**The Last Straw**
“That’s it! I’ve had enough!” roared James the moment he and Emily stepped inside their London flat. “When will you learn to keep that mouth of yours shut?”
“What did I even say?” Emily shot back, indignant.
“You’re seriously asking?” James sneered, his expression dark. “You’ve crossed every line, love. Time to teach you some manners.”
“James, what on earth is the problem?” Emily retreated slightly.
“The problem is your behaviour’s downright disgraceful! Petite little thing like you, yet full of lip!”
“Not all of us can be towering oafs like you!” Emily snapped. “A woman’s supposed to be delicate and refined!”
“And quiet, obedient, and submissive—qualities you sorely lack!” James unbuckled his belt, sliding it free from his trousers. “Time you learned your place, like the good old days.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Emily gasped, stepping back. “You’re not actually going to—”
“Teach you a lesson,” James growled. “And punish that sharp tongue of yours. You nearly gave my poor mum a heart attack today!”
“Well, maybe she shouldn’t spout nonsense!” Emily shot back. “Why should I take off my heels—which, by the way, I brought in a bag—just to wear her musty slippers? I’m not parading around in flats, not at my height!”
“Perfectly good slippers!” James advanced. “For guests!”
“And since when do guests wash the dishes *and* scrub the stove?” Emily tilted her head defiantly. “And I *hate* being ordered around!”
“That’s exactly why you’re getting this! You’re my wife, not some spoiled princess. Time you learned respect—for me *and* my family!”
“They should act decently first!” Emily ducked into the living room. “They’re the ones being rude! You’re supposed to defend *me*! Look at me—tiny, fragile, and they bully me!” She pouted but kept a wary eye on him.
“If you acted according to your size and station, no one would’ve insulted you! But no, you’ve got opinions. Well, I’ll beat them out of you!”
“Please, don’t!” Emily’s voice trembled. “You’ll hurt me!”
“Oh, I will,” James smirked. “Make sure you never forget your place again. Little thing like you, acting like royalty!”
“No!” she shrieked, scrambling against the wall, curling into a ball. “Please!”
James closed the distance, raising the belt—
“Absolutely. Spoilt brats like you need this. Only way you’ll learn.”
—
James’s first meeting with Emily’s parents had left a lasting impression.
Her father, Edward—who insisted on being called “Dad Ed”—had gripped James’s hand too tightly, then pulled him into a crushing hug.
“Son! I’d do anything for you! Always wanted a boy, but Mary here only gave me a daughter and called it quits! A lad to fish with, go to the football, hunt—proper father-son stuff! None of this frilly nonsense. But with you, son-in-law, we’ll make up for lost time!”
“Glad to hear it, Dad Ed,” James mumbled awkwardly. “Not much of an angler, though.”
“Bah, neither was I at first!” Edward boomed. “But I’ve got a son now! I’ll teach you everything!”
Mary sighed, steering her husband away. “It’s a sore spot,” she murmured apologetically. “Five sisters, worked in a female-dominated office. Nearly walked out of the delivery room when he heard it wasn’t a boy. Now he’s got you to ‘unwind’ with.”
“I’ll do my best,” James said weakly.
“Oh, you will,” Mary smiled. “You’ve no idea how he’s longed for this.”
Edward’s “bonding” began immediately.
“You’ve no idea how thrilled I am to have another man in the family!” he groused over pints. “Living with them’s unbearable! Can’t even swear without a lecture—‘This isn’t a barracks, Edward!’ And Emily’s just as bad. ‘Ew, Dad!’” He mimed slitting his throat. “Makes my blood boil!”
“Delicate creatures,” James offered.
“Too delicate! All salads and yoga. Dragged me to the theatre once—pure drivel! Some bloke weeping over love. I snuck out at intermission! Never again. Now I just drive them to their galleries and symphonies. Might’ve died of boredom otherwise!”
James nodded along, realising Edward barely tolerated his own daughter. Mary had raised Emily—both petite, sharp-witted, and unafraid to voice opinions.
—
Arguments escalated.
“Was it *so hard* to keep quiet?” James groaned after Emily dismissed his mother’s baby clothes as “dusty relics.”
“If they’re rubbish, why bring them home?”
“Mum was sentimental! Now she’s on valium because of you!”
“Then *you* should’ve refused! Be a man!”
“Enough!” James snapped. “I’m apologising to her. And you’d better *never* provoke her again!”
Emily folded her arms. “Maybe I’ll apologise. *Later.*”
Years passed like this—James forever smoothing things over. Until his parents intervened.
“How long will you let that shrew humiliate you?” his father demanded. “A man grovelling for *her* misbehaviour? It’s pathetic!”
“Talk to her,” his mother urged. “A wife supports her husband, not contradicts him!”
“Her personality—”
“Needs correcting,” his father cut in. “Your mum was headstrong too. I sorted that quickly.”
His mother nodded. “And I’m grateful. A man’s strength keeps a house in order.”
James resolved to try reasoning one last time. But Emily’s next outburst sealed their fate.
—
“I’ll *teach* you respect!” James raised the belt—
Then everything went wrong.
Five-foot-two Emily drove a fist into his solar plexus. As he doubled over, her knee cracked his nose. A flurry of blows followed—body shots, a sweep to his legs, and a final punch that sent him sprawling.
“Your *mum* taught you well,” James wheezed.
“Only after sixteen,” Emily said coolly. “Before that, *Dad* raised me as the son he wanted. Four years old, and we were at judo twice a week.”
James groaned. “Bloody hell, Dad Ed…”
“Still want to ‘teach’ me?” Emily smirked.
A week bedridden. Emily nursed him—then packed her bags. The divorce papers arrived before he could stand.
“You didn’t go too hard, did you?” Edward grinned when she returned home.
“He’ll live.”
“That’s my girl!” He vanished, chuckling.
Mary sighed. “I started too late. He wanted a boy—got one in you.”
“But she can defend herself!” Edward called from the kitchen.
“Mum, I’m fine,” Emily said. “I’ll find a proper husband—or train one myself.”
