Lifeless Role
Emily first considered divorce just six months into her marriage. But then the pregnancy test showed two lines, and the thought dissolved in waves of morning sickness.
She had met Edward in a bar, dragged there by old college friends from her dance academy—*Just let loose for once*. He sat at the counter, flipping through documents, a man with an air of confidence and expensive cufflinks, utterly out of place among the neon lights and pounding music.
*”You’re far too beautiful to look so sad,”* he said when her friends had flitted off to the loo, leaving her alone.
She couldn’t recall the rest of his words—only that his voice had been warm and rich, like aged whisky.
Edward was eight years older, a shareholder in his family’s cleaning products business. Emily had caught his eye precisely because she didn’t belong there—delicate, ethereal, and, as he soon learned, painfully modest in her ambitions. Raised in a struggling household, she’d spent her childhood chasing ballet dreams until an injury forced her to retrain as a fitness instructor.
Young, naive, and poor. Perfect wife material. That same night, he told his mother, *”I’ve found the girl who’ll give you those grandchildren you’ve been waiting for.”*
When Edward proposed three months later, Emily’s mother wept with joy. *”Finally, you’ll be taken care of!”*
Her future mother-in-law, Margaret, inspected her like a prized mare. *”Good girl. She’ll do.”*
The wedding was organized entirely by Edward’s family. *”You don’t mind a blue cake, do you?”* Margaret asked. *”It’s our company’s signature colour.”*
Emily smiled. *”Of course. Whatever you think is best.”*
Their honeymoon was in the Mediterranean. On the plane, Edward warned her, *”Mum worries if I’m out of touch. We’ll call her twice a day—morning and evening. Best take notes or photos; she loves details.”*
After they returned, Emily’s new life began.
Edward slid a leather-bound notebook across the table. *”Mum wanted you to have this. A list of our family traditions.”*
She flipped through the pages:
5 January – Aunt Beatrice’s birthday. Flowers: white lilies.
23 April – Uncle George’s day. Best gift: a fine bottle of Scotch.
First Sunday of July – family barbecue.
Every Sunday – formal lunch. Dress code: smart casual.
The schedule was exhaustive—rigid.
*”Where do I fit in time for my own things?”* she ventured.
Edward laughed, ruffling her hair. *”Your things* are *our things, love.”*
A week later, she grasped the reality.
*”Where do you think you’re going?”* Edward blocked the doorway as she reached for her coat.
*”Massage course. We agreed—”*
*”No. Mum needs help at the shop today.”*
*”But I—”*
He tilted her chin gently. *”Emily, we’re family. This is our business. Don’t you want to be part of it?”*
At Sunday lunch, Margaret declared, *”You’re quitting the gym. We need you at the till.”*
Emily hesitated. *”But I—”*
*”Unless you’d rather not contribute?”* Margaret arched a brow, then glanced at Edward, who sliced his steak in silence.
That night, in the bath, Emily imagined fleeing—confessing to her parents she’d made a terrible mistake.
*”Are you mad?”* her mother’s voice rang in her head before she could speak. *”You want to go back to nothing? He provides for you!”*
Then came the two pink lines.
And Emily stayed.
What else could she do?
By the time their second child arrived, Emily had mastered Margaret’s roast recipe, learned not to flinch when Edward stayed late for *meetings*, and perfected the art of the flawless smile.
Only her childhood friend Sophie saw through it.
She knew about the double sets of cosmetics—one to account for, one to keep. The secret meet-ups when Emily could fabricate an alibi. That she needed permission to visit her own parents.
*”You’re suffocating!”* Sophie hissed over coffee. *”You hate that job! Margaret still checks your till!”*
*”It’s fine,”* Emily murmured.
*”You wanted to train in massage therapy—help people!”*
*”That was years ago.”*
*”And Edward’s cheating!”*
It was true. She’d caught him at Margaret’s birthday party, adjusting his tie in the storeroom while a woman—some associate’s wife—smoothed her tousled hair.
*”It meant nothing,”* he’d said later, handing her diamond studs. *”You’re smarter than this.”*
Now, Sophie gripped her wrist. *”I’ve got a spare room. Come tomorrow.”*
*”No.”* Emily stood abruptly, knocking over her chair.
That evening, unpacking her bag, she found Sophie’s note: *”When you’re done being convenient—call me.”*
Five years later, studying a new wrinkle in the mirror, Emily finally understood.
She was gone.
Only the roles remained—dutiful wife, impeccable daughter-in-law, devoted mother. The girl who’d dreamed of the stage, feared heights, adored strawberries and cream? Vanished.
Yesterday, her daughter had brought home a school drawing: *”My Family.”*
*”That’s Gran—biggest. Dad—with his watch. Me and Ben… and there’s you, Mum.”*
Emily stared at the tiny figure in the corner.
*”Why am I so… small?”*
*”Gran says you’re always in the shadows. Means you’re modest!”*
That night, Emily sobbed—hard. She thought of Sophie. Of the single therapy session she’d attended, where the counsellor had asked:
*”If you had one free day, what would you do?”*
Emily had frozen. Then wept.
She didn’t know.
And she never went back.
