“Your time’s up,” said the husband, pointing at the door.
“Not this smell again! I asked you not to smoke in the house!” Vera flung open the living room windows, the curtains billowing as she waved them angrily. “Good God, even the sofa reeks. What will Lydia and John think when they come for dinner?”
“And what will they think?” Andrew stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray deliberately. “Theyll think a normal bloke lives hereone who smokes now and then. Big deal.”
“Normal blokes, Andrew, smoke outside or on the balcony. They dont poison their families with secondhand smoke. I get headaches because of you.”
“Here we go,” Andrew rolled his eyes. “Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and suddenly its a problem. Maybe its the menopause, love.”
Vera stiffened, lips pressed tight. Hed been throwing her age in her face more often, as if trying to wound herand somehow, he always did.
“Whats that got to do with anything?” She turned to the window, hiding the tears pricking her eyes. “Im just asking for basic respect. Is it really so hard to step outside?”
“Respect?” Andrew scoffed. “Wheres your respect for me? After work, I want to sit down, have my tea, and smoke in peacenot run back and forth like a schoolboy. This is my house!”
“Our house,” Vera corrected quietly.
“Oh, right. Ours.” He folded his arms. “Except I pay the mortgage. And the bills. And that new coat of yours.”
Vera exhaled slowly. Shed heard this a thousand times. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the kids, then caring for his mother, then just falling into the rhythm of being a housewife. And Andrew had grown fond of reminding her.
“I dont want another row,” she said wearily. “Just smoke on the balcony. Lydia has asthmaits hard for her to breathe.”
“Fine,” Andrew conceded unexpectedly. “For your precious Lydia, Ill step outside. But only tonight.”
He stood, heading to the bedroom before tossing over his shoulder, “And why did you even invite them? Ive got an early meetingI need sleep, not entertaining your dull friends.”
“Theyre not just friends,” Vera said. “Michael runs the library. He might help me find work.”
Andrew froze in the doorway. “What work?”
Vera hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, once things were settled. Now she had no choice.
“I want a job at the library,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “Three days a week, part-time. The kids are grown, youre always at the officeits time I did something.”
“And wholl run the house?” he cut in. “Cook, clean, do the laundry?”
“Ill manage,” she forced a smile. “Its only a few hours. The kids hardly visit now, and”
“Your mum does,” Andrew muttered. “Every week, expecting Sunday roasts and pies.”
“She helps!” Vera shot back. “Besides, she doesnt come that often.”
“Doesnt matter to me,” he waved a hand. “But this job nonsenseits a whim, Vera. Youre forty-seven. Stay home, do your knitting, read your books.”
“My books?” Her temper flared. “Andrew, have you forgotten I have a degree in English? That I taught literature before the kids? That I had top marks?”
“So? That was twenty years ago,” he dropped into his armchair. “Times change. Whod hire you with an old degree?”
“The library would,” she insisted. “I dont need a fortunejust purpose. People to talk to. To feel like Im more than a maid and a cook.”
“Charming,” Andrew sneered. “So home and family mean nothing? Not worthy of your brilliant mind?”
“You know thats not what I meant,” she sighed. “Lets talk later. The guests will be here soon.”
She retreated to the kitchen, heart pounding. Lately, every conversation with Andrew became a fight. She didnt know when it startedonly that one day, she realised they spoke different languages. He didnt listen. Didnt try to understand.
Once, it had been different. Theyd met at universityboth studying literature, both in love with words. Andrew wrote poetry; Vera adored it. Then came marriage, first Emma, then James. Andrew got a job in publishing, climbed the ranks. Vera stayed homewith the kids, the chores, the books she barely had time to read.
She hadnt noticed him changingthe romantic boy hardening into a cynical man who worked late and stopped asking her thoughts. By the time she noticed, it was too late. They were strangers under one roof.
Lydia and Michael arrived at seven sharp. Michaela heavyset man with a thick beardsettled in the lounge, talking politics with Andrew. Lydia, a petite woman with a sharp laugh, followed Vera to the kitchen.
“Howd he take the job idea?” she asked, chopping salad.
“Badly,” Vera sighed.
“Well, men hate change,” Lydia shrugged. “Especially when it inconveniences them.”
“Nothing would change! Id still do everythingjust a few hours out three days a week.”
“To him, thats catastrophe,” Lydia smirked. “Imaginecoming home to an empty house! The horror!”
They laughed, and Vera felt lighter. Lydia always steadied her.
