Your Time Is Up,” Said the Husband as He Pointed to the Door
It was late in the afternoon when Henry finally spoke, his voice cold as he gestured toward the door.
“Your times up,” he said.
“That smell again! Ive asked you not to smoke indoors!” Margaret flung open the windows in the sitting room, the curtains billowing with her irritation. “Good heavens, even the sofa reeks. What will Eleanor and her husband think when they come for supper?”
“And what will they think?” Henry stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray with deliberate defiance. “Theyll think a proper man lives hereone who enjoys a smoke now and then. Hardly a crime.”
“Proper men, Henry, smoke in the garden or on the balcony. Not indoors, poisoning everyone with it. My head aches from it.”
“Here we go,” Henry sighed, rolling his eyes. “Twenty-five years married to a smoker, and suddenly now its a problem. Maybe its the change, love.”
Margaret stiffened, pressing her lips together. Lately, hed brought up her age more often, as if aiming to wound. And somehow, he always struck true.
“Whats that got to do with it?” She turned to the window to hide the tears pricking her eyes. “Im only asking for basic respect. Is it so hard to step outside?”
“Respect?” He scoffed. “And wheres yours for me? After work, I want to sit in my chair with a cup of tea and a cigarettenot dance about like a schoolboy. Its my house, after all!”
“Our house,” she corrected softly.
“Oh, aye, ours,” he muttered. “Though Im the one paying the bills. The repairs. That new coat of yours.”
Margaret exhaled sharply. Shed heard this a thousand times. Yes, she hadnt worked in fifteen yearsfirst raising the children, then caring for his mother, then… simply settling into the rhythm of home. And Henry had grown accustomed to reminding her of it.
“I dont want to fight,” she said wearily. “Just step outside. Eleanors asthma flares up around smoke.”
“Fine,” Henry conceded unexpectedly. “For your precious Eleanor, Ill smoke on the balcony. But mindonly tonight.”
He rose from his chair and stalked toward the bedroom, tossing over his shoulder, “And why invite them, anyway? Ive an early meeting tomorrow. Need my rest, not entertaining your dull friends.”
“Theyre not just friends,” Margaret protested. “Edward runs the local library. He might help me find work.”
Henry halted in the doorway, turning slowly.
“Work?”
Margaret hesitated. Shed meant to tell him later, once things were settled. Now she had no choice.
“I want a position at the library,” she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. “Three days a week, part-time. The children are grown, youre always at the officeits time I did something.”
“And wholl manage the house?” he cut in. “The cooking, the cleaning, the washing?”
“Ill manage,” she insisted, forcing a smile. “Its only a few hours. And the children hardly visit now”
“Rarely, aye, but your mothers here weekly,” he grumbled. “Always expecting pies and roasts.”
“She helps with the chores,” Margaret countered. “Besides, she doesnt visit that often.”
“Doesnt matter to me,” Henry waved a hand dismissively. “But this work notionits nonsense. Youre forty-seven. Stay home, take up embroidery, read your books.”
“My books?” A spark of indignation flared in her chest. “Henry, do you even remember I studied literature? That I taught it before the children came?”
“So you taughtwhat of it?” He dropped back into his chair. “That was twenty years back. Times change. Wherell you go with an old degree?”
“The library,” she repeated stubbornly. “I dont need a fortune, Henry. I need purpose. People. To feel Im good for more than dusting and starching your shirts.”
“Charming,” he sneered. “So home and family mean nothing? Unworthy of a clever woman like you?”
“You know thats not what I meant,” she said, exhausted by the old argument. “Well talk later. The guests will be here soon.”
She retreated to the kitchen, her heart pounding. Every conversation with Henry lately ended in strife. She couldnt pinpoint when it beganonly that one day, shed realized they no longer spoke the same language. He didnt hear her. Didnt want to.
Once, it had been different. Theyd met at universityboth bookish, both in love with words. Henry wrote poetry; she adored it. Then came marriage, first Lucy, then James. Henry found work in publishing, climbed the ranks. And Margaret stayed homewith the children, the chores, the books she read less and less.
She hadnt noticed him changing. The romantic youth hardening into a weary man who lingered at the office and cared little for her thoughts. By the time she saw it, it was too late. They were strangers beneath one roof.
Eleanor and Edward arrived promptly at seven. Edward, a burly man with a thick beard, settled into talk of politics with Henry. Eleanor, birdlike and bright-eyed, followed Margaret to the kitchen.
“Hows Henrys mood?” she asked, slicing carrots. “Did you speak of the position?”
“No,” Margaret sighed. “Hes dead against it.”
“Hardly a surprise,” Eleanor shrugged. “Men despise changeespecially when it inconveniences them.”
“But nothing would change,” Margaret protested, pulling a casserole from the oven. “Id still keep housejust be gone a few hours a week.”
“To him, thats catastrophe,” Eleanor chuckled. “Imaginehe comes home, and youre not there. Horror!”
They laughed, and Margaret felt some tension ease. Eleanor had always been a comfortsteady, unshakable.
Dinner began civilly enough. Henry was amiable, joking, asking Edward about new releases. Margaret dared to hope. Perhaps hed only been cross earlier.
