Emma had long felt that this day would come, but when it finally happened, she was still caught off guard.
She stood frozen, unsure of what to do next. Mark, her husband, just shrugged.
“You’re not a child, Emma. It’s time for you to figure things out on your own.”
“So… I have to leave?” she asked quietly.
“You got it,” he responded flatly. “But don’t worry—I bought you half of a house. It’s cheap, but it’s yours.”
Emma smirked. “Half a house? Couldn’t afford the whole thing?”
Mark’s face darkened with irritation. “Enough, Emma. Let’s not start. We haven’t been a real couple in a long time. I’m tired of this.”
Without another word, she turned and left the room. Of course, he was tired. While Mark controlled the finances and made all the household decisions, he lived comfortably—money for entertainment, nights out with friends, and possibly someone else. But as soon as Emma stopped handing over her salary, he lost his temper.
“Do you think your little paycheck makes a difference in this house?”
“Mark, I’ve been wearing the same boots for four years,” she replied calmly. “Meanwhile, you’ve updated your entire wardrobe. Is that fair? And don’t call it ‘pennies.’ With my side jobs, I earn no less than you.”
That conversation had gone nowhere.
Emma knew Mark had a mistress, and their money was disappearing because of her. When his finances worsened and his mistress presumably left him, the fights at home became more frequent.
Emma had thought about leaving before, but one thing held her back—she had nowhere to go. After their last argument, when Mark came home to find no dinner, he exploded. Emma calmly explained that she had eaten at a café since he hadn’t given her any money for months. That enraged him.
He screamed that she was useless, that she couldn’t even have children, and that he only stayed with her out of pity.
That night, Emma barely held back her tears, but she knew it was over.
She began preparing for the inevitable. When she asked him where she was supposed to go, it was more out of habit than real concern. She had no intention of fighting for their one-bedroom apartment. But Mark, apparently, feared she might. He smirked.
“You’re smart, right? If you want the whole house, why don’t you buy the other half yourself?”
He knew that was impossible. The half-house had been sold to him for next to nothing because no one would buy the other half. And soon, Emma understood why.
The house had a story. A couple had once lived there, but after a tragic accident, the husband became disabled. Unable to handle the situation, his wife divorced him and sold her half. The remaining half belonged to the bedridden man.
Emma packed her things, called a taxi, and left for her new home.
She had no money to rent an apartment anyway. When she arrived, she was surprised. “Could Mark really have been generous? Did he actually try to buy the second half? To live alone in a house like this, drinking tea under the trees…”
She unlocked the door. The lock turned smoothly, as if frequently used. The house was clean, well-maintained—but something felt off. Why was there only one entrance?
The air inside smelled of medicine. Emma looked around. There was a large living space, a combined kitchen and dining area, and another room with an open door. She peeked inside—it was bright and almost empty, except for two doors leading further in. One was open, likely a bedroom. The other was closed.
She pushed it open and nearly gasped. A man lay inside, watching her curiously. A television played softly on the wall, and a small table with water and medicine stood beside his bed.
“Hello,” she said awkwardly.
He smiled. “Well, hello. Did they sell you half of my house?”
Emma nodded, glancing around in confusion. “I don’t understand… Half a house—does that mean all of it? No walls, no separate entrance?”
“No,” he replied calmly. “The house was never physically divided. You and I now own it together.”
Emma sighed. “That explains it. And here I thought Mark had suddenly become generous. Turns out, he was just as selfish as ever. Sorry, I’ll stay in the other room until I find somewhere else.”
The man shrugged. “Stay as long as you want. I never leave this room. I don’t even go to the clinic—they come to me. By the way, I’m Jake.”
Emma hesitated before asking, “And… do you cook? Manage the household?”
“No,” Jake replied. “A caregiver comes every two days.”
Emma found that odd. “And the rest of the time?” she wondered.
After moving her belongings, she went to the kitchen. The fridge was unplugged. There was hardly any food. “What do they feed him?” she thought.
Rolling up her sleeves, she started cooking. Despite everything, she found herself humming a tune. She smiled. “Just got divorced, nowhere to live, and yet I’m singing.”
An hour later, she knocked on Jake’s door. “Jake, I made dinner. Want to eat together?”
His expression darkened. “I don’t need pity.”
Emma firmly placed the tray on the table. “Let’s make a deal. I won’t pity you. I just ended up here, abandoned by my husband, and I’m lonely. I just wanted to eat with someone. A real person.”
Jake hesitated, then sighed. “Sorry. I’m just used to people acting like they understand.”
Emma sat down. “I get it. People love to tell others how to live.”
After a moment, Jake took a bite. “Emma, I can’t forgive you. After this meal, I’ll never eat what the caregiver brings again.”
They laughed. Over time, Emma noticed things. Jake had a wheelchair but never used it. One evening, she finally asked, “You understand I’ll eventually ask what happened, right?”
Jake nodded. “Two years ago, a car accident. Surgery went wrong. I should’ve started rehab immediately, but I didn’t. My wife left. Sold her half of the house.”
Emma raised an eyebrow. “So you’re just going to lie here forever?”
Jake shrugged. “What else can I do?”
“Fight,” Emma said. “Live.”
Over the months, she helped him. Encouraged him. Forced him to sit up, move, use his wheelchair. She even built a ramp.
Two years later, a doctor examined Jake. “You’ve surprised me. Your muscles were weak, but now—there must be love involved.”
Jake shyly glanced at Emma. “Can I try standing?”
“There’s no reason you can’t,” the doctor said. “It will be hard. Painful. But you should walk again.”
“I’m ready,” Jake said.
And he was. More than ever. The night before, Emma had told him she was pregnant. He had promised himself that by the time their baby was born, he would be able to stand. No—he would walk.
Jake let go of the wheelchair and looked at it. “I can do this. For you, I can.”
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.