She doesnt argue. She just walks away.
Its a damp, grey autumn morning. Sarah Thompson wakes to the shrill buzz of her alarm and drags herself out from under the covers. She slips on a robe, walks over to the window and pulls back the curtains. The bleak scene outside mirrors her mood a fine drizzle, bare branches, a low overcast sky.
Today marks the thirtieth wedding anniversary for her and Michael. She doesnt expect any grand greetings; in recent years Michael has forgotten such milestones entirely, only remembering them when Sarah drops a gentle hint.
She brews a mug of tea, sits at the kitchen table and, almost by reflex, recalls their first anniversary five years after the wedding. Michael had surprised her then with a massive bouquet of roses and theatre tickets. After the play they went to a restaurant where he raised a heartfelt toast about love and loyalty. Back then she believed their happiness would last forever.
A loud snore drifts from the bedroom. Michael can sleep until lunch. Lately he gets home past midnight, reeking of tobacco and cheap gin. When she asks where hes been, he offers vague excuses: stayed late with the lads, important meeting, you wouldnt understand anyway.
Sarah sighs and starts making breakfast. She decides on pancakes, hoping the familiar taste might nudge Michaels memory of the date. In their early years he always claimed hers were the best in the world.
Around ten, a blearyeyed Michael shuffles into the kitchen. He doesnt say hello, heads straight for the fridge.
Good morning, Sarah says softly. Ive made pancakes.
I dont have time for your pancakes, he grumbles, pouring himself a glass of kefir. Victor called, wants me to swing by and look at his car.
A lump rises in Sarahs throat. Somewhere deep down she still hopes for a miracle.
Do you even know what day it is? she asks cautiously.
Michael pauses, then shrugs indifferently. Its Tuesday, I think. Why?
Nothing, she replies, turning to the window to hide the tears that start to gather.
He downs the kefir, slams the empty glass into the sink and disappears into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later hes back, ready to leave.
Im off to Victors. Dont expect me for dinner, he calls over his shoulder.
Michael, todays thirty years since we married, Sarah cant hold back.
He stops in the doorway, scowls. So what? You want a parade? Sarah, how many more anniversaries do you need? Do you want flowers? Ill buy some, no problem.
Its not about the flowers. I just thought it mattered to you too, she says quietly.
Ive got a mountain of work. No time for sentiment, he snaps, slamming the door.
Sarah is left alone in the empty flat. She clears the cold pancakes from the table, brews another cup of tea, and lets memories of happier days swirl in her mind.
After lunch she decides to walk. The rain has stopped, a shy autumn sun peeks out. She strolls through the park, breathing the fresh air and thinking over her life.
When she first met Michael, he was a cheerful, attentive lad. He drove a bus and dreamed of opening his own garage. They married quickly, six months after meeting. Their daughter, Emma, was born soon after. They lived modestly but together, and Michael always found time for family, even after a long shift.
Eventually his garage took off. Money came in, they bought a flat, a car. Emma grew up, finished school and moved to another city.
But their relationship grew colder each year. At first he stayed late at work, then he began disappearing at night. Sarah endured it all, never raising a fight, believing the situation would improve. Time passed and nothing changed.
Lost in thought, she walks into a small café, feeling a weight in her chest, and orders a hot chocolate.
Inside, its warm and cosy. She settles at a window seat, watches the other patrons. At the next table an elderly couple eat cake slowly, chatting in low voices. The man gently wipes crumbs from the womans lips with a napkin, and she smiles back. The tenderness of that simple act makes Sarahs heart tighten.
Why did things fall apart with Michael? she wonders, stirring her drink. When did we stop noticing each other?
Evening finds her back home. The flat is quiet. She turns on the television to fill the silence and begins to prepare dinner. The habit of feeding her husband, even when he never appreciated it, lingers.
At nine oclock theres a knock. Their neighbour, Peter Johnson, stands on the doorstep with a bottle of wine.
Sarah, sorry to drop by so late, he smiles. I just wanted to wish you a happy anniversary. I remember you mentioned you and Michael have your wedding anniversary in early November.
Sarah is momentarily taken aback. Peter and she are just friendly neighbours, exchanging a few words in the hallway now and then, helping each other with small chores. She cant recall ever mentioning the date to him.
Thanks, Peter, she says, accepting the bottle, a little embarrassed. I didnt expect.
I didnt want to be a nuisance, he says apologetically. I know Michael is often away, so I thought Anyway, Ill leave you to it. Happy anniversary.
When he leaves, Sarah stands holding the bottle, surprised that a stranger remembered her special day while her own husband hasnt even called.
Almost at midnight Michael stumbles in, reeking of alcohol, a bright lipstick mark on his shirt.
Where have you been? Sarah asks quietly.
What, now I have to explain? he snaps. I was out with the lads, celebrating stuff.
Whats that mark on your shirt?
Lipstick? Never saw it, he brushes it off. Victors daughter leaned on me when we said hello. Shes still a kid.
Victors daughter is twentyseven, Sarah replies calmly. She only wears burgundy lipstick. That stain is bright red.
Enough with your jealousy, Michael snaps. Maybe shes using a new shade, who knows? And whats this interrogation?
