Her suitcase stood in the hallway that morning.
“Emily…” James began.
“Dont,” she cut him off. “You made your decision, you made your choice. Now Im making mine.”
The door slammed. James was left alone.
He sat at the kitchen table, pushing a fork listlessly through his cold shepherds pie. Half past six. Emily was already an hour and a half late.
The telly in the corner droned on about another political scandal, but James wasnt listening. His gaze drifted over familiar detailsthe yellow curtains with daisies Emily had hung five years ago, his slippers by the fridge, her knitted cardigan draped over the chair.
Everything in its place. Except for her.
The front door clicked. Finally.
“Jamie, Im so sorry!” came her weary voice. “Dad took illwe had to call an ambulance.”
James grimaced. Those old folks again.
Emily staggered into the kitchendishevelled, eyes red from crying.
“What happened?” he asked, not looking up from his plate.
“His blood pressure spiked. The doctor said he needs constant monitoring…” She slumped into the chair opposite. “Mum was beside herself, didnt know what to do.”
“Dont they have a phone? Cant they call for help themselves?”
Emily flinched as if hed slapped her.
“Jamie, theyre in their seventies. They were frightened. And theyre my family.”
“And what am I? Not your family?” James set his fork down, fixing her with a look. “I come home to an empty house, dinners cold. Ive been at work all day, and you”
“Im sorry,” she whispered, reaching for the stove. “Ill heat it up now.”
But the irritation had already spread, hot and heavy in his chest. She used to greet him at the doorhand him his slippers, ask about his day. Now it was always her parents.
Emily moved silently around the kitchen, shoulders hunched, hands trembling as she shifted pans. James watched the back of her head, remembering how she used to turn to him with a smile.
When was the last time? A month ago? Two?
“Look,” he said, softening his tone, “maybe they really do need a carer. Their pensions arent bad.”
Emily froze, ladle in hand.
“Not bad? Jamie, Dad gets £600 a month, Mum barely £500. Half of that goes on medication and bills.”
“£500?” James frowned. “She worked all her life.”
“As a teacher in a village school,” Emily turned to him. “Jamie, you know this.”
He didnt. Hed never paid much attention to his in-laws finances. His own parents had died a decade ago, leaving behind a one-bed flat hed sold straight away. Emilys parents? He only saw them at holidays.
“Then hire help by the hour,” he suggested. “Cleaning, cooking.”
“With what money?” Her voice sharpened. “Did you hear me? £1,100 between them!”
James shrugged. It had never occurred to him to tally other peoples expenses. He and Emily were comfortablehis engineering salary, her private English tutoring. They lived quietly, without extravagance but never in want.
Outside, dusk settled. Emily set a reheated plate before him and sat down. She didnt eatjust propped her chin on her hand, staring at the table.
“Em,” he said gently. “I dont mind helping. But you cant abandon our home.”
“Abandon what home?” She lifted her eyes to his. “Are we even a family?”
The question hung in the air.
James chewed his pie, thinking. A family? Well, yes. Though theyd never had children. Emily couldnt, and adoption hadnt felt right. So theyd lived quietly, just the two of them.
“Of course were a family,” he said at last.
The next weeks were nothing but tension.
Emily was at her parents every other daydoctors visits, errands, cleaning. James came home to an empty flat.
Dishes piled in the sink, the bed unmade, leftovers in the fridge.
“I cant do this anymore,” he said one evening. “The house is falling apart.”
“What exactly is falling apart?” Emily asked wearily, fresh home with a bag of laundry. “Forgotten how to cook? Or wash up?”
“Its not about that.”
“Then what?”
James had no answer. It wasnt the chores. It was that hed been the sole focus of her attentionand now that focus had shifted.
“Theyre not children,” he tried. “They managed without you before.”
“Mum fell in the bath yesterday. Lay on the floor for two hours until I got there.” Emily tossed the bag down. “What should I have done? Left them?”
“Hire a carer!”
“With what?” she shouted. “With what?”
They stood in the kitchen, yelling for the first time in fifteen years of marriage.
Emily cried, tears streaking her cheeks. James felt something twist inside him.
“Jamie, do you hear yourself?” Her voice shook with anger. “Theyre my parents! My father! My mother!”
“And what am I?” James snapped. “A lodger? A flatmate?”
“Youre my husband! But they”
“But they come first!” he cut in. “I get it! Fifteen years we were fine, and now you remember filial duty!”
