CHAPTER ELEVEN
EMMA
I slammed the washing basket onto the kitchen counter. The sound cracked through the house like a gunshot.
“Are you actually kidding me, Dan?” I snapped. “You forgot PE day again?”
He sighed, rubbing his face like I was the unreasonable one. “Again? It happened once.”
“Twice!” I cut in, sharp enough to slice air.
“Two bloody times you’ve sent Oscar in his uniform on a PE day.
Do you know how embarrassing that is? The teacher had to dig out some crusty kit from lost property.
He came home smelling like someone else’s feet.
” I jabbed a finger toward the washing basket.
“I’m washing a stranger’s sweat out of my child’s clothes because you ‘forgot’. ”
Dan scoffed, rolled his eyes.
That eye roll. That casual, effortless dismissal.
Something in my chest sparked white-hot.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Emma,” he said. “I’m sorry, alright? I just forgot! It’s not the end of the world.”
I let out a laugh so dry it could start a fire.
“Not the end of the world? No, Dan. You forgetting the bins again isn’t the end of the world.
You leaving socks on the floor like some kind of feral gremlin isn’t the end of the world.
But this?” I gestured at the chaos behind me…
the calendar, the forms, the endless reminders. “This is basic parenting.”
He slammed the Coke onto the counter, fizz spilling over. “Oh right, because you’re the perfect parent, aren’t you?”
“I’m not perfect,” I said, voice tight. “But I know what bloody day it is.”
The air between us thickened. This wasn’t about PE day. Not really. PE day was just the cherry on the cake.
This was the pile.
The pile of tiny indignities and swallowed resentment. The pile of invisible work. The pile of me running this house in my head while he wandered through it like a guest.
Dan ran a hand through his hair, looking away like he needed a second to gather himself. “I do plenty around here. Who gets up with Ruby when she won’t settle? Who does the school run when you’re running late…”
“Congratulations,” I cut in, throwing my hands up. “Do you want a medal? Because I do all of that too. And I also keep track of the calendar while I’m doing it.”
His jaw tightened. “Here we go. This is what you do. You run yourself into the ground and then hold it over my head like some bloody scoreboard.”
“Because I have to,” I said, and my voice cracked at the edge. “If I didn’t, everything would fall apart.”
He stared at me. For a second, I thought he might soften.
Instead, he went quieter. More dangerous.
“You know what, Emma?” he said. “If I make you so miserable, why are we even doing this? Why don’t you just leave?”
My heart thudded, heavy and fast.
And before I could stop myself, before I could pull the words back into my mouth where they belonged, they flew out.
“Maybe we should get a divorce. I’m basically a single mum anyway, just with an extra person to look after who happens to be a grown man.”
Silence.
It dropped into the kitchen like a brick.
Dan’s face didn’t change much, but something in his eyes flickered. Not anger. Not relief. Something like… shock. Like I’d slapped him with the truth.
I didn’t even know if I meant it. Or if I just wanted him to hurt the way I was hurting.
I turned and stormed upstairs, slamming the bedroom door so hard the frame rattled.
I waited for him to follow. He didn’t. And somehow that felt worse than anything he could have said.
The cappuccino was lukewarm by the time Abigail arrived, which felt painfully on-brand for my life. Everything starts hot and hopeful and then gets abandoned halfway through because someone needs something.
Abigail slid into the chair opposite me like she’d stepped off a glossy campaign and into my chaotic, crumpled reality by mistake.
She was still one of those women who turned heads without trying. Tall. Elegant. Dark hair glossy and controlled. Makeup subtle but perfect. Nails freshly done. Outfit effortless in that maddening way that made you suspect she had a stylist living in her wardrobe.
I looked down at myself: practical bun, puffy eyes, leggings that had survived too many washes, and a jumper I was 90% sure had snot on the sleeve.
Abigail’s gaze flicked over me and softened, not judgmental. Never. Just… seeing.
