Sarah juggled grocery bags, a diaper bag, and her three-year-old’s sticky hand as they stumbled through the front door. The baby strapped to her chest whimpered, and she sighed, shifting her weight to rock him gently. The house smelled faintly of takeout, and the sound of her husband’s voice drifted from the living room.
She had no intention of eavesdropping, but as she passed the doorway, Ethan’s words froze her mid-step. “No, I’m not saying I don’t care about her,” he was saying, his tone casual. “But Sarah’s… I don’t know, she’s just there. She’s convenient. She keeps the house running, takes care of the kids. It’s not like there’s some grand romance.”
Her chest tightened. She gripped the doorframe to steady herself, the bags digging into her fingers. Who was he talking to? His brother? One of his friends? It didn’t matter. The words stung all the same.
Convenient. Just there. Not a grand romance.
Sarah stepped back, her breath shallow, and carried the bags to the kitchen. The baby’s whimpers turned to a full-blown cry as she set everything down. She shushed him automatically, her mind reeling. For years, she’d poured everything into their family. She’d quit her job to stay home with the kids, managed the bills, cleaned the house, cooked meals, and supported Ethan’s demanding career. She’d thought they were a team.
Apparently, Ethan saw her as little more than a cog in the machine of his life.
The baby’s cries subsided as she nursed him, but Sarah’s anger simmered beneath the surface. She glanced at the clock. Ethan would join them for dinner soon, all smiles and small talk, as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just dismissed her entire existence as utilitarian.
But tonight would be different.
When Ethan walked into the kitchen twenty minutes later, Sarah was calm. Too calm. She set a plate of reheated leftovers in front of him and sat down across the table. The kids were occupied in the playroom, their laughter muffled through the walls.
“How was your day?” he asked, his fork poised over the plate.
She studied him for a moment, her eyes unreadable. “Enlightening.”
Ethan frowned. “What do you mean?”
Sarah folded her hands on the table. “I heard you, Ethan. On the phone. I heard what you said about me.”
His fork clattered against the plate. His face paled. “Sarah, I—”
“Don’t bother,” she cut him off, her voice steady. “You’ve made it clear how you see me. Convenient. Just there. Not worth a grand romance.”
Ethan’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammered. “You’re taking it out of context.”
Sarah raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Then explain it to me. What context makes it okay to say your wife is just a means to an end?”
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “I was venting. It’s been stressful lately, with work and the kids. I didn’t mean any of it.”
“Stressful?” Sarah’s voice rose slightly, the first crack in her composure. “You think you’re the only one under stress? Do you know what my day looks like, Ethan? Do you have any idea how much I do to keep this family together?”
He looked down at his plate, shame creeping into his expression. “I know you do a lot, Sarah. I—”
“No, you don’t,” she interrupted. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t reduce me to ‘convenient.’” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe it’s time you get a taste of what it’s like without me.”
Ethan’s head snapped up. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I need a break,” she said firmly. “A real break. You can handle the kids and the house for a while. I’ll stay at my sister’s, take some time to figure things out.”
His face was a mix of panic and disbelief. “Sarah, we can work this out. You don’t need to go.”
She stood, her chair scraping against the floor. “I do. Because I deserve better than to be seen as just convenient. Maybe this will give you some perspective.”
As she walked away, Ethan called after her, but she didn’t stop. For the first time in years, Sarah felt the faint stirrings of something she’d almost forgotten: self-respect.