My husbands relatives have been gossiping behind my back, but they had no idea Id actually hit the jackpot yesterday.
Dont wear that dress again, Emily. It makes you look cheap.
My motherinlaw, Margaret Smith, said it in that silky, motheaten tone that sounds sweet but cuts deep.
She tossed the line over her shoulder as she walked past me in the hallway, not even looking my way.
I froze in front of the mirror. A simple summer dress, my favourite. James always said I looked like a heroine from an old French film in it.
Dont you like it? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She stopped, turned slowly, her porcelainsmooth face wearing that tired, condescending smile.
Its not about my taste, love. Its about status. My son runs a major project. His wife shouldnt look like shes just fled a clearancesale.
Her eyes swept over me from head to toe, snagging on the cheap sandals and the lack of heavy gold jewellery.
Never mindwell fix that. Claire is off to the boutiques. Go with her. Shell show you how a proper lady should dress.
Clairemy sisterinlawpopped out of her room like shed been waiting for the cue. She was draped in something silky, designer, carelessrich.
Mom, its pointless. She has no taste, she drawled, eyeing me like a zoo animal. To wear nice things you need breeding. And here
She didnt finish, but I got it. Here was me, the smalltown orphan theyd somehow added to their golden boy Jamess life.
I didnt answer. I just nodded and headed to the room theyd assigned to me. Our flat had been flooded by the neighbours, and while the endless repairs dragged on, his parents had kindly offered us a place to stay.
James had flown off on a monthlong business trip, insisting it was for the best. Youll see, theyll grow to love you, he said before leaving.
I shut the door, leaned my back against it, heart pounding not from hurt but from a cold, quiet rage that had been bubbling for weeks.
I pulled out my laptop, opened the chess platform. Yesterdays final match of the world online tournament was still on the home page. My usernameQuiet Moveglowed above the defeated avatar of the American grandmaster, and beneath it the prize amount: £1.2million.
I stared at the numbers, and in my head I heard Claires voice: You need breeding
That evening at dinner, my fatherinlaw, George Smith, was on the phone, loudly lecturing about some problem asset. He hung up, looked at me with irritation.
even a small sum should be invested wisely, not wasted on nonsense. You, Emilywhat did you do before marriage? Some sort of analyst, I think?
Financial analyst, I corrected calmly.
There you go, he went on, missing the correction. You should understand. Though what kind of sums would you have dealt with
Claire snorted into her plate of arugula and prawns.
Dad, what sums. For their first anniversary she gave James cufflinks. Silver ones. I saw them. Probably saved up for six months.
Claire! Margaret chided, amusement twinkling in her eyes.
I looked up from my plate. They were having fun, playing their favourite game: Show the poor relation her place.
The cufflinks are actually beautiful, I said evenly. James liked them.
Our boy likes everything you give him, Margaret cooed. Hes kind. Not picky.
That not picky could poison a whole city. I silently checked my phone; the banking app was open, the prize money already sitting in my account, converted and ready.
I glanced at their three wellfed, wellgroomed faces. They knew nothing. To them I was just their sons mistake, a penniless fool who needed to be remade or tossed out.
And I let them think thatfor now.
The next day they took me for a refit. Claire led me through boutiques as if I were a ridiculous little lapdog. She pointed out dresses that cost a years salary in my hometown.
Well? Gorgeous, right? she thrust a silk jumpsuit at me. Try it on. Mum will pay.
I saw the price tag and shook my head.
Claire, its too much. I cant accept it.
Oh, spare me the poorgirl act, she sneered. I cant accept it. When someone gives you something, you take it and be happy. Or do you think our family cant afford to dress Jamess wife?
She said it loud enough for the shop assistants to hear. My cheeks flushed. It was a trapany answer would make me look bad.
Im just not used to such expensive things, I whispered.
Then get used to it. She snapped at the clerk, Wrap it up. Deliver to the house.
She spent the rest of the day buying things without asking me. That night, as we unpacked the bags, Margaret clicked her tongue.
Well, that already looks more like a person. You were walking around like some poor waif.
She pulled a wellknown brand bag from her closet, its handles a little scuffed.
Here, take it. Im bored of it, but itll be perfect for you. No point throwing it away.
It wasnt a gift, just a handdown they no longer needed but assumed would be a treasure for me.