“Okay,” she said, setting her espresso down. “Talk to me.”
I exhaled. “I told Dan we should get a divorce.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Casual.”
“It wasn’t planned.”
“Is anything in your life planned?” she asked sweetly, then leaned in. “What happened?”
I told her about PE day. Lost property. Smell-of-feet trauma. The Coke. The eye roll. When I finished, Abigail sat back like she was about to deliver a verdict.
“So,” she said slowly, “let me get this straight. You and Dan don’t fight, don’t laugh, and mostly communicate via passive-aggressive sticky notes?”
I sighed. “They’re not all passive aggressive. Sometimes they’re just informative.”
“Like what?”
I took a sip of my now-horrible cappuccino. “Like, ‘We’re out of milk’ or ‘Please stop leaving your socks in the fridge.’”
She blinked. “I’m sorry, socks in the fridge?”
“It happened once,” I muttered.
“Emma.”
“Fine. Twice.”
Abigail put a hand on her chest. “Your marriage is a case study.”
“That bad?”
“Worse,” she said, eyes shining. “You sound like you and Dan are co-CEOs of a failing start-up. One of those doomed companies where nobody actually knows what they do, but everyone’s miserable and on the verge of quitting.”
I snorted. “That is… painfully accurate.”
Abigail warmed to her theme immediately.
“You are running Marriage Inc. and the stocks have plummeted, investors are fleeing, and the apprentices are eating crayons in the coffee room.”
She always relates everything to business. After all, business is her life.
I laughed. A real laugh, startling in my throat.
“Okay,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Stop. You’re making it worse and better at the same time.”
She leaned forward again, expression sharpening. “Do you even like each other anymore?”
The question hit harder than the divorce word.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Abigail nodded slowly. “Right.”
“I love him,” I said, too quickly. “I do. I just…” I stared at the table. “I don’t recognise us. We used to talk. We used to laugh. We used to touch each other like it was instinct.”
“And now?”
“Now we pass each other in the kitchen like we’re trying not to collide.”
Abigail’s voice softened. “Babe. That’s not a dry patch. That’s… distance.”
I swallowed.
Because she was right. And because hearing it said out loud made it real.
Abigail and I met years ago, when I was still full of ambition and big plans, working as an apprentice in a magazine editor’s office. I’d been assigned a piece about influencer marketing and the rise of it all.
Abigail, working in marketing then, was one of my sources.
We were both hungry for something. Career. Freedom. A life that felt big.
We’d bonded over late nights and strategy chats and the kind of shared drive that makes you feel like you’re invincible.
She’s still that woman, ambitious, fearless, refusing to settle. Only now, she owns her own marketing company in the city.
Me? I’d settled. Not in a bad way. Just… in the way your life becomes small on paper but massive in responsibility.
Abigail never made me feel small for it.
If anything, she admired me. The way I admire her.
She stirred her espresso, watching me. “Tell me about Dan.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
She tilted her head. “Before all this. Why you chose him.”
My throat tightened unexpectedly.
Because I could remember. Too well.
It was Harry’s housewarming party.
Harry and Lou; the ones who are now godparents to our kids, the ones we never see enough because life is chaos and everyone’s always ill. They were just… Harry and Lou back then. Young. Loud. Full of future.
I was mid-conversation when I glanced up and saw him across the room.
Dan.
Tall. Dark. Handsome in that unfair, cinematic way. Dark hair that curled slightly at the ends. Deep brown eyes that landed on mine like he already knew me.
For hours we did that stupid thing where you catch each other’s eye, smile, look away, pretend you’re not doing it. I went home kicking myself for not speaking to him. Then the next day my phone buzzed.
Unknown: Hey Emma. This is random but I’d regret it forever if I didn’t message you. Harry gave me your number. I’m Dan, the guy who kept smiling at you at the party. I’m not a creep, I promise. I just think you’re beautiful. Fancy going out for a bite to eat?
