Esme worked as an accountant at a modest construction company located in a nondescript office building on the outskirts of London. Her income was average, and her life felt routine. Yet, deep down, she harboured a cherished dream of starting her own business. In the evenings, much like many of her colleagues, she immersed herself in financial management software and devoured business publications, devising entrepreneurial strategies.

Then, out of the blue, Daniel entered her life. Mutual friends invited her to an outdoor gathering. He worked as an administrator at a car dealership, earning a decent salary and proving to be quite the charmer. Dates, flower bouquets, and weekend film nights soon became the norm, and a year later, they tied the knot.

The initial period was blissful. Esme continued her career progression and self-education while saving money for her venture. Daniel, however, viewed her aspirations with disdain, often dismissing her efforts: “Let her play at being a businesswoman; the important thing is to have dinner ready on time.”

Troubles began at the dealership as sales dwindled, and salaries were cut. Daniel came home increasingly frustrated, erupting over trivial matters. Esme chose to ignore his moods; after all, she had just received a promotion to head of finance, now earning twice what he did. This only demoralised him further.

Every evening felt like a muted ordeal. Daniel would linger in the living room with his mobile, intentionally excluding her from conversation. Whenever Esme mentioned her work successes, he would frown and retreat to the balcony for a smoke. When she bought a new laptop to replace her outdated one, he slammed the front door and went out with friends, muttering, “Spending too much money again?” The following morning, she responded, “These are my finances, Daniel. I’ve earned them.” He angrily tossed a cup into the sink and left for work.

The breaking point came with an invitation to a corporate event. “Dress code: festive. Attendance mandatory, with spouses,” read the memo from HR. Esme hesitated to attend, already sensing negative repercussions, but her boss, Tatiana, insisted: “You’re representing the company now, dear. You have to comply.”

The corporate gathering was held at a quaint restaurant near a picturesque park. The company had booked the entire second floor, around thirty attendees without partners. Esme felt anxious; this would be her first event as the financial lead. She opted for a simple black dress and flat shoes, never one to seek the limelight.

Throughout the journey, Daniel grumbled—first about traffic, then about parking, and finally about his tie being too tight. Esme remained silent, having grown accustomed to his sourness over recent months. Ever since the dealership faced challenges, he had been irritable and extremely tense.

The evening kicked off positively. The Managing Director, Michael Thompson, gave a speech about the company’s achievements, presenting awards to outstanding employees. Esme received a special commendation for implementing a new financial tracking system that saved the company millions.

“And now, let’s raise a toast to our new finance director,” announced Michael, lifting his glass. “Esme joined us three years ago as a humble accountant. But through her hard work, intelligence, and determination, she has proven herself worthy of this position. Congratulations on your promotion and increased salary!” he winked.

Everyone applauded. Tatiana hugged Esme, whispering, “You’ve earned this, love.” Her colleagues smiled genuinely; they valued Esme.

Just then, someone asked, “What’s the new salary for the finance director?”

Michael, slightly flushed from drinks, waved his hand dismissively. “It’s quite substantial! Now Esme makes in a month what some earn in six.”

Daniel, who had been quietly munching on snacks up to that point, suddenly sat upright, his face turning red—not from embarrassment, but from fury.

“What’s there to celebrate?” he bellowed, ensuring everyone heard. “So what if she moves some documents around? I work in a car dealership…”
“Darling, maybe it’s best to hold off?” Esme gently touched his sleeve.

“Hold off?!” he shook off her hand. “Why does everyone fawn over her?”

Esme noted the muscle spasming on his cheek—a sure sign of an impending outburst, reminiscent of the expression he had when he discovered he was being considered for demotion.

“Do you think she’s special?” his tone dripped with malice. “She’s just good at flattering the bosses! Meanwhile, I toil away selling cars and dealing with customers…” Esme tried to intervene. “Daniel, please…”

“And what about me?” he suddenly turned to her. “Does the truth sting? You’ve sat in your comfy office, typed away at your keyboard, and now you’re a star!” He grabbed his glass, splashing some drinks. “And I’m nothing? Just a nobody?”

