Victor Harper burst into the kitchen, phone clenched in his hand. Youve taken my bank card again! he roared.
Natalie Clarke turned from the sink, the water still running over the dishes, soap suds lathering her hands, her apron damp.
What card? I never touched yours, she replied, wiping her palms on a towel.
Its not a joke, Victor. It was on the nightstand in my wallet and now its gone! he snapped.
Victor, I swear I didnt take it. Maybe you put it somewhere yourself? Natalie asked, trying to keep her voice even.
Youre an idiot. I always leave it in the same spot! And youre always rifling through my things! he shouted, his face flushing red.
She steadied herself, drying her hands. Eighteen years of marriage had taught her to expect his sudden outbursts, yet each one still cut deep.
Calm down, love. Lets look for it together. Maybe it fell somewhere, she suggested.
Theres nothing to look for! You took it because you want to spend my money again! he barked.
What money? I have my own salary! she snapped back.
Your teachers pennies wont keep a roof over our heads, he muttered.
Natalies lips pressed together. She taught at a primary school, earning a modest but honest wage. She tried to stay calm.
Just help me find the card, please, she pleaded.
Victor snorted and stormed out of the kitchen. The clatter of drawers opening and slamming in the bedroom followed. Natalie returned to the sink, the plates, cups and the pot of soup waiting to be cleared. It had been an ordinary Monday evening: shed come home from school, cooked dinner, fed Victor and their daughter Emily. Emily was in her room doing homework when Victor found yet another excuse for a fight.
Natasha! Come here! Victor called from the hallway.
She set her towel aside and walked over. Victor was shaking her bag, dumping its contents onto the nightstand.
What are you doing? she asked.
Checking! If youre going to take my things, I have the right to check yours! he snarled.
Victor, thats not right. Put the bag back where it belongs, she said, her voice shaking.
From the bag fell a wallet, a phone, a hairbrush, lipstick, a pack of tissues, and then a clink of metal a set of keys. Not the ones Natalie always carried, but a completely different bunch.
Victor froze, turning the unfamiliar keyring over in his hand.
What are those? he demanded.
I dont know, Natalie admitted, genuinely puzzled. How did they get in there?
Dont you know? Foreign keys in your bag, and you have no idea? he exploded.
I really dont understand how they ended up there, she said, her breath shallow.
Victor stared at the keys, then at her, his face turning a deeper shade of crimson.
Whose flat are these keys for, Natalie?
I have no idea! she shouted back.
Youre lying! Youve got a lover! Those are his keys! he accused.
Natalie felt the floor drop out from under her.
What? A lover? Have you lost your mind? she cried.
Then explain how those foreign keys got into your bag! he shouted.
I dont know! Maybe someone put them in by mistake! she tried.
Who would mistakenly put keys in another persons bag? he retorted.
Maybe a colleague mixed them up she whispered.
Dont lie! I get it now! Youre having an affair! Victor roared.
Its not true! Ive never cheated on you! Natalie sobbed.
Silence! he flung the keys onto the floor. Eighteen years together and this is how you repay me?
I didnt do anything wrong! Lets talk calmly! she pleaded.
Theres nothing to talk about! Pack your things and leave! he shouted.
Natalie stared, stunned.
What did you just say? she asked.
I said get out of my flat! I dont tolerate a cheating wife in my house! Victor barked.
Its our flat, Victor! We live here together with Emily! she protested.
Its my flat! Its in my name! I can kick anyone out! he snarled.
Victor, stop! Listen to me! she begged.
Im not listening! Im fed up with your lies! Out! he thrust her coat off the rack and hurled it at her.
Leave, I said! he shouted.
Their daughter Emily peeked around the hallway, eyes wide with fear. She was fourteen, the sort of teen who flinched at her parents shouting.
Mum, whats happening? she asked tremblingly.
Natalie, go to your room, her mother replied.
No, go on, Victor said, turning to his daughter. Let her see what kind of mother she has.
Victor, stop! Not in front of the child! Natalie shouted.
Then go yourself! I dont want to see either of you here! he spat.
Natalie looked at her husband his face flushed, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched a side of him shed never seen. He was quick to anger, but never before had he driven her out.
Alright, she said quietly. Ill leave. This is a misunderstanding, Victor. Ive done nothing wrong.
Just go!