Dinner began civilly. Andrew was charming, joking about books with Michael. Vera almost relaxedmaybe things would smooth over.
“So, about the library,” Lydia turned to Vera. “Have you told Andrew about the reading group?”
“What group?” Andrews fork paused mid-air.
“Its” Vera faltered. “Lydia suggested I run a childrens book club. Twice a week, two hours each.”
“And when were you planning to discuss this?” Andrews voice turned dangerous.
“I tried today!”
“Didnt sound like much of a discussion,” Andrew addressed the guests. “Veras suddenly obsessed with working. At her age, its unwise.”
“Why?” Michael frowned. “Shes highly educatedwed be lucky to have her.”
“Perhaps,” Andrew nodded. “But she has duties at home. To me.”
“Andrew,” Vera flushed with shame. “Not now.”
“Why not?” He spread his hands. “Were all adults. Ill be clear: I wont have my wife working. End of story.”
Silence fell. Lydia glanced helplessly at Michael, who coughed and said, “This pie is excellent, Vera. Lydia must get the recipe.”
The rest of the evening passed in stiff chatter about weather and news. When the guests left, Vera cleared the table in silence.
“How long were you going to hide this?” Andrew loomed in the doorway.
“I wasnt hiding it,” she stacked plates. “I was waiting for the right time.”
“And when would that be? After youd started?”
“Why are you so angry?” She turned. “Its just a job, Andrew. Not an affair. Not a crime.”
“To me, its betrayal,” he said coldly. “We agreedyoud keep the home, Id provide. That was the deal.”
“That was twenty years ago!” Vera cried. “The kids are gone! I need to feel usefulto someone besides you!”
“So home isnt enough?” He stepped closer. “Admit ityoure bored. Want freedom? New friends?”
“What? This isnt about”
“Ive seen women like you,” he cut in. “First a job, then office flirtations, then divorce.”
“Christ, Andrew!” Vera gaped. “You think Ill take a lover at a library? Surrounded by dusty books and pensioners?”
“Im saying no,” he snapped. “Final answer.”
Something inside her broke. The end of the argument, the end of hopemaybe the end of them.
“Know what?” she said softly. “Im taking the job. Ill call Michael tomorrow.”
Andrew stared. “What did you say?”
“Im going to work. Not for money or friendsbut to feel like a person again. Not just your housekeeper.”
“So youve decided,” he nodded slowly. “Without me.”
“I tried deciding with you. You wouldnt listen.”
“Fine.” He turned on his heel.
She heard him pacing, muttering. Then he returned, holding her handbag and coat.
“Your times up,” he said, pointing at the door. “If you make choices alone, you can live alone. Get out.”
“Are you serious?” Her voice shook. “Youre throwing me out over a part-time job?”
“Im throwing you out for betrayal,” he said coldly. “For putting yourself above our family.”
“Andrew” Tears welled. “This isnt ambition! Its so I dont lose my mind rattling around this empty house! Youre never herethe kids are gonewhat am I supposed to do? Bake cakes for ghosts?”
“Take up knitting!” he barked. “Our deal stands: I work, you stay home.”
He thrust the coat at her. “If youre so bored, go. Maybe Lydia will take you in.”
Mechanically, she put on the coat. This couldnt be real. Theyd fought beforebut hed never kicked her out. Never been this cruel.
“Are you really doing this?” she whispered. “Over a library job?”
“Im doing it because you disrespected me,” he said. “Now go.”
She took a breath and stepped toward the door. Then turned.
“You know whats saddest, Andrew? You never asked why I want this. You just forbade itlike Im property, not your wife.”
“Enlighten me,” he sneered.
“Because Im terrified,” she said quietly. “That one day, you wont come home. That youll leave me for that young editor youve been staying late withOlive, is it? The one who calls every night? Our walls are thin, Andrew. I hear you on the balcony.”
He recoiled. “Thats”
She walked out, shutting the door softly. The hallway was quiet, faint jazz drifting from upstairs.
Outside, the night air was cool. She inhaled deeplyand felt an odd relief, like shrugging off a weight carried for years.
Pulling out her phone, she dialled Lydia.
“Its me. Can I come over? Now?”
Walking to the bus stop, she marvelled at lifes strangeness. That morning, shed thought shed die in that house, with that man. Now she was stepping into the unknownand for the first time in years, she felt free.
Her phone buzzedAndrews name. She hesitated, then declined the call and switched it off.
Her time was up. The time of fear, of silence, of enduring. Now began something newterrifying, uncertain, but hers. And she was ready.
