Veronica walked home in high spirits, smiling at passersby. Today, she’d received a lavish bonus and an unexpected week of paid leave—all for a gruelling project she’d toiled over for weeks. The break wasn’t long, but with careful planning, she could relax, read, and spoil her husband with home-cooked delights. He’d be thrilled she finally had seven whole days to devote to their life together.
Returning to their flat, she tidied up before heading to the kitchen. «I’ll make James his favourite beef stew,» she mused, humming as she chopped vegetables. The front door clicked shut. Veronica dashed to greet him, pecking his cheek before stepping back, her eyes sparkling.
«Blimey, someone’s cheerful!» James exclaimed. «And you’ve even cooked?» He sniffed the air, surprised. Usually, they returned from work together—yet here she was, early, with dinner ready.
«All done,» she nodded, eager to share news of her boss’s generosity—but James cut her off.
«Did they let you off early? Problems at the office? Or another business trip?» His questions felt more like an interrogation. Veronica assumed he was just tired, his mood sour. To lighten him up, she joked, «No, love. Actually, I quit. You always said you wanted me home, tending the house. Well, now I’m free as a bird!»
James paled, then stiffened. «Quit? That’s… grand. Less stress for you. We’ll manage. Right—I’ll shower, eat later.»
Baffled, Veronica nodded. His reaction was odd. He’d insisted a woman’s place was at home, creating comfort, raising children—while the man provided. When they’d married, she’d already worked at a prestigious firm. Soon promoted, her salary doubled. James had begged her to quit, but she’d never seen herself as a housewife.
«And what d’you plan to do now?» he asked over dinner.
She studied him. Lying felt wrong, but his tension demanded an answer: what did he truly want? Had his pleas been sincere?
«Well, what else?» She smiled. «You wanted me nurturing our home. So I shall.»
James nodded and retreated to bed, sprawled out, thinking. True, he’d suggested she leave work—especially when she groaned about unpaid overtime. He’d only meant to comfort her, certain she’d never actually quit.
But now? Their mortgage was paid; the car loan cleared. Her salary had been the larger one. Their income would plummet. And he’d had his eye on the latest iPhone, a gaming console, a posh new watch…
«No way she’ll stay idle,» he reassured himself. «She’ll job-hunt in days.» Content, he drifted off.
Three days passed. Veronica showed no sign of job-searching. She revelled in her holiday, keeping silent, curious how far he’d go.
Then James arrived home grinning. «Darling, I found you work! Two vacancies—send your CV now. Why’re you lazing about? Up you get!»
Dumbstruck, she obeyed.
«Let’s see how far he takes this,» she thought.
Ten minutes later: «Sent it?»
«Sent.»
The next day, James called incessantly—any interview invites? His panic suggested life-or-death stakes. By afternoon, he ordered her ready: he’d secured her a «brilliant spot.» She played along, sitting outside the office while he went in, later claiming they’d rejected her.
«What rubbish! Why won’t anyone hire you?» he fumed.
After he left, she opened his laptop—something she’d never done. The first search chilled her: *How to force your wife to work*. She scoffed, digging deeper. No affairs, but endless tabs for luxury cars, iPhones, watches, consoles.
Pieces clicked. She’d bankrolled their life—paid the car loan (though he drove it), groceries, even her own «gifts» from his suggestions. His Swiss watch, ergonomic chair (costlier than their washer), ever-new phones… When had he last bought her flowers?
That evening, she tested him. «Love, Mum needs a loan. You got paid—can we help?»
His glare terrified her. *»I* provide for *you*, and now your mum too?» Venom laced his words.
«Provide? The fridge is empty!»
«I’d have shopped if you’d asked! And no, I’ve no money left. Ordered a console.»
Her lips thinned. «What else?»
«Nothing! Picked it up this afternoon.»
«How do we *live* till payday?»
«We’ll scrape by. Maybe shed some weight—that belly’s growing.»
She gaped. Was this the man who’d once vowed to cherish her?
«Oh—your flat. Tenants in yet?»
«Not yet.»
«Well, advertise it! You’ve time now you’re *home*.»
«I won’t be staying, James. I’m leaving.» She packed calmly. He didn’t stop her—relieved, perhaps, to lose his «burden.»
At the door, suitcase in hand, he smirked. «How will you live? No one’s hiring you.»
«Suddenly you care?»
«We’re *married*—»
«Too late for that.» She held out her palm. «Car keys. It’s in my name. I paid the loan. Easy to prove.»
«You leeched off me, and now *I’m* the villain? If you wanted a wallet, you should’ve married a sugar daddy!» he spat.
Veronica laughed. Her harmless joke had unraveled everything.
«I never leeched. This was just leave. I start back Monday—not that it concerns you now.»
She shut the door behind her, the click echoing like a full stop.