She slipped on her coat, grabbed her bag, and as she moved the foreign keys slipped out onto the floor again. Victor kicked them aside.
Dont even think about picking them up! Let them stay as proof! he hissed.
She walked out, the front door slamming shut behind her with a click. Natalie stood on the landing, bewildered. Ten minutes earlier shed been washing dishes in her kitchen; now she was standing outside her own flat, barred by her husbands anger.
She trudged down the stairs onto the street. The October night was cold, the wind biting. She pulled her thin coat tighter and fumbled for her phone. Who could she call? Her parents were long gone, her sister lived in Manchester, her friend Irene lived a few blocks away, but Irene was juggling three kids in a onebedroom flat there was no spare room.
Her phone buzzed with a message from Irene.
Nat, sorry I forgot to mention I put the school keys in your bag when we were having tea in the staff room. You were off with paperwork. Ill collect them tomorrow morning, okay? Thanks for holding onto them!
Natalie read the text three times. School keys. Irene, the deputy head at the primary school, had a spare set of keys for the building and had asked Natalie to keep them safe while she dealt with an inspection. Natalie had agreed and then forgotten.
Her hands trembled as she dialed Victors number. It rang, then went to voicemail. She tried again, same result.
She typed a quick message: Victor, those are school keys! Irene left them there! Its a misunderstanding! No reply came. She tried calling once more; still no answer.
She leaned against the stairwell, the chill seeping through her coat. Her mind was a void.
She wandered aimlessly down the high street until she reached a bus stop and sat on a bench. An elderly lady with shopping bags sat beside her.
Everything alright, love? the woman asked gently. You look pale.
Just family problems, Natalie managed a weak smile.
Is it the husband? the lady guessed.
Yes, Natalie whispered.
The old woman nodded sagely. You shouldnt drive a person out without hearing them first. Men get hotheaded, but they do cool down and think.
What if he doesnt cool down? Natalie asked.
He will. You have a daughter; thatll bring him round. Wholl cook, wash, look after the house without you? the lady pressed.
Natalie chuckled despite herself. The womans name was Valerie Brown, a seventytwoyearold widow who lived alone. She offered Natalie to come over for tea and warmth.
Valeries flat was a modest onebedroom on the third floor, cosy with knitted cushions, family photos, and little potted plants on the windowsill.
Sit down, dear. Ill put the kettle on, Valerie said.
They drank tea with biscuits while Valerie shared stories of her own marriages ups and downs, always ending with, Love is stronger than pride.
Natalies phone buzzed again. A message from Emily.
Mum, where are you? Dads shouting, Im scared.
Natalie typed back, Emily, honey, dont be afraid. Dads just having a bad mood. Go to sleep, Ill see you tomorrow.
Emily replied, Mum, is it true you have a lover?
Natalies heart clenched. Her husband had already turned their daughter against her.
No, love. Thats not true. I have no one else but you and your dad. Its a mixup, Ill explain everything tomorrow. She sent the reply.
Valerie gave her a knowing look. Your daughter will understand when she sees whos right.
That night Natalie stayed with Valerie. The elderly woman tucked her onto a sofa, covering her with a warm blanket.
Sleep well. Tomorrow youll have a clear head and can sort things out, Valerie whispered.
Sleep eluded Natalie. She stared at the ceiling, replaying the days chaos. Eighteen years of marriage, a child, a home all threatened by a set of misplaced school keys.
The next morning, after a modest breakfast prepared by Valerie, Natalie called Irene.
Its a disaster, Irene! The keys caused all this, she said, voice shaking.
Im so sorry, Nat! I never imagined it would snowball like this, Irene replied. Victor is being stubborn, but maybe if you both talk
Irene tried calling Victor, but he didnt answer. She left a message explaining the situation, but he never returned the call.
At school, Natalies colleagues noticed she was pale, eyes red. The headmistress, Eleanor Shaw, asked her to step into the office.
Natalie, are you ill? Eleanor inquired.
No, just a bit off, Natalie replied.
Eleanor listened as Natalie poured out the whole story. Your husbands behavior is unacceptable, Eleanor said firmly. Hes being unreasonable. You deserve respect.
Natalie left the office feeling a little steadier.
Back at the flat, Emily called again.
Mum, dad said youre not coming back, she whispered.
Im not here yet, love. Hes saying things that arent true, Natalie answered.