Esme could practically feel her colleagues’ embarrassment palpable around the table. But Daniel couldn’t stop:

“Maybe I should quit altogether, huh? Ha! That’s funny! I’ve got a wife who’s a money machine!” The sound of glass clinking against the plate rang out like a gunshot. Tatiana grew pale, and Michael frowned. Suddenly, a young programmer named Jamie, the one known for his incessant jokes in break rooms, stood up:

“You should apologise, mate.” Daniel turned even redder.

“Apologise to who? To her?” he pointed at Esme. “She wouldn’t be anything without me! I taught her everything!”

“Taught her what, Daniel?” Esme spoke softly, but everyone else had fallen silent, drawn in by her words. “How to stay silent when it hurts? How to smile when it’s unpleasant? How to pretend everything’s alright?”

Standing up, she adjusted her dress:

“Thank you. I genuinely appreciate your lessons. You’ve shown me that some men don’t need a wife, but merely a doormat to wipe their feet on.” She turned and headed for the exit. Behind her, she heard a commotion—apparently, Jamie had finally struck Daniel. But she didn’t look back.

In the taxi, she didn’t cry. She gazed out at the night-time city, pondering how fortunate she was not to have had children with him. She felt proud of insisting on her independence and continuing to work hard. It was vital to hear those words—“money machine”—to finally awaken and stop pretending.

Esme woke up at six, her head buzzing not from alcohol but from thoughts. Daniel still slept on the couch, reeking of alcohol. On the coffee table sat an empty bottle of whiskey and their wedding photo turned over.

She retrieved four large rubbish bags from the cupboard and began packing his things.

At nine, the doorbell rang. Daniel stirred on the sofa. “What… what’s going on?” His dishevelled face wore a mask of genuine confusion.

“I’m changing the locks,” Esme replied calmly as she opened the door for the locksmith.

“Why?”

“So you don’t come back.”

He shot upright. “Are you serious? Over last night? I just had a bit too much to drink!”

“No, Daniel. Not just last night. Your belongings are outside. I’ve packed your documents in the side pocket of your bag. You can leave the keys here.”

While the tradesman worked on the lock, Daniel dressed in silence. At the door, he turned back: “You’ll regret this.”

“Not anymore,” Esme said firmly.

The divorce proceeded swiftly and quietly. Esme became completely engrossed in her work. Then, unexpectedly, Daniel showed up at her office without warning:

“Listen, I’ve got something to say… I was let go. Maybe you could take me on? I’m still…”

“Your ex-husband?” Esme raised her eyes from her laptop. “I’m sorry, but we’ve only got a women’s team. Company policy.” He lingered for a moment at the door:

“You know, I was too quick to judge. You’re doing great… you’ve really achieved a lot…”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Please close the door, and you can send your CV to HR; they respond to everyone.”

Her phone rang—it was her younger sister.

“Esme, guess what? I got hired! I’m now the new finance manager!”

“Congratulations, sis!” Esme beamed. “Get ready for a lot of work.”

“I can handle it! I’ve got you to teach me everything.”

“I’ll teach you,” Esme glanced at a photo on her desk where they appeared as little girls. “Just remember: never let anyone call you a doormat.”

On the other end, her sister laughed. “Oh, you’ll definitely teach me that! So, how about we plan something together? Our own business, maybe?”

“Perhaps,” Esme took her bag. “Come over this weekend, and we’ll discuss it.”

She left the office and headed towards the tube. People hurried by—tired, frowning, each with their own story. Esme recognised there were others like her among them—those who weren’t afraid to start anew. Who believed in themselves. Who learned to say “no”.

As soon as she got home, she kicked off her shoes, boiled the kettle, and opened her laptop. She sketched out a project for a new company—joint with her sister. Something simple and necessary, without pretension or flash. Perhaps accounting workshops for budding entrepreneurs? Or consultancy for women ready to launch their own businesses?

Outside, the rain began to fall. Esme wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and smiled at her thoughts. Tomorrow would be a new day. And it would undoubtedly be better than the last.