“Speaking of books,” Eleanor turned to Margaret. “Have you told Henry about the reading group?”
“What group?” Henrys fork stilled.
“Well…” Margaret hesitated. “We thought I might lead a childrens literature circle. At the library.”
“And when was this meant to start?” Henrys voice held a dangerous edge.
“Next month,” Eleanor answered, oblivious. “Twice weekly, two hours. Nothing taxing.”
“Fascinating,” Henry set his fork down. “And were you planning to discuss this with me?”
“I tried today,” Margaret said quietly.
“Funny, I dont recall a discussion,” Henry turned to their guests. “You see, Margarets lately obsessed with work. But at her age, starting a career seems… unwise.”
“Why so?” Edward frowned. “Margarets well-read, educated. Wed be lucky to have her.”
“Perhaps,” Henry nodded. “But shes duties at home. To her husband, foremost.”
“Henry,” Margaret flushed with humiliation. “Not in front of guests.”
“Whats the harm?” Henry scanned the table. “Were all adults. Ill be plainI wont have my wife working. Full stop.”
An awkward silence fell. Eleanor shot her husband a helpless glance; he cleared his throat.
“Excellent casserole, Margaret. Eleanor must have the recipe.”
“Of course,” Margaret forced out, her chest tight with shame.
The evening limped ontalk of weather, news, anything but work. When the guests finally left, Margaret wordlessly cleared the table.
“How long were you hiding this?” Henry leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
“I wasnt hiding,” she stacked plates in the sink. “I waited for the right time.”
“And when would that have been? After youd started?”
“I dont understand your anger,” she turned to him. “Its just work. Not an affair. Not a crime.”
“To me, its betrayal,” he said coldly. “We agreedyoud keep house, Id provide. That was the arrangement.”
“That was twenty years ago!” she cried. “The children are grown. I need to feel useful!”
“So home isnt enough?” He stepped closer. “Say it plainlyyoure tired of being my wife?”
“Whats that got to do with it?” She stared. “Im talking about fulfillment”
“I know all about fulfillment,” he cut in. “Ive seen it at the office. First its work, then office flirtations, then divorce.”
“Good Lord, Henry,” she gaped. “You think Id take a lover at the library? Amongst dusty books and elderly patrons?”
“I think nothing,” he said flatly. “Im saying no to this job. Thats final.”
Something in Margaret snapped. This was the endof the conversation, of hope, perhaps of their marriage as it had been.
“Listen,” she said quietly. “Im taking the job. Tomorrow, Ill call Edward and accept.”
Henry stared, stunned.
“What did you say?”
“I said Im working.” A strange lightness filled her. “Not for money or company. To feel like a person againnot just an appendage to this house.”
“Is that so?” He nodded slowly. “Youve decided. Without me.”
“I tried deciding with you. You wouldnt listen.”
“Fine.” He turned on his heel and left.
She heard him pacing, muttering. Then he returned, clutching her handbag and coat.
“Times up,” he said, pointing to the door. “Make your own choices? Then live without me. Go.”
“What?” She couldnt breathe. “Youre throwing me out over a library job?”
“Im throwing you out for betrayal,” he said coldly. “For breaking our vows. For putting yourself before this family.”
“Henry, its a few hours a week!” Tears welled. “Youre gone all day, the children have their liveswhat am I to do? Bake pies in an empty house?”
“Take up knitting, for all I care!” he barked. “A deals a deal. I work, you keep home. Simple.”
He thrust the coat and bag at her.
“If Im such dull company, go. Maybe your precious Eleanor will take you in.”
Mechanically, Margaret slipped on the coat. This couldnt be real. Theyd quarreled before, but hed never cast her out. Never been so cruel.
“You mean this?” She searched his face. “Truly?”
“I wont be disrespected,” he said. “Go.”
She inhaled deeply, then stepped to the door. At the threshold, she turned.
“The saddest part? You never asked why I need this. You just forbade itas if Im property, not your wife.”
“And why, then?” he challenged. “Enlighten me.”
“Because Im afraid,” she said softly. “That one day, you wont come home. That youll leave me for that young editor you linger withthe one who calls each evening. You take the balcony so I wont hear. But walls are thin, Henry. And Ive good ears.”
He recoiled as if struck.
“What nonsense? What editor?”
“Clara,” she said simply. Then she stepped out, closing the door gently behind her.
The stairwell was quiet, save for faint jazz from the flat above. Outside, the night air was cool, clean. She breathed deeplyand felt an odd relief, as if shrugging off a weight carried too long.
Pulling out her phone, she dialed Eleanor.
“Ellie? Its Margaret. Sorry for the hour… Yes, we talked. May I come over? Now?”
Walking toward the bus stop, she marveled at lifes strangeness. That morning, shed been certain of her futurethis house, this man, this routine. Now, stepping into the unknown, she felt freer than she had in years.
Her phone buzzed. Henrys name flashed on the screen. She hesitated, then declined the call and powered it off.
Her time was up indeed. The time of fear, of silence, of enduring. Now began something newterrifying, uncertain, but hers alone. And she was ready.