Emilys voice trembled. He hit the table, shouted that all women are the same
Natalie, Im scared, the girl said.
Hold on, sweetheart. Ill find a way, Natalie promised.
Later that day, Natalie returned to Valeries flat. Valerie offered more advice.
First, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Find somewhere to stay, then talk to Emily calmly. Prove Victor wrong, she counselled.
You think hell listen? Natalie asked.
He will. When he sees you standing strong, hell have to face his own foolishness, Valerie replied.
Natalie began searching for accommodation. A fellow teacher, Margaret, offered a spare room for a token rent. Natalie moved in, grateful for the tiny but cosy space.
She kept working, meeting Emily after school. The girl would come over, and Natalie would explain things gently, without badmouthing her father.
Its not your fault, Emily. Dads angry, but hes wrong, Natalie would say.
Okay, Mum. I believe you, Emily replied.
Weeks passed. Victor never called. Natalie grew used to her new routine, her own space, free of shouting.
One evening a knock sounded at the door. Victor stood there, dishevelled, beard unshaven, shoulders slumped.
May I come in? he asked quietly.
Why? Natalie asked, wary.
We need to talk, he replied.
She stepped aside. He entered, looked around the modest room.
This is where you live now? he asked.
Yes, she said.
He sat heavily on a chair.
Natalie, Im sorry, Victor began, voice cracking. I was wrong. I didnt listen, I threw you out, accused you of cheating. The keys were Irenes, I should have believed you.
You humiliated me in front of Emily, called me a liar, kicked me out of my own home, Natalie said, keeping her tone steady.
I know. Im a fool. I was jealous, angry. Ive been a bully. He looked down.
What now? she asked.
I want to come back. Emily is crying every day, the house feels empty. I miss you, Victor whispered.
Natalie studied his face. He seemed genuinely contrite, but she felt a cautious resistance.
I need time to think, she said.
How long? he asked.
Maybe a week, maybe two. I have to sort my feelings, she replied.
He nodded, standing. Ill wait. I love you, truly. Ill change, I promise.
He left. Natalie stood by the window, watching the cold night outside, wondering whether to forgive or start anew.
She called Valerie, recounting Victors visit.
Hes changed, but can he stay? Natalie asked.
Youll decide. If you give him a chance, hold him to it. If he slips, walk away, Valerie advised.
Natalie spent the next days weighing the options. Victor called daily, asking how she was, never pressing, just checking in. Emily also called, pleading for her dads return.
Dads being nicer, Mum. Hes cooking, cleaning, Emily told her.
Give me a bit more time, Natalie replied.
Two weeks later, Natalie called Victor.
Ill come back, but only if you never accuse me again without proof. If anything bothers you, we talk calmly, no shouting, she said.
I swear, Ill keep that promise, Victor answered earnestly.
And apologise to Emily for turning her against me, she added.
Ill do that, he agreed.
Then Ill be home on Sunday, she concluded.
On Sunday, Natalie packed her things, said goodbye to Margaret, and visited Valerie one last time.
Ready to go back? Valerie asked.
Yes. Im giving him another chance, Natalie said.
Good. Remember, family is precious, but you must protect yourself, Valerie reminded her.
Natalie arrived home to find Victor waiting with her bags, a nervous smile on his face. Emily ran to hug her, tears streaming.
The flat was tidy, a modest dinner set on the table. Victor proudly announced, I made this, hope you like it. The salad was a bit lopsided, the roast a touch dry, but the effort was clear.
Thank you, Natalie said, smiling faintly.
After dinner, when Emily was asleep, Victor and Natalie sat at the kitchen table. He apologized again, promising never to repeat his outbursts. Natalie listened, feeling a cautious hope.
Why did you come back? Victor asked.
Because I love you, and I believe people can change. You have a second chance, Victor. Dont waste it, she replied.
I wont, he promised.
Life slipped back into a familiar rhythm: school, work, evenings at home. Victor genuinely helped with chores, asked Natalie about her day, and their arguments became rare. Six months later, Natalie reflected that she had made the right choice. The nightmare of being thrown out was now a distant memory, a lesson about respect and trust.
One night Victor raised his cup of tea.
Thanks for giving me another chance, he said.
Thanks for keeping it, Natalie replied.
They sipped quietly, planning a short holiday together, just an ordinary family that had weathered a storm and emerged stronger.
