Esme worked as an accountant at a modest construction firm, tucked away in a dreary office building on the outskirts of London. Her pay was as average as the weather in England—nothing to write home about. Yet, deep down, she harbored a cherished dream: to run her own business. After hours, like many of her colleagues, she delved into financial management software, devoured business magazines, and devised entrepreneurial strategies.

Then there was Daniel, who stumbled into her life quite unexpectedly. Mutual friends invited them to a countryside celebration, where he worked as a sales manager at a car dealership. He earned a good salary and had a knack for romance, showering her with dinners, flowers, and movie nights on weekends. A year later, they tied the knot.

The early days of their marriage were blissful. Esme continued her career and self-education, stashing away money for her future venture. Daniel didn’t quite share her enthusiasm for her ambitions: “Let her have fun playing entrepreneur; just make sure dinner’s on the table,” he’d quip dismissively.

Things took a turn, though, when the dealership faced troubles. Sales dwindled, salaries were slashed, and Daniel began coming home irritable, blowing up over minor issues. But Esme brushed it off. She had just been promoted to head of the finance department, bringing in double what he earned, which only made matters worse for him.

Every evening turned into a silent battlefield. Daniel would lounge in the sitting room with his phone, purposefully ignoring her. If she brought up her work successes, he would huff and retreat to the balcony for a smoke. When she upgraded her old laptop to a shiny new model, he slammed the front door and headed off with his mates, muttering, “Spending our savings, are we?” The next morning, he barely even acknowledged her: “That’s my money, Daniel. I earned it,” she finally snapped. He hurled a mug into the sink and stormed off to work.

The final straw came when she was invited to a corporate event. “Dress code: smart-casual. Your attendance is mandatory, plus plus-ones,” read the memo from the HR department. Esme attempted to decline, already sensing trouble ahead, but her colleague Patricia insisted, “You’re now the face of the company, love. You’ve got to fit the bill.”

The event took place in a cozy restaurant near the Thames. The firm had rented the entire second floor—about thirty people, not including their partners. Esme felt the jitters; this was her first major outing as the head of the finance department. She opted for a simple little black dress and sensible shoes—she’d never been one for ostentation.

Daniel spent the car ride grumbling. First about traffic jams, next about parking woes, and eventually complaining that his tie was too tight. Esme stayed silent, already accustomed to his mood swings in the past few months. Ever since the dealership’s troubles, he had become irritable and on-edge.

The evening kicked off well. The CEO, Michael Thompson, gave a speech about the company’s successes and presented awards to standout employees. Esme received a special mention—for introducing a new financial tracking system that had saved the company millions.

“And now, I’d like to toast our new Finance Manager,” Michael raised his glass. “Esme joined us three years ago as a junior accountant. Through hard work, intelligence, and determination, she’s shown she deserves this. Congratulations on the promotion!” He winked.

Everyone applauded. The head accountant, Patricia, hugged her, whispering, “Well deserved, love.” Her colleagues beamed; they truly appreciated Esme within the team.

Then someone chimed in, “What’s the salary for the Finance Manager now?”

Michael, a bit red from the wine, waved it off: “It’s impressive! Our Esme now earns more each month than some do in six!”

Daniel, who had been quietly munching snacks, suddenly stiffened. His face reddened—this wasn’t from embarrassment but pure fury.

“What’re we celebrating here?” he bellowed, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Big deal shifting papers around! I’m the one working hard at the dealership…”

“Darling, maybe it’s best not to—” Esme gently touched his sleeve.

“Best to what?” he shook her off. “Why is everyone fawning over her?”

Esme noticed the twitch on his cheek—a sure sign a storm was brewing. That same expression crossed his face when he had learned about being demoted.

“Think she’s special or something?” His tone dripped with venom. “She’s just a good bullshitter in front of the management! Meanwhile, I’m slaving away, shifting cars and dealing with customers…”

“Daniel, please…” Esme tried to intervene once more.