Abigail’s mouth fell open.
“That is… revoltingly romantic,” she said. “I hate you.”
“I know,” I said, but my smile was sad.
We went out the next night because waiting felt impossible. We couldn’t keep our hands off each other long enough to order drinks. It was fast. Too fast, if you asked anyone sensible. But it felt right. Like a magnet snapping into place.
Within weeks we were basically living together. Socks in drawers. Shampoo in showers. Two lives just… merging.
A year later we were engaged. His proposal was a Tuesday night, takeaway containers between us. I was mid-bite into a spring roll when he sat up, nervous, and said:
“So… I think we should get married.”
Not a big speech. Not a knee. Just Dan, blunt and earnest and a little chaotic.
Then he pulled a ring box out of his hoodie pocket like it was a receipt.
“I love you,” he’d said, voice suddenly serious. “I don’t want to do life without you. So… should we just make this official?”
I’d said yes, obviously. The man had already stolen my heart and half my wardrobe space.
Oscar came along soon after. Not planned, not avoided. Then Sophie. Somewhere between nappies and sleepless nights we got married. Then Ruby happened; the ‘whoops’ that detonated our “we’re done” plan.
It all happened fast.
A massive climb to the top, that dizzy, can’t-get-enough-of-you high.
Then the drop into parenthood.
And now it feels like we’re stuck at the bottom, looking up at the hill and wondering how the hell we ever climbed it in the first place.
Abigail watched me quietly, eyes softer than usual. “You loved him like a storm.”
“I still do,” I whispered. “That’s what makes it confusing.”
“Do you want a divorce?” she asked gently, no jokes now.
I stared at my coffee. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Sometimes I say things just to… make him feel it. Make him understand I’m not okay.”
“And does he?”
I thought of his face in the kitchen. That flicker in his eyes. “I don’t know,” I said again. “But I can’t imagine not being his wife. Even when I’m furious.”
Abigail nodded slowly. “Then maybe you don’t need a divorce. Maybe you need a reset.”
“A reset sounds expensive,” I muttered.
She snorted. “Not a spa weekend. A reset in the way you talk. The way you reach. The way you stop living like business partners.”
I let out a breath that felt like it had been stuck in my chest for months.
“What if it’s too late?” I whispered.
Abigail’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then you’ll know you tried. But I don’t think it’s too late. I think you’re both tired. And tired people say stupid things.”
I swallowed. Because she was right. Because I was tired. Because I didn’t want to be brave. I wanted to be held.
I left the café with my chest full of heavy thoughts and no real answers.
At home, the house was quiet in that evening lull. The kids were tucked away. The day’s chaos temporarily suspended. Dan was at the kitchen table, laptop open, face lit by the cold glow of the screen.
He looked up briefly. “Alright?”
“Yeah,” I lied.
“Yeah,” he said back, like it was a script we both knew.
I stood there for a moment, my bag strap tight in my hand.
Abigail’s words rang in my head. Reset. Reach. Try. I walked over slowly.
“Dan,” I said.
He glanced up again, wary now. Like he expected another fight. My throat tightened.
“What if we tried?” I said quietly.
He blinked. “Tried what?”
“Us,” I whispered. “Finding us again. Before… this becomes all we are.”
The silence that followed wasn’t the usual silence. Not the one made of avoidance. This one had weight. Possibility.
Dan stared at me like he didn’t know the right answer. And the terrifying thing was, neither did I. But I meant it. For the first time in a long time, I meant something without knowing if it would work.
“I don’t know how,” I added, honest. “I just… I don’t want to wake up one day and realise we let it slip away because we were too tired to fight for it.”
Dan’s jaw worked like he was swallowing down pride.
Then he nodded once.
“Okay,” he said, voice rougher than usual. “We try.”
My eyes burned. Not because everything was fixed. Because for a second, we were standing in the same place again. And I realised how badly I’d missed that.