She Didn’t Argue. She Just Walked Away.

She didnt argue. She just left.

The autumn morning was damp and grey. I was jolted awake by the shrill alarm and reluctantly dragged myself out of the covers. I tossed on a robe, shuffled to the window and pulled aside the curtain. The bleak scene outside matched my mood a light drizzle, leafbare branches and a sullen sky.

Today marked our thirtieth wedding anniversary. I hadnt expected any grand gestures; in recent years Id been forgetting dates entirely. When I did remember, it was only because Emily nudged me subtly.

I brewed a mug of tea and sat at the kitchen table, the memory of our first anniversary surfacing unbidden. That was five years after wed tied the knot. Id come home then with a massive bouquet of roses and tickets to a West End show. After the performance wed gone to a cosy restaurant where Id raised a toast to love and fidelity. It had seemed then that our happiness would last forever.

A loud snore rose from the bedroom. I could sleep until lunchtime if I wanted. Lately Id been getting home after midnight, smelling of tobacco and cheap gin. My answers to Emilys questions were vague: stayed late with the lads, important meeting, you wouldnt understand anyway.

She sighed, set about making breakfast, and decided on pancakes, hoping the scent might jog me about the date. In our early days shed always claimed my pancakes were the best in the world.

Around ten a.m. I shuffled into the kitchen, still halfasleep, and headed straight for the fridge.

Morning, Emily whispered softly. Ive made pancakes.

I dont have time for your pancakes, I muttered, pouring myself a glass of kefir. Victor called, wants me to swing by and look at his car.

A lump rose in her throat. Somewhere deep down she still hoped for a miracle.

Do you even know what day it is? she asked cautiously.

I paused, then shrugged. Its Tuesday, I think. Why?

Nothing, she murmured, turning toward the window, trying to hide the tears that gathered.

I downed the kefir, slammed the empty glass into the sink and trudged to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later I was back, ready to leave.

Im off to Victors. Dont expect me for dinner, I called over my shoulder.

Mike, its thirty years since we married, Emily blurted.

I stopped in the doorway, frowning.

And now what? Throw a parade? Emily, how many times do I have to hear about these dates? Do you want flowers? Ill buy some, no problem.

Its not about the flowers. I just thought it would matter to you as well, she said quietly.

Ive got a mountain of work, no time for sentiment, I snapped, slamming the door.

Emily was left alone in the empty flat. She cleared the cold pancakes from the table and poured herself another cup of tea. Memories of brighter days swirled in her mind.

After lunch she decided to take a stroll. The rain had stopped and a tentative autumn sun peeked over the clouds. She walked slowly through the park, breathing in the fresh air and pondering her life.

When we first met, Id been a cheerful, attentive lad, driving a city bus and dreaming of opening my own garage. Wed married after six months of dating. Our daughter Natalie was born shortly after. We lived modestly but happily; I always made time for the family, even after a long shift.

Eventually the garage took off. Money came in, we bought a flat in Manchester, a family car, and Natalie grew up, moved to Sheffield and settled on her own.

But as the years wore on, our relationship grew colder. First I stayed late at work, then I started disappearing evenings. Emily endured it all, never raising a fight, believing things would improve. Time passed, and nothing changed.

Lost in thought, she wandered into a small café for a hot chocolate. Inside it was warm and snug. She took a seat by the window, ordered, and watched the other patrons. At the next table an elderly couple ate cake slowly, chatting quietly. The man gently wiped crumbs from the womans lips with a napkin, and she smiled gratefully. The simple tenderness made Emilys heart ache.

Why has it gone wrong for us? she wondered, stirring her drink. When did we stop seeing each other?

That evening Emily returned home to a quiet flat. She turned on the telly to stave off loneliness and began preparing dinner out of habit, still feeding me even when I rarely appreciated it.

Around nine, the doorbell rang. Our neighbour, Peter Johnson, stood there with a bottle of red wine.

Emily, sorry for the late visit, he said with a grin. I just wanted to wish you well. I remember you mentioned the anniversary is early November.

Emily was taken aback. Peter and I were merely friendly neighbours, exchanging a few words in the lift or helping with small chores. She hadnt even told him about the date.

Thanks, Peter, she replied, accepting the wine, slightly embarrassed. I didnt expect

I didnt want to be a nuisance, he said apologetically. I know Michaels often away, so I thought Id drop a line. Anyway, happy anniversary.

When Peter left, Emily stood there, bottle in hand, feeling the sting of a stranger remembering her milestone while I hadnt bothered to call.

Just before midnight I staggered home, reeking of alcohol, a bright lipstick mark on my shirt.

Where have you been? Emily asked quietly.

Do I have to give a report now? I retorted. I was out with the lads, celebrating

Whats that on your shirt?

What shirt? I glanced down, shrugged. Just a mess. Victors daughter must have brushed against me when she said hello.

Victors daughter is twentyseven and only wears burgundy lipstick. This is a vivid scarlet.

Im fed up with your jealousy, I snapped. Maybe shes using a new shade, who knows? And why the interrogation?

Emily didnt argue. She slipped into the bedroom, locked the door and lay down, sleepless. Thoughts of our marriage feeling like a hollow charade ran through her mind. Wed become neighbours rather than partners.

The next morning, while I was napping on the sofa, Emily called Natalie.

Hey love, hows the little one?

Hes fine, Mum. Hes crawling everywhere. Did Dad forget about your anniversary?

Exactly, Emily sighed. I need to talk. Remember you offered to have me stay while you look after the baby?

Of course! Youre thinking of coming? Natalie beamed. Come over, wed love to have you, and itll be good for baby Tom.

Ill come, Emily said firmly. But not just a week as you suggested. I want to stay longer, maybe even move in permanently.

Mum, is something wrong? Natalie asked, worried.

Nothing serious, just tired, Emily replied. Well chat later. Ill be there in three days.

After the call, Emily felt a strange relief. The decision that had been simmering for years finally took shape. She no longer wanted to live with a man who didnt respect or value her.

I woke around lunch with a pounding headache. Emily placed a tablet and a glass of water on the table without a word.

Why so glum? I asked, wincing. Still sulking about yesterday? Sorry I missed the date. Who hasnt forgotten once?

Im heading to Natalies, she said calmly. Ill help with the baby.

When? I asked, halfinterested.

The day after tomorrow.

For how long?

I dont know. Maybe forever.

I froze, midpill, mouth open.

What do you mean, forever?

In the literal sense, she replied, meeting my gaze. Im leaving you, Mike.

Whats this sudden outburst? I smirked nervously. Because of the anniversary? I could buy you flowers right now if thats what you need.

Its not about the flowers, she shook her head. I thought it mattered to you too.

Ive got a lot on my plate, no time for sentiment, I snapped, slamming the door.

Emily stayed alone in the empty flat, clearing the cold pancakes from the table and pouring herself another cup of tea. Memories of happier days swirled in her mind.

She decided to take a walk. The rain had stopped and a tentative autumn sun peeked over the clouds. She walked slowly through the park, breathing in the fresh air and pondering her life.