“And what about Daniel?” He spun towards her. “Is it hard to see the truth? You sit in your comfy office, tapping on keys and suddenly you’re a star!” He grabbed the glass and sloshed the drink. “So am I just a nobody now?”

Esme felt the heat of embarrassment radiate from her colleagues. But Daniel was on a roll now:

“Perhaps I should just quit altogether, eh? Ha! Hilarious! I’ve got a wife who’s doing well!” The clatter of a glass hitting a plate felt sharper than a gunshot. Patricia paled. Michael frowned. Then a young programmer, Josh—always cracking jokes in the breakroom—suddenly stood up:

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

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

“What did you teach me, Daniel?” Esme spoke softly, but the room fell silent, all ears. “How to sit quietly when it hurts? Smile when I’m disgusted? Pretend everything’s fine?”

She stood, smoothed her dress, and added, “Thank you. I sincerely appreciate it. You’ve taught me plenty—like some men just want a welcome mat to wipe their feet on.” With that, she turned and strode towards the exit. Behind her, she heard a commotion—seemed Josh finally lost it and slapped Daniel. But she didn’t look back.

In the taxi, she didn’t cry. Staring out the window at the bright lights of London, she felt an overwhelming sense of relief that she hadn’t had children with him. She was proud of insisting on her career and continuing to work towards her dreams. Hearing the phrase “welcome mat” had finally jolted her awake, urging her to stop pretending.

Esme woke at six the next morning. Her head throbbed, not from drink but from reflection. Daniel was still knocked out on the couch, reeking of last night’s indulgence. On the coffee table rested an empty bottle of whiskey and their wedding photo frame, tipped over.

She retrieved four large rubbish bags from the cupboard and began to pack up his belongings.

At nine, there was a knock at the door. Daniel stirred on the sofa. “What…what’s going on?” His confused expression was priceless. “I’m changing the locks,” Esme replied calmly, opening the door to a locksmith.

“Why?”

“So you won’t be coming back.”

He shot upright, “Seriously? Because of last night? I just had a few too many!”

“No, Daniel. It’s not just about last night. Your belongings are outside. I’ve got your paperwork in my bag. You can leave the keys here.”

While the locksmith got to work, Daniel silently dressed. At the door, he turned back: “You’ll regret this.”

“Already don’t,” Esme replied.

The divorce was swift and quiet. Esme immersed herself in work completely. Daniel turned up unannounced one day at her office:

“Hey, I need to talk… I got fired. Mind if I come back? I mean, we once…”

“Ex-husband?” Esme didn’t look up from her laptop. “Sorry, but we’re a women-only team. Company policy.” He lingered another minute at the door.

“You know, I was a bit hasty back then. You’re doing brilliantly…”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Please shut the door on your way out, and you can send your CV to HR—they respond to everyone.”

Her phone buzzed—it was her younger sister.

“Esme, you won’t believe it! I got hired! I’m a finance manager now!”

“Congratulations, sweetheart!” Esme grinned. “Get ready—lots of work ahead.”

“I’ll manage! You’ll teach me everything.”

“I will,” she glanced at the photo of them as children. “Just remember: never let anyone call you a welcome mat.”

Laughter rang through the phone, “You’ll definitely teach me that! So, what if we start something together? A business, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Esme replied, grabbing her bag. “Come over this weekend and we’ll brainstorm.”

As she left the office and headed to the Tube, people rushed past—tired, frowning, each with their own story. Esme knew there were others like her amid the crowd—those brave enough to start anew, who dared to believe in themselves. Who learned to say “no.”

Once home, Esme kicked off her shoes, switched on the kettle, and opened her laptop. She jotted down the blueprint for her new company—an endeavour with her sister. Something straightforward and beneficial, without pretensions or airs. Perhaps accounting workshops for budding entrepreneurs? Or consultancy for women keen to start their own ventures?

Rain pattered against the window. Esme draped a blanket over her shoulders and smiled at her thoughts. Tomorrow would be a new day. And it was certain to be far brighter than the last.