Sarah doesnt argue. She slips into the bedroom, locks the door and lies down. Sleep evades her as thoughts of a marriage turned into a farcapped partnership swirl. They live like neighbours, barely friendly.
The next morning, while Michael naps on the sofa, Sarah calls Emma.
Hi, love. How are you? Hows baby? Emma answers. Little Tom is crawling everywhere. Dad didnt call yesterday, forgot our anniversary?
See, Sarah says with a sad smile. I need to talk. Remember you asked me to come help with the grandchild?
Of course! Did you think about it? Emma brightens. Come over, wed love to have you! Tom would enjoy his granny.
Ill come, Sarah says firmly. But not just for a week as you suggested. I want to stay longer, maybe move in permanently.
Is something wrong, Mum? Emma asks, worried.
Nothing serious, Sarah replies. Just very tired. Well talk later. Ill be there in three days.
After the call, a strange relief washes over Sarah. A decision that has been simmering for years finally takes shape. She no longer wants to live with a man who doesnt respect or value her.
Michael wakes around lunchtime with a pounding headache. Sarah quietly places a tablet and a glass of water beside him.
Whats got you so glum? he asks, wincing. Still sulking about yesterday? Sorry I forgot the date. Who hasnt?
Im heading to Emmas, Sarah says evenly. I want to help with the baby.
When?
The day after tomorrow.
For how long?
I dont know. Maybe forever.
Michael, about to swallow his tablet, freezes with his mouth open.
What do you meanforever?
In the literal sense, Sarah meets his gaze. Im leaving you, Michael.
What? Because of the anniversary? I could buy you a bouquet right now if that would help.
Its not about the flowers, she shakes her head. I just thought it mattered to you too, but weve become strangers. You live your life, I live mine. Yet we keep pretending were a family.
Sarah, what are you saying? Weve spent thirty years together!
Thats why Im leaving now, she says sadly. I dont want us to waste another thirty years hurting each other.
Whos hurting who? he protests. Do you have a roof over your head? Yes. I bring in money, dont I? What else do you need?
Sarah looks at the angry, bewildered man and thinks of how much he has changed or perhaps just stopped pretending.
I need a lot, Michael, she whispers. I need attention, care, respect. I need to feel loved and important, not just a housekeeper who washes shirts stained with someone elses lipstick.
Here we go again, your complaints! Michael erupts. Im saying nothing happened!
It doesnt matter whether it happened, Sarah answers, exhausted. What matters is that were strangers now. You act as if I dont exist, and I cant live like that any longer.
Wait, he says, ruffling his hair. Youre serious about leaving? What about the flat? Our things?
I dont need much. Ill take only my things. The flat can stay yours. I just need peace of mind.
Where will you go? Back to your daughters place? Does she need a motherinlaw around?
Emma invited me, Sarah says calmly. Ill help with the baby, maybe find a job there. The citys big, plenty of opportunities.
And me? Who will cook, wash, tidy?
Sarah gives a rueful smile. Thats the whole answer.
Youre an adult, Michael. Youll manage. Or youll find someone younger and prettier to put up with your habits.
For the next two days Michael seems to doubt the seriousness of her plans, alternating between pretence and clumsy compliments, promising change.
Lets forget all this, he says one evening as she prepares to leave. Ill try, I swear. Well go to the theatre, dine out. How about a seaside holiday next summer?
Sarah has already decided. She packs her essentials into a suitcase, leaving the rest for later.
A taxi arrives in the morning. Michael stands in the doorway, shifting his weight nervously.
Maybe youll stay? he asks as Sarah steps toward the door. Think about it. Thirty years isnt a joke. You cant just walk away.
Goodbye, Michael, she whispers, brushing his shoulder lightly. Take care of yourself.
She doesnt argue or linger. She simply walks out.
In the taxi, she watches the familiar streets of the town pass by, feeling a freedom she hasnt known in years. The future is uncertain, but it no longer frightens her. Instead, she hopes something good lies ahead in this new chapter.
At the station Emma greets her with baby Tom in her arms. The little boy reaches for his grandmother, and Sarah holds him, tears of relief tracing her cheeks.
Mum, are you crying? Emma asks, concerned. What happened? Did you and Dad fight?
No, sweetheart, Sarah shakes her head, kissing Toms chubby cheek. We didnt fight. I just realised sometimes you have to know when to walk away.
Six months later, Sarah lands a job at a local nursery, rents a small flat near Emma, and feels happier than she has in years.
Michael calls a few times, begging her to return, but his voice carries only selfish longing for the comfort hes used to.
One evening, on her way home from work, Sarah passes an elderly couple the same pair shed seen in the café on her anniversary day. They walk arminarm, speaking softly. As they pass, the woman smiles at Sarah, and she returns the smile.
Thats what real love looks like, she thinks. Even after many years, you can still look at someone with tenderness, not irritation.
Back home she brews another cup of tea, settles into her favourite armchair and opens a book. Outside a gentle spring rain taps the window, but inside she feels warm and at peace. She has no regrets about her choice. Sometimes you have to leave one door closed to open another, and she finally walks through it without looking back.
