Emily stood motionless in the middle of the kitchen, a cup of coffee still held between her hands. It felt as though someone had poured a bucket of ice water over her. Her husband’s words remained suspended in the air, shattering the quiet of the chilly autumn morning.
“I’m putting the new apartment in my mother’s name, and there’s nothing more to discuss. I’m not going to end up fighting you in court over property if we ever split,” Daniel announced without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.
Emily lowered the cup onto the table as carefully as she could, afraid the porcelain might rattle against the wood. Her fingers were trembling.
“Daniel, that isn’t what we agreed…”
“We agreed to nothing!” he snapped, cutting her off. “I earn the money, so I’ll decide whose name goes on the deed.”
Emily slowly sat down across from him. Outside, a cold October rain drifted against the window. Tiny drops slid down the glass in crooked trails that looked disturbingly like tears.
She was not crying yet.
The tears would probably come later, after Daniel left for work and she was alone with her thoughts.
“Then where are we supposed to live?” she asked so softly that he almost seemed not to hear her.
“With my mother. The apartment is large enough for everyone. Besides, she’s been planning to move from the countryside into town for years.”
Margaret.
Even thinking of her mother-in-law made Emily tense inside.
During their eight years of marriage, Margaret had never learned to call her daughter-in-law by her name. Most of the time, she referred to her as “that woman” or simply told Daniel, “Your wife.”
Every visit from Margaret became an ordeal. Why were there still no children? Why was Emily’s salary so modest? Why did she manage the household that way? And why, of all women, had Daniel chosen her?
“But Daniel, we were supposed to build a real family together…”
“We were supposed to, we were supposed to!” he mocked, finally looking up.
There was something unfamiliar in his expression—an icy detachment that made her chest tighten.
“For three years, that’s all we’ve done. Talked about it. And what have we achieved?”
Emily felt her heart contract painfully.
He was right about one thing. For three years, they had been hoping for a baby.
They had visited doctors, gone through examinations, and submitted to countless tests. Every specialist had insisted that neither of them had any serious medical problem.
“Perhaps the cause is constant stress,” the doctors had said. “Try to worry less and get more rest.”
But how was she supposed to stop worrying when Margaret sighed heavily at every meeting and hinted that Emily was incapable of giving her son an heir?
“I thought you understood how hard this has been for me…”
“I understand everything. But Mother is right. Until there are children, there’s no reason to put the apartment in both our names. How do I know you won’t decide to leave me tomorrow?”
“And what if you’re the one who decides to leave?” Emily asked, unable to hold herself back any longer.
Daniel merely shrugged and returned to his newspaper.
That small gesture told her more than any explanation could have.
Emily rose and went to the window.
A young woman hurried along the wet sidewalk with a stroller. She paused at the crossing, one hand resting protectively on the child inside.
Emily watched her with a familiar ache.
She had dreamed of becoming a mother since she was young.
She had imagined holding a newborn against her chest, singing lullabies, and watching those first uncertain steps. She had pictured Daniel proudly showing photographs of their child to his friends and coworkers.
“You know,” Emily said suddenly, still facing the glass, “maybe your mother really is right.”
“In what way?”
“Maybe I should leave now. While we still don’t have children.”
Silence settled behind her.
The only sounds were the rustle of newspaper pages and the steady ticking of the wall clock.
The very clock Margaret had given them as a housewarming present.
Emily closed her eyes.
Eight years.
Eight entire years spent trying to create a happy family.
She had chosen wallpaper, arranged furniture, bought dishes, and filled their home with small comforts.
She had ironed Daniel’s shirts, cooked the meals he liked, and endured his mother’s cutting remarks without complaint.
And suddenly she understood that, all this time, they had treated her as though she were temporary.
In the new apartment Daniel had already selected with Margaret, Emily would not be a wife or an equal. She would be a guest with no rights.
“What if I still manage to get pregnant?” she asked, continuing to stare through the rain.
“Then we’ll decide what to do.”
We’ll decide.
He said it as if they were discussing a new appliance, not the arrival of their own child.
Emily turned around.
Daniel remained at the table, calm and self-assured, completely convinced that he was right.
Once, that confidence had been what attracted her most. He had seemed dependable, like the kind of man behind whom a woman could feel protected.