**Diary Entry**
I never thought a single morning could change everything.
“Dont forget to make a proper dinner tonight,” James muttered, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “The boss is coming over. I want to impress.”
I nodded silently, spreading butter on toast. The bread caught in my throat when he added,
“And for Gods sake, make an effort with how you look. Its embarrassing otherwise.”
The door slammed, leaving behind the scent of expensive cologne and the bitterness of words unspoken. I caught my reflection in the teapotforty-three, laugh lines, greying roots I never had time to dye. When did this happen? When did I become the tired housewife he was ashamed to introduce, instead of the lively girl who once stole the heart of young Jamie, the eager engineer?
The flat was silent, as usual. Eighteen-year-old Daniel had already left for university, and fourteen-year-old Emily was staying over at a friends. Just me, the kitchen, and the endless to-do list: laundry, cleaning, groceries, that *proper* dinner.
At the shop, I mechanically tossed meat, vegetables, and the expensive wine James liked to serve into the basket. Ahead of me in the queue, a young mother soothed her fussy toddler, whispering sweet nothings. I remembered rocking my own children, how James used to wrap his arms around me and say,
“We have the best family in the world.”
What changed? When did he stop holding me? When was the last time he said he loved me?
At home, sorting the groceries, I found old photos spilled from the drawer. There we weregraduation, laughing, his hand in mine. Our weddingme in white, him unable to take his eyes off me. Daniels birthJames kissing my forehead, pure joy on his face. Emilys first stepsboth of us on the floor, cheering her on.
Where did that happiness go? Between mortgage payments and sleepless nights with sick children? Between his career ambitions and my endless chores?
I started cookingmeat in the oven, salad, appetisers. Muscle memory from years of repetition. Then the phone rang.
“Laura? Its me, Sophie.”
Her voice was a lifeline in the monotony.
“Sophie! How are you?”
“Dont ask,” she laughed. “Finalising the divorce. No turning back now.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing dramatic. Just realised I was tired of being invisible in my own life. Fancy meeting up? Coffee, a proper chat?”
“I cant. James is bringing his boss over tonight.”
“Again? Laura, when was the last time you did something *for you*?”
I paused. Honestly, I couldnt remember.
“Its different, Soph. I have a family, responsibilities.”
“And I didnt? But heres what I realisedif you live someone elses life, your own passes you by.”
The words settled heavily. I kept cooking, but my thoughts spiralled. Was I really just living Jamess life?
By six, the table was set, Id changed into my best dress, fixed my hair. The mirror showed a presentable womanso why was James ashamed of me?
The guests arrived on timehis boss, Mr. Thompson, with his wife, and another couple from work. I smiled, served, made conversation. Everything was fine until someone asked,
“And what do you do, Laura?”
“She keeps the house running,” James cut in, his tone almost apologetic.
“How lovely!” Mrs. Thompson gushed. “Did you work before?”
“I was an accountant”
“That was years ago,” James interrupted. “Once the kids came, we agreed it was best for her to stay home.”
*We agreed?* I remembered the truthmaternity leave, then his mothers illness, then Emilys birth. By the time they were older, James had said,
“Why bother working? I earn enough. Just focus on the house.”
So I did. Laundry, cleaning, cookingdays blurring into one. Meanwhile, James climbed the corporate ladder, met important people, lived a life.
“A friend of mine was a housewife,” Mrs. Thompson continued. “Now she runs a florist. Says shes never been happier.”
“Not everyones cut out for business,” James smirked. “Lauras happy as things are.”
*Happy?* The word twisted inside me. When had he ever asked?
The evening dragged. Finally, the guests left, praising the food. James was pleased.
“Made a good impression,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt. “Thompson said Ive got a wonderful wife.”
“You mean a wonderful housekeeper?”
“Whats wrong with that? You stay home, so *keep the home*. Dont see why youre complaining.”
“James, remember what we dreamed of when we married?”
“What?”
“Travel. Learning French. You said youd support anything I wanted.”
“Laura, were adults. We have responsibilities. No time for nonsense.”
“Nonsense?” My voice shook. “My life is nonsense?”
“Your life is our family. Isnt that enough?”
I wanted to scream*no, its not*. But I stayed silent, like always.
The next morning, James left without a word. I sat with old photosone of me holding an accounting certificate. Id wanted to grow, build something of my own.
The doorbell rang. A deliveryman held roses.
“For Laura Bennett?”
The card read: *”Thank you for last night. Youre a remarkable host and conversationist. Best, Mr. Thompson.”*
When had James last given me flowers? I couldnt recall.
Emily called later: “Mum, can I stay at Lucys? Were seeing a show tomorrow.”
“Isnt it a school night?”
“Mum, its *Sunday*.”
Id lost track of time.
James came home late, locked himself in the study. I knocked.
“Eating dinner?”
“Later,” he grunted, eyes glued to his screen.
I ate alone, cleared up, went to bed. He came in after midnight, turned his back. Not even a *goodnight*.
Sunday morning, I woke to an empty bed. James had gone to his parents without me.
“Youd be bored,” hed said.
Was I not bored here?
I dug out a bright dress he called “too young,” did my makeup, and leftno shopping list, no chores.
The park was fullfamilies, couples, elderly pairs arm in arm. I watched them, wonderingwhen had James and I last laughed together?
“Laura? Laura Bennett!”
I turned. Andrew, a school friend I hadnt seen in fifteen years, beamed at me.
“Andrew! Is that really you?”
We talked for hours. He was divorced, a travel photographer.
“Remember how you dreamed of seeing the world?” he laughed. “Paris, wasnt it?”
“Childish dreams.”
“Says who? Im forty-five and just went last year. Dreams dont expire, Laura.”
By evening, I felt alive for the first time in years.
James was fuming when I got home.
“Where were you? I called!”
“Walking. Phone died.”
“Walking? Who cleaned up here?” He gestured at two cups in the sink.
“James, I need a break too.”
“From *what*?”
“From living on your schedule!”
He spun around. “*My* schedule? I work to keep this family afloat, and you”
“I want to *live*, not just exist!”
“Christ, Laura, youve lost it.”
I went to Andrews exhibition that night, lied and said I was with Sophie. The photosvibrant, full of lifemade my chest ache.
“Youre sad,” Andrew murmured. “Things not good at home?”
I didnt answer. He understood.
“Lifes too short for unhappiness,” he said softly.
James was waiting when I got back.
“Sophie said you werent there.”
“I was at an exhibition. With Andrew. We met in the park.”
His face darkened. “So youre cheating?”
“Dont be ridiculous!”
He grabbed my shoulders. “Youre *my wife*. You stay home like a decent woman!”
He shoved me. Pain shot up my spine as I hit the wall.
“Dont lie to me again,” he spat, storming off.
I stood there, rubbing my back, finally cryingfor the pain, the humiliation, the life Id lost.
The next morning, James acted like nothing happened. Andrew called.
“Laura, you okay?”
“Im fine.”
“Meet for coffee?”
“I cant.”
“Laura”
“Just *leave it*.”
Days passed. James monitored my calls, my outings. I stayed quiet, like always.
Then Emily came home with a black eye.
“School fight,” she muttered.
“*You* fought?”
“They said Dads a tyrant and youre a doormat. I
