Victor asked.
Because I love you, and I believe people can change. Youve earned a second chance, Victor. Dont waste it.
I wont.
Life slipped back into its familiar rhythmschool, home, evenings together. Victor really did become calmer, helped with chores, asked about Emilys day, avoided petty fights.
Six months later Emily reflected on the ordeal. The strange dreamlike night when keys fell from a bag, the door slamming shut, the cold October windall felt like a surreal test of endurance. She emerged stronger, the family tighter, trust slowly rebuilding.
Thanks for giving me another chance, Victor said one evening, holding her hand.
Thank you for not letting it go, Emily replied.
They sipped tea, planning a short holiday, just an ordinary family that had survived a bizarre, nightmarish episode and learned that respect and listening are the true foundations of love.
