Ethan Caldwell knelt on the linoleum floor, the sponge in his hand heavy with gray water. The kitchen smelled of bleach and last night's overcooked cabbage, a scent that clung to him like shame. His knees ached, but he kept scrubbing, each circle on the floor a silent rebellion against the voices behind him.
Still pretending you're above this, are you? Beatrice's voice cut through the air, sharp as the knife she was drying. His mother-in-law stood by the sink, her lips pursed in a permanent sneer, your fellow men are out there making a living and taking care of there families and all you do is sit here and become a parasite without contributing, dragging my daughter Lila down with you.Ethan's jaw tightened, but he didn't look up. Three years in this house had taught him to pick his battles.
Clara, Lila's younger sister, sauntered in after a whole day of shopping with her friends growling that she's tired and hungry, she turned at Ethan and started scolding why dinner wasn't ready yet, you sit at home all day and you can't even do your job properly, Ethan shot her glare and replied, dinner will be ready soon. You should've signed those divorce papers, Ethan. Lila deserves better than a glorified maid. The divorce papers Beatrice's favorite weapon sat on the dining table, a constant threat. He wanted to snap back, to tell Clara that Lila was the only reason he endured this. But words wouldn't change the truth he hadn't touched Lila in three years, not since their rushed wedding when he'd promised to protect her, not burden her. Their love was real, but it lived in glances, in quiet moments when Beatrice wasn't watching. Touch felt like a luxury he hadn't earned not yet. He thought of Lila, her tired smile when she'd walk through the door after work. That smile was his anchor, the one thing Beatrice and Clara couldn't take. He pictured her now, her dark hair pulled back, her eyes soft with a love that hadn't faded despite everything. It was enough to keep him moving, to keep him believing in the startup he checked in stolen moments, the one that might still change their lives. He hastened up to make sure dinner was ready before she came back.
The front door creaked open, and Ethan's heart lifted, Lila was home, her voice, soft but firm, drifted in, followed by the heavier tread of her father, Magnus. Smells like dinner's ready, Magnus said, his tone warm but cautious, as if he sensed the storm brewing in his own house.
Ethan stood, wiping his hands on his jeans, and moved to set the table, ignoring Beatrice's glare. Lila stepped into the kitchen, her eyes found Ethan's, and for a moment, the room's hostility faded. She smiled small, tired but it was all that kept him going.
The dining room was cramped, the table barely fitting the five of them. Ethan sat at the edge, serving himself last from the pot of watery stew he'd cooked under Beatrice's orders. Lila sat beside him, her knee brushing his under the table a rare fleeting connection that sent a pang through him. Three years, and he still hadn't held her the way a husband should, Not because he didn't want to, but because this house, this life left no room for it, Not yet.
Beatrice spooned stew into her mouth, her eyes never leaving Ethan. This is barely edible, she said, dropping her spoon with a clink, lazy and useless. You'd think a man with your name would at least try to provide.
Clara snickered, twirling a lock of her hair. He's too busy playing house, Mom. Scrubbing floors like a servant.
Ethan's fork paused halfway to his mouth He felt Lila tense beside him, her hand gripping her glass.
Enough, Lila said, her voice steady but sharp. Ethan doesn't provide the way you want, fine. But he cooks, he cleans, he keeps this house running. People earn a living doing that, you know. Maybe we should start paying him for it. Then he could contribute even more.
Beatrice's eyes widened, her face flushing red. Pay him? she spat, as if the word tasted foul. For what? Mopping my floors? I'm not wasting a dime on this leech. Her love for money was no secret every penny in the house was accounted for, hoarded like a dragon's gold. The idea of parting with it for Ethan was unthinkable.
Magnus cleared his throat, his broad shoulders hunching as he leaned forward. Now, now, let's just eat, he said, his voice a mix of weariness and forced cheer. The stew's fine, Ethan. We're all just tired. Lila, tell us about your day.
Lila's gaze lingered on Ethan, her eyes apologetic. He gave her a small nod, a silent thank-you for her defense. It wasn't much, but it was everything. The table fell quiet, save for the clink of spoons, but Ethan felt the weight of Beatrice's stare, Clara's smirk, and the divorce papers still sitting in the corner like a guillotine.
As he chewed the tasteless stew, Ethan let himself imagine a day when this table, this house, this life would be a memory one he'd rise above.
They'll left the dinning room after eating leaving everything for Ethan to clean up, Lila wanted to help him out but he refused nudging her to go and rest after a long day at work. He stayed long at night before finishing his chores, knowing that he has to wake up early to prepare breakfast he went upstairs and washed up before laying down on the floor since he couldn't lay on the bed with his wife.