Emma walked home in high spirits, smiling at passersby. She’d just bagged herself a brilliant bonus at work along with an unexpected week of paid leave—all thanks to a gruelling project she’d spent the last few weeks pulling together.
Not the longest holiday, sure, but with some careful planning, she’d have plenty of time to unwind, catch up on reading, and spoil her husband with some proper home-cooked meals. He’d be chuffed to bits, finally having her all to himself for a whole seven days.
When she got in, she tidied up the flat a bit before heading to the kitchen, thinking, *I’ll whip up Jack’s favourite steak and ale pie. He was just saying the other day how much he fancied it.* Humming to herself, she got to work.
The front door clicked shut. Emma dashed over, pecked her husband on the cheek, then stepped back, beaming.
“Blimey, someone’s in a good mood!” Jack laughed. “And you’ve even cooked?” he added, sniffing the air.
Normally, they’d come home from work together. But here she was, early, with dinner already on the go.
“Yep, all sorted,” Emma nodded.
She was bursting to tell him about her boss’s generosity, but before she could—
“Did they let you off early? Something wrong? Or is it another business trip?”
His tone was more like an interrogation than a chat. Emma figured he was just knackered and in a foul mood. To lighten things up, she joked,
“Nah, love, nothing like that. I’ve just quit. You’ve always gone on about how you wanted me at home, making things nice. Well, now I’m completely free!”
Jack went pale for a second, then pulled himself together.
“Quit? Right. Well, at least you won’t be run ragged anymore. We’ll manage for money. Alright, I’m off for a shower—I’ll eat after.”
Emma nodded, confused. His reaction was… odd.
*Why’s he so tense? He’s always gone on about how a woman’s place is at home, making things cosy, raising kids, while the bloke brings in the bacon.*
When they’d first married, Emma was already working for a top firm. Soon after, she got promoted. Her salary—already decent—doubled. Jack had begged her to quit, but Emma couldn’t imagine herself as a housewife.
“So… what’re you planning to do now?” Jack asked over dinner.
Emma studied him. She didn’t want to lie, but she needed to figure out why he was so rattled by her quitting. What did he *really* want? Had he ever truly meant it when he said she should leave her job?
“Well, what *should* I do?” she grinned. “You wanted me to handle the home stuff, so that’s what I’ll do.”
Jack nodded and sloped off to the bedroom. Stretching out on the bed, he chewed it over. Yeah, he’d suggested she leave her job—especially when she moaned about her workload skyrocketing while her pay stayed the same. But he’d only said it to comfort her, certain she’d never actually do it.
And now? They owned their flat outright, and the car loan was recently paid off. But Emma’s salary had been way bigger than his. Their household income was about to take a nosedive. And he’d been eyeing up the latest iPhone, a new gaming console, not to mention his watch was well past its best.
*Nah, she won’t last at home,* he thought. *She’ll be job-hunting in a couple of days.*
Reassured, he drifted off.
Three days passed. Emma showed no signs of job-hunting.
She was loving her time off. She decided to keep quiet and see how far this would go.
Then one evening, Jack came home grinning.
“Love, I’ve found you a job! Why’re you lazing about? Here—two vacancies. Get your CV sent off.”
Emma stared at him, baffled.
“Come on, up you get, laptop out,” he urged.
Obediently, she stood.
*Alright then,* she thought. *Let’s see how far he’ll push this.*
Ten minutes later—
“Sent it?”
“Sent it,” Emma said.
The next day, Jack rang multiple times to check if she’d been invited for an interview. He was acting like it was life or death. By afternoon, he called again, telling her to get ready—he’d found her a “brilliant spot” and they needed to dash over.
Emma played along. She went with him to the office but didn’t go in—just waited in the lobby, then told Jack they’d turned her down.
“What’s the bloody problem? Why won’t anyone take you?” he fumed.
He dropped her home and left for work. Emma opened his laptop, something she’d never done before, hunting for answers.
The first search hit her like a slap: *”How to make your wife get a job.”* She snorted and kept scrolling. No dodgy messages or social media flirting—just page after page of him eyeing up luxury cars, the newest iPhone, swanky watches, gaming consoles.
Emma pieced it together—things she’d missed before. She’d never splurged on herself, pouring her salary into their life. She’d paid off the car loan (though the car was in her name, Jack drove it, barely letting her near it).
She never asked for his money. At the shops, she always paid. She’d never questioned where *his* wages went—clearly a mistake. That ergonomic chair of his cost more than their washing machine. His Swiss watch. The constant phone upgrades.
She tried to recall the last time he’d bought her flowers. Gifts? He’d always told her to pick something out… then she’d ended up paying for it herself. Emma laughed bitterly, then steadied herself. Time for a little test.
Next day, she asked,
“Love, Mum’s skint—could we lend her a bit? You got paid two days ago. We can spare it, yeah?”
Jack’s glare sent a chill through her.
“I provide for you, and now I’ve got to fund your mother too?” His voice dripped with venom.
“*Provide* for me?” Emma echoed. “The fridge is empty—*that’s* your idea of providing?”
“You should’ve said what we needed. Anyway, I’m skint. Ordered myself a new console.”
“Oh? What else?”
“Nothing! I said I’m broke. Paid for the order. Picking it up later.”
“And how exactly are we supposed to live?”
“We’ll scrape by till next payday. Maybe you could stand to skip a meal—that belly’s coming in nicely.”
Emma couldn’t believe her ears. This was the same man who’d sung a different tune not long ago.
“By the way, what’s happening with your flat? Tenants in yet?” Jack asked.
“Not yet.”
“Well, stick an ad up, then. You’ve got all the time in the world now, haven’t you? Housewife life and all.”
“Actually, I’m done playing housewife, Jack. I’m packing my things and going back to my place.”
She marched to the bedroom and started throwing clothes into a bag. Jack didn’t lift a finger to stop her. If anything, he looked relieved to be rid of her.
As she reached the door, suitcase in hand, Jack stepped out of the kitchen.
“And how d’you plan to keep yourself? No one’s hiring you, remember?” he sneered.
“You *actually* care about that?”
“We’re married, in case you’d forgotten—”
“Yeah, married,” Emma cut in. “Bit late to remember that now. Hand over the car keys. It’s in my name, *I* paid off the loan—easy enough to prove.”
“You leeched off me, and now you’re blaming *me*? If you wanted a sugar daddy, should’ve married some rich bloke!” Jack was shouting now.
Emma laughed. She’d never have guessed her little joke would blow up like this.
“I wasn’t leeching. It was just a week off. I’m back at work Monday—not that it matters now. None of this is your business anymore.”
She walked out, slamming the door behind her.