**Diary Entry 18th March**
*”Your times up,” he said and pointed to the door.*
“Again with that smell! I asked you not to smoke in the house!” Emily threw open the windows in the lounge, angrily swishing the curtains aside. “Good Lord, even the sofa reeks. What will Eleanor and her husband think when they come for dinner?”
“And what will they think?” Andrew deliberately stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray. “Theyll think a normal bloke lives here who happens to smoke. Big deal.”
“Normal blokes, Andrew Whitaker, smoke on the balcony or outside. Not poison their family with cigarette smoke. I get headaches because of you.”
“Here we go,” Andrew rolled his eyes. “Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and now suddenly youre bothered. Maybe its the menopause, love.”
Emily froze, lips pressed tight. Lately, hed been needling her more about her age, as if aiming for the sore spotsand always landing the blow.
“Whats that got to do with anything?” She turned to the window to hide the tears. “Im just asking for basic respect. Is it so hard to step outside?”
“Respect?” He scoffed. “Wheres yours for me? After work, I want to sit in my chair, have a cuppa, and smoke. Not run in and out like a schoolboy. Its my house!”
“*Our* house,” she corrected softly.
“Right, *ours*,” he conceded grudgingly. “Except I pay the mortgage. I paid for the renovation. And that new coat of yours? That was me too.”
Emily exhaled. Shed heard this a thousand times. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the kids, then caring for his mother, then… just settling into being a homemaker. And Andrew had settled into holding it over her.
“I dont want another row,” she said wearily. “Just please smoke on the balcony. Eleanor has asthmaitll be hard for her to breathe.”
“Fine,” Andrew surprised her by agreeing. “For your precious Eleanor, Ill step outside. But only tonight.” He rose and tossed over his shoulder, “And whyd you invite them? Ive got an early meeting. I need sleep, not to entertain your dull friends.”
“Theyre not just friends,” Emily countered. “David is head librarianhe might help me find work.”
Andrew turned slowly. “*What* work?”
Emily hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, once things were settled. Now she had no choice.
“I want a job at the library. Three days a week, part-time. The kids are grown, youre always at the office… I need something.”
“Wholl run the house?” he interrupted. “Cook, clean, do the laundry?”
“Ill manage. The kids hardly visit, and”
“Your mum does, every week, expecting pies and roasts,” he grumbled.
“She *helps*,” Emily protested.
Andrew waved her off. “Works a daft idea. Youre forty-seven. Stay homeread, knit, whatever. Stick to your little hobbies.”
“*Hobbies?*” Her voice sharpened. “Andrew, I have a *first* in English literature. I taught before the kids! Or have you forgotten?”
“That was twenty years ago,” he said, flopping back into his chair. “No one cares about degrees that old. Whered you even go with that?”
“To the *library*,” she repeated. “I dont need a fortune. I need purpose. To feel like Im more than just your housekeeper.”
“So home and family arent enough?” His lip curled. “Beneath you, is it?”
“Youre twisting my words,” she said, exhausted. “Lets talk later. The guests will be here soon.”
She retreated to the kitchen, heart pounding. Lately, every conversation became a battle. When had it started? Theyd met at uniboth bookish, in love with words. He wrote poetry; she adored it. Then came marriage, Hannah, then James. Andrew climbed the ranks at the publishing house. She stayed home, her own books gathering dust.
She hadnt noticed the changethe romantic young man hardening into a cynical stranger who no longer asked her thoughts. By the time she did, it was too late.
Eleanor and David arrived promptly at seven. David, a burly man with a salt-and-pepper beard, launched into politics with Andrew. Eleanor, spry and sharp-eyed, followed Emily to the kitchen.
“Howd the talk go?” she asked, chopping salad.
“Hes against it.”
“Men hate change,” Eleanor said dryly. “Especially if it inconveniences them.”
“Its only a few hours,” Emily protested, pulling a casserole from the oven.
“To him, its chaos,” Eleanor laughed. “*God forbid* he comes home to an empty house.”
Dinner began civilly. Andrew was charming, joking, asking David about new releases. Emily dared to hope.
“Speaking of books,” Eleanor said brightly, “have you told Andrew about the reading group?”
“What group?” Andrews fork clinked against his plate.
Emily stiffened. “I… thought Id run a childrens book club. At the library.”
“Starting when?” His voice turned dangerous.
“Next month,” Eleanor cut in, oblivious. “Twice weeklyhardly a burden.”
Andrew set down his wineglass. “And were you planning to tell me?”
“I tried today,” Emily whispered.
“I recall no *discussion*,” he said coolly to the guests. “Emilys taken a fancy to this work idea. Frankly, at her age, its misguided.”
“Nonsense,” David said. “Her expertise is invaluable.”
“Yet she has obligations,” Andrew countered. “To me.”
“Andrew” Emilys cheeks burned.
“*What*? Were all adults here.” He leaned back. “I wont have my wife working. End of.”
The table fell silent. Eleanor shot David a helpless look; he coughed and praised the casserole.
The rest of the evening passed in stiff small talk. When the guests left, Emily cleared the table in silence.
“How long were you hiding this?” Andrew loomed in the doorway.
“I wasnt. I just”
“Till after youd signed the contract?”
“Andrew, I dont understand this anger. Its just a *job*.”
“To me, its betrayal.” His jaw tightened. “You tend the home; I provide. That was the deal.”
“That deal was twenty years ago!” she cried. “I need to feel useful again!”
“Useful?” He stepped closer. “Or bored? Restless? Looking for *distractions*?”
“What are you implying?”
“Ive seen it at the office. Women finding themselvesnext thing, theyre shagging colleagues.”
Emily gaped. “You think Idwith *librarians*?”
“I think,” he said coldly, “you wont work. Full stop.”
Something in her snapped. “Im taking the job. Ill call David tomorrow.”
Andrew stared. “Youd defy me?”
“You gave me no choice.”
“Fine.” He turned on his heel. When he returned, he thrust her handbag and coat at her. “Your times up. If you make decisions alone, you can *live* alone. Get out.”
“Youre throwing me out over a *library job*?”
“For breaking our vows,” he spat. “Your *whims* dont trump this family.”
She numbly put on the coat. It felt surrealhed never gone this far.
“Youre serious?”
“Deadly.” He held the door open. “Go on. Eleanor can house you.”
She paused on the threshold. “The saddest part? You never asked *why* I need this.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Because Im terrified,” she whispered. “That one day, you wont come home. That youll leave me for that junior editor*Olivia*the one you whisper to on the balcony. And Ill be alone, with nothing, because I gave everything to you.”
Andrew paled. “Thats insane.”
“Walls are thin, Andrew. And I hear *everything*.”
She shut the door softly. The stairwell was quiet, save for a neighbours jazz record. Outside, the night air was crisp. For the first time in years, she breathed freely.
She dialled Eleanor. “Can I come over? Now?”
Walking to the bus stop, she marvelled at lifes turns. This morning, shed seen only the same four walls, the same resentful man. Nowuncertainty, but also *freedom*.
Her phone buzzed: *Andrew calling*. She hesitated, then declined and powered it off.
Her time *was* up. The time of fear, of silence. What came next was hers aloneterrifying, exhilarating, and *finally* her own.
