Margaret had always believed herself content. After university, she married Peter, bore two children, and devoted herself entirely to her family. Cooking, cleaning, laundry, ironing, school runs, clubs, tending to her husband’s needs, assisting her mother-in-law—even cleaning her own mother’s flat—she did it all with unwavering care. Her days began with the fifth alarm bell and ended near midnight, checking if the children’s uniforms were laid out and her husband’s phone was charged.
In her world, there were no careers, business trips, or ambitious ventures. There was only family—the purpose of her existence.
Everyone seemed pleased: her husband, her mother-in-law, the children. Only her own mother grumbled:
“What was the point of finishing law school if you’re just scrubbing floors till retirement?”
“Mum, I help you too!” Margaret would protest.
“I never asked for that,” her mother retorted.
Margaret would storm off in a huff, but she always returned—bucket and mop in hand, kindness unyielding.
Then, one day, everything crumbled.
“Margaret, I’m leaving,” Peter said calmly.
“For someone else?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“Is she younger?”
“No. She’s… just different.”
“But I’ve been a good wife…”
“As a homemaker, you were perfect. But as a woman… I’ve grown weary. Forgive me.”
She didn’t cry. As he packed, she stood in the hallway like stone. Only when the door slammed did she collapse.
“The children…” was all she could think.
But Peter was fair—he left her the house, promised financial support, though warned it wouldn’t be much.
“You’ll find work. It’s for the best,” he said finally.
Her mother erupted when she learned the news:
“Enough wallowing! Get up and do something! If you won’t use your degree, start small. You’re a cleaning genius—open a business! Stop polishing other people’s homes for free!”
The idea took root. Margaret lay awake all night. By morning, she called Peter.
“I need a bit of money. Not a loan. A start-up.”
“Of course,” he said, surprised. “You’ve earned that much.”
With those pounds, her venture began—a tiny office, a couple of employees, adverts on noticeboards, word of mouth. The first clients came by chance. Then came testimonials. Within three months, she had twenty regulars. By six months, nearly a hundred. She expanded, hired more staff, bought a company van. Soon, firms sought her services, contracts were signed. Her name became synonymous with trust and spotlessness.
One day, Peter called unprompted:
“Margaret, I hear you’re doing well?”
“Yes. Never expected it, honestly. But thank you—I wouldn’t have dared without your help.”
He hesitated, as if to say more, but didn’t.
A year later, Margaret married again—this time to a man who never asked her to be “just a housewife.” He saw her as a woman, an equal, a force.
Now she had everything: work she loved, respect, a family. And to think—once, she’d only been dusting shelves.
