Gideon recommended we live apart for a month to “reignite their relationship,” which I thought was a new fad couples use when they’re suffering but don’t want to confess it.

He described it as a great concept to reconnect and appreciate each other.

“You’ll see,” he remarked, beaming over coffee one morning. It’ll be like dating again. You’ll miss me. I miss you. After the month, it’ll be like a new day.”

I disliked the concept. Would what wife? But Gideon insisted. He was so sure this was best, so I packed a suitcase, moved into a short-term rental across town, and convinced myself everything would be alright.

The first week was lonely and unpleasant.

Gideon seldom phoned or texted, saying he was “savoring the space” and kept busy.

He even had me excited about “our grand reunion, Nora.”

I once invited my sister Tessa over.

“Are you sure about this, Nora?” she inquired, pouring herself wine. “It’s dubious.”

“I know,” I said, setting up charcuterie. Gideon would lose his fury anytime I opposed him. So I assumed he needed to do it.”

“Yeah, I get that,” she responded. “But sis, this feels wrong. I would constantly monitor Gideon if I were you.”

Indeed, she was right. The same went with me. What good reason would Gideon have to separate us?

On a calm Saturday night, my phone buzzed.

“Nora,” Clara’s low, pushing voice cracked the connection. You must return home. Right now. A lady was in your residence. Despite my poor vision, I spotted a shadow through the window.”

I set down my vegetable-chopping knife and cleared my brain.

Clara, my neighbor, seldom exaggerated.

“What? Truly!?”

I felt like my lungs were drained dry.

A woman? In our house?

My mind instantly thought of the worst:

Gideon moved someone else in. A lover.

It may have been something else. Perhaps a burglary or Gideon’s mother Marla.

I quickly ruled out such options. Recently, Gideon has been distant, seldom phoning or messaging. I instinctively suspected infidelity.

Infidelity.

Are you certain? I shakily asked.

“Positive,” Clara insisted. Nora, hurry. Something is happening!”

I didn’t speculate. Get my keys and run out the door.

I didn’t knock at the home. I pushed the door open with shaky hands, adrenaline rushing. It was like my senses took control. I dashed upstairs to my bedroom.

There she was.

Mother Gideon, not mistress.

Marla.

Marla stood in my bedroom surrounded by garments. She held one of my lace bras with disgust while my closet doors were open.

“What the hell are you doing?” I yelled, shocking her.

Marla looked up, unfazed by my anger.

“Oh, Nora. “You’re back sooner,” she replied casually.

She waved the bra like trash.

“Organizing the house. This is inappropriate for a married woman.”

My jaw fell.

Excuse me?

She pointed to garbage bags on the floor. They held my clothing, lingerie, gowns, and casual outfits.

These don’t represent decent wifely values, Nora. Gideon requested me to organize while you were away.”

Anger surged over me.

“Organize my stuff? Throwing away my clothes? Who gave you this authority?

Marla pursed her lips and straightened.

Really, Nora, someone had to act. Your home is a mess, and your attire gives a bad image. Gideon deserves better!”

Her comments hit me hard.

Marla was always harsh. She usually made fun of my food and housework, but this?

This was unusually brazen.

“Where’s Gideon?” I raged and demanded.

“He’s out,” Marla said nonchalantly. “Errands, I suppose. He knows I’m here. We both believe this is necessary.”

What’s needed?

As I stood startled, her words crossed my mind. Gideon wasn’t passive. He summoned her.

Gideon stomped up the stairs an hour later as I was raging in the bedroom. Marla went to the living room, perhaps fearing she might feed the fire.

“Nora?” Gideon entered the room.

He seemed confused and furious. “Why are you here?”

“Why am I here?” I snapped. Because Clara phoned to say a lady was in our room going through my stuff. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was your mother!”

Gideon sighed like I was making a huge deal.

“Calm down, Nora. Mom is only helping.”

“Assisting?” Incredulous, I repeated.

He answered, “Yes,” in a stoic voice. “You’ve been battling with everything lately. Haven’t you? You merely sweep the kitchen and living room. The remainder of the house is ruins. The bed has crumbs. The fridge handle is usually sticky.”

“Gideon, you eat in bed! You dine in bed like a savage instead of the living room or dining room. Your peanut butter and jelly fingers make the fridge sticky.”

“Don’t blame me for everything, Nora!” barked. I believed Mom could help us figure things out.”

“While we arrange?” Increasing my voice, I repeated. “Do you think this break is about that? Gideon, you claimed this separation would rekindle our bond. Not to call your mother in to fix me like a broken device.”

Gideon stroked his neck.

“Don’t twist this, Nora. Mom volunteered to help with your tension. All done. I didn’t expect this response.”

I laughed bitterly.

Naturally, I’m responding! You never told me. Now your mother lives with us. Enter my bedroom! Let her throw away my garments. Your prediction for my reaction?

He moaned in frustration.

I didn’t plan this. You may be overwhelmed, but Mom understands the importance of maintaining a well-maintained home. She was attempting to help you and us.

Staring at him, I was amazed.

“You think this helps us? You think allowing your mother enter my space, disregard my boundaries, and criticize my decisions is helpful? Gideon, this isn’t partnership. Dominance. And not seeing that is worse.”

Gideon seemed surprised that I was so angry. I didn’t care. I finished.

I packed Marla’s acceptable clothing in a luggage. I left without looking back.

That was three days ago. I called a lawyer.

Some may think I’m overreacting, but this wasn’t just about privacy or my mother-in-law throwing away my possessions.

Gideon made it apparent that he didn’t consider me as an equal partner in our marriage.

He wanted no wife.

He wanted a 1950s-style chef, cleaner, and housekeeper.

That’s not me.

I wasn’t sure what Gideon wanted from a “break.” Let me tell you what he gets.

Divorce.

I moved into Tessa’s flat during the divorce. To possess half of Gideon’s stuff excites me.

He must know what it’s like to have everything one day and then lose it all the next.

Which portion was worse for you, sis? Tessa asks.

“That my husband saw me as a failure,” I said. No doubt, our marriage was imperfect. We weren’t in such huge difficulty, however. Marla always hated me. Remember when she ridiculed my hair and cosmetics throughout wedding prep?

Tessa moaned and shaped our handmade supper pizzas.

“I always knew Gideon was the biggest error of your life,” she said.

“What?” I gasped, almost knocking over an olive dish.

“I’m sorry, Nora,” she whispered. “After meeting him, you lost interest in all your hobbies. My sister who could paint anything—where is she? She just needed a canvas and paints.”

A moment of silence.

“I didn’t realize,” I said.

“Find her, Nora,” Tessa ordered. “She deserves resurfacing.”

Yes, I did that. Renting a place for myself included an additional room for my painting studio.

Finally, I would leave Gideon and Marla and find myself.