Emily recoiled as if struck.
“How can you say that? Jamie, theyre old, theyre ill”
“And Im what, thirty?” he barked. “Im tired too! I want a home, a wifenot you running God knows where!”
“So I should just abandon them? Let them die alone?”
“I didnt say die! But let them manage! Theyve got moneyhire help!”
“What money?” Emily cried. “Do you know what carers charge? £30 an hour! At least!”
James faltered. Hed never considered the cost.
“Well maybe not every day. An hour a day”
“An hour?” She laughed, almost hysterical. “Jamie, listen to yourself! Clean, cook, wash, laundryin an hour? Impossible!”
“I cant take this!” James shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “I cant watch you leave me! Every day! Every bloody day youre there, not here!”
The words tumbled outand he knew, this was it. Not the chores, not the cold dinners. Fear. Fear of losing her. Fear of being alone.
Emily stared at him, wide-eyed.
“So its not about money,” she said quietly. “Youre jealous of my own parents.”
“Im not!” he snapped, though he knew she was right. “I just I want my wife, not a carer!”
“And if your parents were alive?” Emily asked. “Would you abandon them?”
James opened his mouththen shut it.
His parents Had they lived this long, hed have helped. Probably. But this was different!
“My parents are gone” he began.
“Mine arent!” Emily cut in.
“Right,” he said coldly. “You dont go there anymore. If you want to help financially£200 a month. Thats enough for a carer twice.”
“What?”
“No more visits. No more than £200. Thats final.”
Emily stood in the middle of the kitchensmall, dishevelled, tear-streaked. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time.
“Youre forbidding me,” she said slowly. “A forty-year-old woman. Forbidding me to help my dying parents.”
“Em”
“£200 a month,” she continued, ignoring him. “Four carer visits. One hour each. Four hours of help a month. The rest of the timewhat? They starve? Live in filth?”
She fell silent. Wiped her tears. Stared at him a long moment before turning and walking out.
Next morning, her suitcase stood in the hallway.
“Emily” James started.
“Dont,” she interrupted. “You made your choice. Now Im making mine.”
The door slammed. James was left alone.
At first, it was almost pleasant. No nagging about socks left lying around. Football on late, eating straight from the pan. Freedom.
But by weeks end, it was clearthis wouldnt do. James found a cleaner through an ad.
A woman in her forties, Margaret, came twice a week. Scrubbed, laundered, cooked meals to last. Cost him £600 a month.
“Wheres the wife?” she asked once.
“Split up,” James said shortly.
Margaret clicked her tongue sympathetically and scoured the sink.
News of Emily came in fragments. A neighbour spotted her at the clinic with an elderly manher father, likely. A colleague mentioned seeing her at the theatre with some bookish type.
Then Emily filed for divorce.
The news of her remarriage reached James through the same neighbour, delivered with barely concealed glee:
“Your Emilys married again. Some doctor. Widower, they saykids and all.”
James nodded and shut the door. Sat on the sofa, staring at the ceiling.
So shed found a new family. With children. Wonder how she manages them?
Years slipped by. Margaret came like clockwork. James worked, watched telly, met friends occasionally. Life settled.
Until his sixtieth birthday. Work grew harderhis back ached, his blood pressure spiked. James retired.
He applied for his pension, gathered the paperwork. It was less than hed hoped£900 a month. With bills now £350, little was left.
First to go was the cleaner.
Alone at sixty, he relearned laundry and cooking. His hands fumbled, his back protested at mopping. What Emily had done effortlessly now took half his day.
Six months in, he knewsomething had to change. So he made the call.
“Hello?” The voice was familiar yet foreign.
“Em Its Jamie.”
A pause.
“What do you want?”
“To talk.”
Words failed him. James fidgeted, gripping the phone.
“I I was wrong. Im sorry.”
“And?”
“I want to fix things.”
Emily laughed.
“Fix? Jamie, its been ten years. Ten years!”
“I know, but”
“Everything comes at a cost,” she interrupted. “Understanding shouldve come sooner.”
The line went dead. James slowly set the phone down.
That evening, he sat at the same kitchen table. The yellow curtains had faded; Emilys cardigan was long gone. Only his slippers by the fridgeworn, aged.
Outside, streetlights flickered on. Neighbours windows glowedfamilies inside, someone waiting for someone. And he was alone.
