Despite its relatively short length, the journey seems to take ages. It goes on incessantly. The scenery seems to repeat as if it were on a conveyor belt. I stretch out my stiff, cold body, rearranging myself on the leather seat that suddenly feels too small and cramped for me. I force my eyes wide open and grip the steering wheel tightly, noticing my dry, cracked knuckles turning white as I clench them tighter onto the steering wheel. I lean forwards, my dry fingers reaching for the power button on the radio.

I turn up the volume to a song I hope will keep me awake and not burden me with any memories. I turn the tuner knob until I land on a jazz station. Hawkins’s layered saxophone over Monk’s delicate piano is as clear as it was all those years ago. It was the song that we danced to for the first time as a married couple. It had carried many fond memories and was the start of the long journey ahead as partners in love and life.

I think back to our tenth anniversary. Digesting our celebratory dinner, we sat finishing our last sips of pink champagne. Watching her across the table, I noticed that something was wrong.

I asked her, “Is there a problem, love?”

“No. Why, should there be a problem?” she icily replied.

This one line would initiate the declining trajectory that our evening would take. I remember how Jenna had eyed the folded material case at the edge of the table. She kept glancing at it, making sure each time to catch my eye to ensure I had followed where her cold, dark brown eyes had been wandering to.

“No, love,” I replied calmly. “Let’s not spoil a lovely evening.”

I flashed my charming smile, the smile that had caught her attention the very first time we met, trying to hide my thoughts of knowing what I have just done. My inner voice was screaming, angry at myself for ever opening my mouth and asking such a stupid question. But she just couldn’t let it go. She always had to have the last say and always had to remind me who was one step higher on the ladder of success.

I argued, “I’m sorry darling. I wish our roles in this marriage were different. I wish I could finally be the husband you long for and want me to be. I wish I could be a real man, which you and your parents keep subtly reminding me I am not, at every opportunity you get.”

And there, in the corner of the restaurant, all that had gone unsaid and had been tightly stitched rapidly became unravelled. I knew I should’ve just kept quiet… not said anything at all. But I just couldn’t…

I just couldn’t sit there like the meek, useless man she thought I was. I wasn’t going to be bullied and emasculated any longer. It was time she knew how I felt. Her bitter outpouring of words seared my heart like a hot iron. While I paused to catch my breath, Jenna continued her tirade of insults.

“I always hoped you would do something meaningful and purposeful in your life. You earn a meagre salary and your job, if you can even call it that, is an embarrassment to me and your son. Why didn’t you go to university so you could be something proper, like a lawyer or an accountant, or at least something that real people do? But you’re all just too happy to sit back and let me sail this boat. And you think of yourself as a real man? You’re a joke. Just a sad, pathetic joke!”

I just sat there. Letting her have her say. It’s not like she was saying anything I hadn’t heard, but this time it was more acerbic than anything she’d ever said before. I tried to block it out. I just needed to ignore her hurtful words. I quietly waited until she had finished her ranting.

I took a deep breath. And then let out a sigh. I looked at her, her furious brown eyes piercing my tired, green ones. It was enough. Surely we couldn’t go on like this anymore? It was selfish, not only to ourselves, but to Benjamin as well. Things had to be different. They needed to be different.

In a shaky whisper I asked her, “What are we going to do, Jenna? Things have to change! They need to! We’ve ignored this for too long now. We are not leaving this restaurant until we’ve figured out how we’re going to go forward or…”

I didn’t even want to finish that sentence out loud.

***

Tell us what you think: Do you believe a man is less of a man when he makes less money than his wife? Why? Why not?