“Pack your things and leave!” shouted Valerie, hurling her husband’s shirt into his face. “I’ve had enough of looking at you!”

“Val, what are you doing?” muttered Nigel, stumbling back toward the door, the crumpled shirt in his hands. “Calm down—let’s talk this through properly.”

“Talk?” She spun around to face him fully, eyes blazing. “Thirty years we’ve talked! Thirty years I’ve put up with your drinking, your rudeness, your indifference!”

“What drinking?” Nigel tried to sound indignant, but his voice wavered. “I just had a pint with the lads—”

“A pint?” Valerie snatched his shoe from the floor and flung it at him. “Till three in the bloody morning! While I sat here like a fool, warming your dinner!”

Nigel dodged the shoe and bolted into the hallway. Valerie followed, already clutching his jacket.

“Val, love, you’re overreacting,” he said, reaching for her hands, but she jerked away.

“Don’t touch me!” She shoved his arms aside. “Keep your filthy hands off me!”

“What’s got into you? Everything was fine yesterday!”

“Fine?” She let out a bitter laugh. “You think it’s fine when my husband staggers home drunk and collapses in the hallway? When the neighbors gawk and whisper?”

“I had a few too many—it happens.”

“A few?” She seized his collar. “You were muttering ‘Katie, oh Katie’ all night in your sleep!”

Nigel paled. Valerie released him, watching the color drain from his face.

“Ah,” she said quietly. “You remember now, don’t you? Thought I wouldn’t hear?”

“Val, it’s not what you think—”

“Then what is it?” She folded her arms. “Just a coincidence?”

“Katie’s… she’s just…” He faltered.

“Out with it! Who is she?”

Nigel shifted from foot to foot, silent. Valerie stared, feeling an icy numbness spread inside her.

“From the office, isn’t she?” she asked. “The new secretary you mentioned?”

“Val—”

“Young and pretty, I suppose? Not like your old wife?” Her voice grew quieter.

“Stop it,” Nigel stepped closer. “You know I love you.”

“Love me!” She exploded again. “Then why chase other women? Why never come home?”

“I do come home—”

“When? When I’m already asleep? When the washing’s done, the house is spotless?”

Valerie marched into the kitchen, Nigel trailing behind. A pot of cold soup sat on the stove, untouched bread on the table.

“See this?” She jabbed a finger at the pot. “Made this for you yesterday. Thought you’d come home hungry. Where were you?”

“Got held up at work, then—”

“Then off gallivanting with your Katie!”

“There is no Katie!” Nigel slammed a fist on the table. “You’re obsessed!”

“No?” Valerie pulled a crumpled napkin from her apron pocket. “Then what’s this?”

Nigel took it, reading the phone number scrawled under the name “Katie.”

“Where’d you get this?”

“Your jacket pocket,” she said flatly. “Still denying it?”

Nigel bowed his head, jaw clenched.

“Val, it’s not—”

“Then what?” She sat at the table, hands flat on the surface. “Explain it to me, Nigel.”

“We just… talked. At a café. She’s new in town, doesn’t know anyone—”

“Talked,” Valerie echoed. “And gave you her number? For a chat?”

“Well… she said she was lonely—”

“Right,” Valerie nodded. “Lonely. And I’m not? I’ve got nothing better to do?”

“Val, you’ve got your work, your friends—”

“Work?” She stood abruptly. “Work, cook, clean, wash! While you’re on holiday?”

“I work too!”

“Work? Oh yes,” she stepped closer. “Work, then off to cafés with young girls?”

Nigel looked away. Valerie studied him—this tired, grey-haired man with a sagging belly. Was this really the boy she’d fallen for thirty years ago?

“You know what?” she said softly. “Go to your Katie. Maybe she’ll put up with a man who spends his nights out.”

“Val, don’t be daft—”

“Daft?” She laughed. “That’s rich! Thirty years married, and you’re off chasing skirts!”

“I’m not—”

“Aren’t you? Where were you last night? Last week? When you didn’t come home till midnight?”

Nigel said nothing. Valerie walked to the bedroom and yanked open the wardrobe.

“What are you doing?” he asked from the doorway.

“Packing your things,” she said, stuffing shirts into a bag. “Since home doesn’t suit you, find somewhere else.”

“Val, stop! We’re adults—we can talk—”

“Talk?” She whirled around. “About what? How much you respect me? How much you cherish our family?”

“I do—”

“Do you?” She threw socks at him. “Then why cheat?”

“I haven’t!”

“No?” She grabbed his suit. “What’s this, then? Friendship?”

“We are just friends—”

“Friends!” She hurled another shoe. “Friends who cozy up in cafés!”

Nigel flinched.

“How’d you know?”

“Lucy saw you,” Valerie said coldly. “Walking past that café on High Street. Said you were holding hands like lovebirds.”

“Val, it was just—”

“Comfort?” She turned. “And who comforts me? Who holds my hand when I’m low?”

“I’m here—”

“Here? When? You dash off in the morning, stumble in drunk at night—that’s ‘here’?”

Nigel stared at the floor. Valerie returned to the wardrobe, tossing more clothes into the bag.

“Val, let’s not rush this,” he said, sitting on the bed. “Let’s talk properly—”

“Talk?” She didn’t turn. “About what? How you’ll never do it again? How this is the last time?”

“Yes!”

“Liar,” she zipped the bag. “You will. Because you can’t help yourself.”

“Val—”

“How many times have you promised me?” She faced him. “Sworn you’d quit drinking, quit straying?”

Nigel stayed silent.

“Remember when Jamie was born?” she continued. “You promised then too. Said we were a family now—you’d be responsible.”

“I tried—”

“Tried?” She sat beside him. “Jamie’s twenty-eight. Twenty-eight years of ‘trying’?”

“I’m not that bad—”

“Aren’t you?” She stood, walking to the window. “What do you think you are? A good husband? A good father?”

“I provide—”

“You provide?” She grabbed framed photos from the dresser. “Look. Our wedding day.”

She handed him a black-and-white photo—two young, smiling faces.

“Remember what you said?”

Nigel took it. “That I’d be the best husband… that I’d cherish you—”

“Exactly.” She held up another. “And this? Jamie’s birth.”

In the photo, she cradled their newborn while Nigel embraced them both.

“Remember how happy you were? Said we were a proper family now?”

“I remember,” he murmured. “I was happy.”

“Were,” she nodded. “And now? Now you don’t need us?”

“I do—”

“Do you?” She snatched back the photos. “Then why wreck it?”

Nigel looked up, eyes wet.

“I don’t want to wreck it—”

“Don’t you?” She sat beside him. “Then why cheat?”

“I’m not… It’s not what you—”

“Then what?” She took his hand. “Tell me the truth.”

He sighed.

“She’s young… pretty… Talks to me like I’m interesting—”

“And how do I talk to you?”

“You’re always busy… the house, work… We never just talk—”

“We didn’t?” Valerie dropped his hand. “And now?”

“Now we can—”

“Too late,” she stood, handing him the bag. “Take your things. Go to Katie.”

“Val, please—”

“I’m not doing this,” she pushed the bag into his hands. “You did. Thirty years ago.”

“What?”

“You stopped seeing me thirty years ago,” she opened the door. “The moment we married, you thought I was yours. That I’d never leave.”

“That’s not—”

“It is,” she said. “When did you last bring me flowers?”

Nigel hesitated.

“Can’t recall?” She smiled sadly. “I can. Five years ago. My birthday.Valerie closed the door behind him, leaning her forehead against the wood, and for the first time in years, she breathed freely.