Esme worked as an accountant in a modest construction firm located in a plain office block on the outskirts of London. Her earnings were average, and her life followed a routine. Yet deep down, she harbored a cherished dream — to launch her own business. In the evenings, like many of her colleagues, she studied financial management software. She devoured business publications and crafted entrepreneurial strategies.

Then, Daniel entered her life unexpectedly. Mutual friends invited them to a countryside celebration. He worked as an administrator at a car dealership, earning a good salary while charming her with his attentiveness. Romantic dinners, bouquets, and movie nights became their weekend routine. A year later, they tied the knot.

The early days of their marriage were blissful. Esme continued her professional development and saved money for her venture. Daniel, however, viewed her aspirations with disdain: “Let her toy with being a businesswoman, but the main thing is that dinner’s on the table.”

But problems arose at the dealership. Sales dwindled, and salaries were slashed. Daniel came home irritable, snapping over trivial matters. Esme, having just received a promotion to financial manager with a salary twice that of her husband’s, remained unfazed. This only compounded his frustration.

Each evening turned into a silent trial. Daniel would retire to the living room with his mobile device, overtly ignoring her. If she attempted to discuss her work achievements, he would grimace and step out to the balcony for a smoke. When she replaced her outdated laptop with a modern one, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. “You wasting money again?” he muttered the following morning. “This is my money, Daniel. I earned it,” she snapped back for the first time. He hurled a mug into the sink and went off to work.

The last straw came with an invitation to a corporate event. “Dress code: festive. Attendance with spouses is mandatory,” read the notice from HR. Esme contemplated declining, sensing a negative outcome, but her colleague, Tatiana, insisted, “You’re a company representative now, Esme. You need to fit the part.”

The corporate gathering was hosted at a cozy restaurant in the heart of London. The firm had rented the entire second floor, accommodating about thirty people, excluding partners. Esme felt anxious. It was her first event as head of the finance department. She chose a simple black dress and flat shoes, never one to seek the limelight.

Daniel complained throughout the drive, first about traffic, then about parking, and finally about how tight his tie felt. Esme stayed silent, having grown accustomed to his moodiness in recent months. Since complications began at the dealership, he had become irritable and extremely nervous.

The evening began on a positive note. The CEO, Michael, delivered a speech celebrating the firm’s achievements and presented awards to outstanding employees. Esme received special recognition for implementing a new financial tracking system that saved the company millions.

“And now, let’s raise a toast to our new financial manager,” Michael announced, raising his glass. “Esme joined us three years ago as a regular accountant. However, through hard work, intellect, and determination, she has proven she deserves more. Congratulations on your promotion, Esme! And with your new salary,” he winked.

Everyone clapped. Tatiana hugged her, whispering, “You’ve earned this, girl.” Colleagues smiled genuinely; Esme was valued within the team.

Then someone asked, “What’s the salary of the financial manager now?”

With a flush from the drinks, Michael waved his hand dismissively. “Quite substantial! Our Esme now earns in a month what some make in six!”

Daniel, who had been silently chewing on snacks, suddenly sat upright, his face a deep shade of crimson — not from embarrassment, but from fury.

“What’s there to celebrate?” he boomed, ensuring everyone heard. “So what if she’s moving papers around? I’m at the dealership—”

“Darling, maybe you shouldn’t?” Esme gently touched his sleeve.

“Shouldn’t what?” he shrugged off her hand. “Why is everyone bowing to her?”

Esme noted the muscle twitching on his cheek — a sure sign of an impending argument. He’d had that look when he learned he was being demoted.

“Do you think she’s special?” he spat, venom lacing his tone. “She just knows how to flatter the higher-ups! I work hard at the dealership, selling cars, dealing with customers…” Esme, please, she tried to interject.

“And what about Daniel?” he suddenly turned to her. “Is the truth too hard to swallow? You sit in your comfy office, tapping away at your keyboard, and you’re already a star!” He grabbed his glass, spilling drink everywhere. “And I’m just a nobody? A zero?”

Esme could practically feel the embarrassment radiating from her colleagues at the table. But Daniel was on a roll:

“Maybe I should stop working altogether? Ha! What a joke! I’ve got a wife—a milking cow!” The clatter of his glass on the plate sounded like a gunshot. Tatiana turned pale. Michael’s brow darkened. Young programmer Dan, known for his incessant jokes in the smoking area, suddenly stood up.

“Apologize, mate.” Daniel’s face reddened even further.

“Apologize to who? To her?” he pointed a mocking finger at Esme. “Without me, she would be nothing! I taught her everything!”

“Taught her what, Daniel?” Esme’s voice was steady and quiet, capturing the room’s attention. “How to endure pain in silence? How to force a smile when it feels wrong? How to pretend everything’s fine?”

She stood tall, smoothing her clothes.

“Thank you. Really, thank you. You’ve taught me a lot. Such as some men don’t want a wife; they need a doormat to wipe their feet on.” She turned and headed for the exit. Behind her, she heard commotion — it seemed Dan had finally struck Daniel. But she didn’t look back.

In the taxi, she didn’t cry. Instead, she gazed out at the city lights and reflected on how fortunate she was not to have had children with him. How right she was to insist on her own path and keep working. It felt crucial to hear those words — “milking cow” — to finally awaken and stop pretending.

Esme woke at six with a head thrumming not from alcohol but from her racing thoughts. Daniel still dozed on the sofa, reeking of stale alcohol. On the coffee table sat an empty bottle of whiskey and a toppled frame of their wedding photo.

She retrieved four large trash bags from the cupboard and began packing up his belongings.

At nine, there was a knock at the door. Daniel stirred on the couch. “What… what’s happening?” His disheveled face showed genuine confusion. “I’m changing the locks,” Esme replied calmly as she opened the door to the locksmith. “Why?” he asked incredulously. “So you don’t come back.”

He sat upright, shocked. “Are you serious? Over last night? I just had a bit too much!”

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

While the locksmith worked on the door, Daniel dressed in silence. At the door, he hesitated and turned. “You’ll regret this.”

“Not anymore,” Esme replied.

The divorce was swift and quiet. Esme fully immersed herself in work. Unexpectedly, Daniel showed up at her office one day without warning. “Listen, I’ve got a problem… I was let go. Maybe you could give me a job? I mean, I used to…”

“Ex-husband?” Esme looked up from her laptop. “Sorry, but we only have women in our team. Company policy.” He lingered by the door for another moment.

“Look, I was too hasty. You’re amazing. You’ve achieved so much…”

“Thanks,” she smiled. “Could you close the door, please? And you can send your CV to HR; they respond to everyone.”

Her phone rang — it was her younger sister. “Esme, guess what? I’ve been accepted! I’m a financial manager now too!”

“Congratulations, little sis!” Esme beamed. “Get ready, there’s plenty of work ahead.”

“I’ll manage! I have you to teach me everything.”

“I’ll teach you,” she looked at the photo on her desk of her sister and her as small children. “Just remember: never let anyone call you a milking cow.”

Laughter echoed from the other end of the line. “You’ll definitely teach me that! Hey, what if we start something together? Our business?” Esme considered, grabbing her bag. “Perhaps. Come over this weekend, and we can discuss.”

She stepped out of the office and headed towards the tube. People hurried by, weary and frowning, each with their own stories. Esme knew there were others like her among them — those unafraid to start anew. Those who believed in themselves. Those who learned to say “no.”

As soon as she got home, she kicked off her shoes, put the kettle on, and opened her laptop. She sketched out a project for a new company with her sister — something straightforward and necessary, without arrogance or pretension. Maybe it would be beginner accounting workshops? Or consultations for women wanting to start their own businesses?

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