**”You Never Get Anything Done!”: One Eye-Opening Evening for Mary**
It was over dinner when Andrew mentioned it, barely glancing at his wife. “David and Emma invited us over tomorrow. We’re going.”
“Maybe I should bake something? An apple pie, perhaps? It feels odd to turn up empty-handed,” Mary suggested.
“No need. Emma’s a brilliant cook,” Andrew brushed her off. “Just bring wine and fruit. That’ll do.”
Mary nodded, but resentment simmered inside. True, she wasn’t a gourmet chef—with a toddler and everything else on her plate, who had the time? But she tried. She cooked, she cleaned. It just went unnoticed.
She’d only met Emma once, briefly, at a work do. And now here they were, expected to drop everything and go—with Andrew making it painfully clear whose wife he preferred.
By Saturday evening, Mary had dressed up, styled her hair—it felt good to go out. They left their son with his grandmother and set off.
Emma and David’s flat was immaculate. Every surface gleamed; the air smelled of roast chicken and fresh bread. Mary glanced around—they had a child too, yet no toys in sight, not a crumb on the floor. And Emma looked like she’d just stepped out of a salon.
“Your home is lovely!” Mary said politely.
“And spotless,” Andrew chimed in. “Not like ours. Mary, you could learn a thing or two from Emma!”
Everyone laughed—except Mary. The jab stung. She forced a smile and pressed her lips together. She wanted to leave right then, but politeness held her back.
Dinner was lighthearted until Andrew started gushing over Emma—her cooking, her looks, how she even ironed David’s shirts.
“Now that’s a proper wife!” he exclaimed. “I could do with one like her!”
“What about me?” Mary finally snapped.
“Oh, come on, you’re fine… but Emma’s in another league. Don’t take it to heart.”
Mary excused herself to the loo. Locked inside, she wept. He compared her. Belittled her. And she’d given him everything.
She returned to the table, pretending nothing was wrong.
Then Emma spoke up.
“Andrew, if you like how I look, maybe take a leaf out of David’s book. He minds our son when I hit the gym, get my nails done, or just shop. You leave Mary to do it all—then moan she’s not perfect.”
Andrew faltered, trying to laugh it off. “Well… not everyone can be ideal.”
“Mary could be, if she wasn’t running the show alone,” Emma shot back. “Maybe if you lifted a finger now and then, your place would be tidy, and she’d have time for herself.”
“Are you ganging up on me?” Andrew glowered. “I was just paying a compliment!”
“No, you humiliated your wife. Repeatedly. And praising Emma isn’t an excuse to shame Mary,” David said sharply. “You didn’t even see how much that hurt her.”
“Mary, tell them!” Andrew turned to her. “Explain it’s fine.”
She met his gaze. Smiled, but her eyes were hollow.
“No, Andrew. It’s not fine. You belittle me. Constantly. I’m done.”
“So now you’re against me?!” he hissed. “Let’s go. This is mortifying.”
“Call me if you need anything,” Emma murmured as Mary left.
In the taxi, Andrew erupted. At home, he kept going. Accusations flew: “They poisoned you against me! We were happy!”
But Mary didn’t shout. Didn’t defend herself. She just planned for the morning—when she’d file for divorce.
A month later, she was working. Their son started nursery. She breathed easier. No more comparisons. No more blame. And the silence at home? She wasn’t afraid of it anymore. Silence wasn’t emptiness. It was freedom.
