Hey love, listen up Ive got a story for you, just like a chat over a cuppa.
Harriet, were starving! Stop lying around! Jamess irritated voice rang out over the kitchen door.
My head was pounding, my throat felt like sandpaper, and my nose was completely blocked. I tried to get up, but my body felt like a sack of feathers. No wonder Id come down with something.
All week it had been muggy, then yesterday evening the sky opened up and sleet mixed with rain. Spring, right? Trying to flag a cab in that weather was a dead end, so I had to catch the local bus from work. I waited thirty minutes for a bus that turned out to be packed to the brim. I squeezed in just enough to survive, then had a decent trek from the stop.
Id asked James to pick me up on his way, but he called back: Harriet, Tom and I have stopped by my mums. Well be late. As usual.
So I got home late, soaked through and shivering. I glanced at the clock 8am on a Saturday.
James, could you bring the thermometer, please? I asked, trying to sound normal.
What? Youre sick? And what about breakfast? he replied, puzzled.
Can I make something myself? I asked.
Yourself? What do you mean? he said, looking confused. And Tom?
Toms ten now, and youre an adult, love. How about you whip up some scrambled eggs? Let the lad help I taught him to cook, hes a decent chef now.
You taught the kid to cook? James exclaimed.
Yes, whats wrong with that? Hes glued to his phone all day, never wants to do anything else. I shrugged.
Are you out of your mind? Hes a boy! Men arent meant to cook or learn it thats womens work! James snapped, getting red in the face. Fine, well head to my parents then. Well be back tomorrow night.
He and his mum bolted off to her place, leaving me to crawl out of bed, find the thermometer, switch the kettle on and start thinking
Why did this happen? When did the moment pass where James could have calmly made a meal for both of us, looked after each other when I was ill? When did every household chore suddenly become my sole responsibility?
The thermometer beeped 39.2°C. I swallowed some pills and tried to drift off.
A bit later my phone buzzed. It was Mum:
Harriet, why arent you answering? Im used to you calling in the morning I was worried.
Mum, Im just a bit under the weather. Took the meds and fell back asleep, I croaked.
Right, just a little! And wheres James? Off at his mums again? she grumbled.
Weve gone to keep Tom away from catching anything, I answered weakly.
Do you really believe that? To avoid catching something Tell me, so you dont end up doing all the washing yourself! she snapped.
Mum! I tried to protest, but she cut me off. She was right, I knew it.
Dont give me a hard time. I married you, not a servant! Did you check your temperature?
Yep. It was high this morning, a bit better now, but Im wiped out, I admitted.
Stay in bed! Dad will come fetch you. Ill get you up later. You shouldnt be fighting this alone. She hung up.
I got up quietly, washed my face, gathered my laptop and a few essentials, and headed out to meet Jamess dad.
When I saw him, his hand flew to his chest as if hed felt a sudden pain.
Whats wrong, Dad? Are you okay? I asked, startled.
Its you! I thought Id died you look so pale! he laughed, snatching my bag. I was half expecting the Grim Reaper.
Dad, why scare me like that? I smiled weakly. Shall we go?
Come on, hold onto me. The wind might blow you away. You look gaunt, like youve been through a war. No, love, youre not a slave. Im just teasing, but you do look a bit… tired. He helped me into the car.
I didnt argue I was exhausted. At Jamess parents house it was warm, the food was decent, and the atmosphere was surprisingly cosy. By evening I felt a little better, thanks to Mums fussing.
I rang James to let him know I wasnt home, and his lazy voice answered: What do you want? I cant bring you any meds. Had a few pints with Dad. Its Saturday, were watching football. Oh, Mum wanted to chat with you. He handed the line over to his mother.
Harriet! Youre a woman, you cant just lounge around while a man goes hungry! What matters in a family? Men need food, warmth, and not to be bothered! Shes ill just a tablet and shes fine! shouted his mother, Ksenia.
Their neighbour, Patricia, heard and snatched the phone: Dear, whats this about a weak husband? Should he be frail, sick, or what? Why are you calling him a weakling? All men are like that, you know. She rolled her eyes.
The mother, Margaret, interjected: My sons not weak, hes a family man! All men are the same, dear. She looked at James: What? Im raising my daughter. A real man should be able to look after his wife, not order a drink and ignore a sick partner.
Silence fell. The phone buzzed with a new message from James:
Harriet, can you send me some cash? Im low until payday. Spent it on Tom. Had to pay for his school fees and buy him clothes!
My blood ran cold. Ive been covering the rent and groceries all month. Is that okay? I typed back, shocked.
Fine, the flat is yours anyway. Send it already, Im heading to the shop! he demanded.
No money left spent it on meds, I replied, lying.
What? No money? Your illness is costing us a fortune! Ask your parents then.
Ask your mum, I muttered.
She wont understand why I spent my wages, James replied.
I dont get it either, I wrote back.
Im an adult. I have my own wants and expenses. I dont have to account to you or Mum. Im at the store. Send the cash now! he shouted.
I wont send it, I snapped.
He fired back, calling me greedy, ungrateful, a bad mother and wife, and a string of insults followed. I finally replied to Mum:
Dont, Mum. Ive had enough.
The whole night James and his mum exchanged angry texts with me. I just muted everything.
Sunday morning, the family gathered for breakfast. James called:
Harriet, Tom and I are staying at my mums. She actually loves and looks after us, unlike you. She said shed never rush us into marriage. Youre no mother, youre a cuckoo! He slammed the phone.
Great, wonderful, Ian, Jamess brother, chimed in, watching me. What do you think?
I only see a divorce. I dont want that. I stared at the fluffy omelette with herbs, feeling the weight of the decision.
Its brilliant! Mum, Im off for the day. Might be late for lunch, Dad announced as he left the flat.
Harriet, take your meds, turn the phone off, and get some rest. You need to recover, Mum said softly, giving me a kiss on the forehead.
And thats exactly what I did. It was Sunday, tomorrow Id be back at work, so a little extra sleep was welcome.
By lunchtime my dad showed up with a fresh set of keys.
Whats this? Can I throw these away? he asked, handing them over.
I what? I stammered.
I changed the locks on your flat, collected Toms and Jamess stuff, and took it to the inlaws. You can stay here for now, but stay off the phone its safer. He explained, eyes serious.
Mum was in the kitchen, humming, happy that the plan finally came together. Theyd long dreamed of this, but they never wanted to step in the daughter had to come to it herself.
I filed for divorce.
The barrage of criticism was relentless youre a fool, youve ruined the family, cuckoo, ungrateful mother, and that was just the mild stuff. Still, for the first time in ages, I felt a strange relief.
The divorce went through quickly. There were no kids, no joint assets to split. A year after wed married, James decided it was cheaper to take his son back than to pay child support. His exwife didnt mind. He never even asked me for advice or gave me a headsup. Hed forgotten that Tom needed clothes, school fees, a proper flat which, by the way, was mine. Hed forgotten about me entirely. He just thought, Its easier this way. Im a man, after all.
But the court set things straight, even though James tried to manipulate the process.
Now James lives with his mum, who monitors his spending and teaches him how to run a household. Three men in a house isnt easy.
I, on the other hand, am happy. I bought a car so I wont get stuck in terrible weather again. What am I supposed to do at 27 after such a heavy divorce? The answer is simple: love myself.
Talk soon, love. Take care.