Thank you, I said, my voice sounding like someone elses.
Later, when George was watching the news, I sat beside him.
Im grateful for your hospitality, but
No buts, he cut me off, eyes glued to the screen. Youre our sons wife. Its our duty to look after you.
I understand, but it feels like youre trying to remake me. I like my life, my work.
At that moment Margaret swooped into the living room and heard my last words.
Work? Emily, dear, what work? Your main work is James. Making him comfortable, having children. Youre smart, you must get it. Your pennies in our family budget are laughable.
Its not about the money, I tried to argue. Its about selfrealisation.
Self what? Claire burst into theatrical laughter. Seriously? Sitting in a stuffy office shuffling papers is selfrealisation? Have a baby and youll understand what that is.
They talked amongst themselves as if I werent even there, planning my life like a projectProject DaughterinLaw.
That night James FaceTimed me, his tired but happy face filling the screen.
How are you, love? They not giving you a hard time, are they?
I smiled at him.
Everythings fine, darling. Theyre very caring.
I couldnt tell him anything. Chess was my secret world, my bond with my father. Id once tried to explain how much it meant, but he just waved it off: Cool, love, what a cute hobby. So I kept quiet, guarding what was precious from misunderstanding. Complaining about his family would drag him into a war hed be caught in. No. This was a game I needed to win myself.
I miss you so much, he said.
I miss you too, I answered. Very much.
After the call I opened my laptop again, not the chess site but a luxury property site. I stared at townhouses in Chelsea, penthouses with river views. I wasnt choosing yet; I was mapping the battlefield. Every snide comment only hardened my resolve.
They thought they were moulding pliable clay. They didnt realise the clay had long since hardened into tempered steel.
The point of no return came on Wednesday. Margaret decided to do a deep clean of my roomwithout meclaiming it was for the best.
Emily, I tidied up for you, dusted, she said when I came back from the shop. And what was that junk under your bed? Some shabby board and worn little figures.
Everything inside me dropped. She meant the old chessboard my father had carved for me when I was six, each piece handfinished and lacquered. It was the only thing I had left from my parents.
Where is it? I asked, voice even.
Oh, I gave it to the gardener. He has grandkidslet them play. We cant keep that kind of trash in the house. Its not an antique, just old junk. Ruins the look of the place.
She said it as if shed tossed a newspaper. She hadnt just gotten rid of a board; shed erased a part of my memory, my soul.
I walked into the empty room. The parquet gleamed, the boards spot vacant. Something shifted inside me.
I stepped back into the living room where Margaret and Claire were sipping herbal tea, chatting about an upcoming trip to Italy. They looked up, probably expecting tears, hysteria, a plea.
But I was calm.
Margaret, I said, voice level, no quiver. You said you gave the board to the gardener. Please call him. I want it back.
She raised an eyebrow.
Emily, dont be a child. Why do you need that rubbish? James will come, well buy you new, beautiful ones. Ivory, if you like.
I dont need ivory, I cut in. I need those. Theyre my fathers memory.
Claire snorted.
My God, such drama over a few wooden pieces. She turned to Margaret. Mom, tell her the gardener already left.
Yes, hes already gone, Margaret seized the lifeline. So forget it. Its just a thing.
She smiled that condescending smile, and that was the last straw.
I grabbed my phone, found the number of a luxury estate agent Id saved a few days ago, and put it on speaker.
Hello, this is Anna. We spoke about the townhouse in Chelsea. Yes, Ive decided. Im ready to make an offer.
Silence fell. Margaret and Claire froze, their teacups midair, faces draining.
Yes, the price is fine. Please prepare the documents for an official offer. Ill email proof of funds in five minutes. No mortgage neededpersonal funds.
I said it straight into Margarets stunned eyes. Confusion turned to alarm.
And one more thing, I added before ending the call. Ill need a good landscaper and a gardenerjust make sure he doesnt throw away other peoples things.
I hung up, set the phone down, and smiledfor the first time in agesnot the practiced smile they knew, but the grin of someone who just put the opponents king in checkmate.
Claire was the first to react.
What was that? she squealed. What townhouse? Are you out of your mind? Where would you get that kind of money?
Is this a prank? Margaret ventured, her porcelain calm cracking. Emily, this is a very stupid joke.
I sat in the armchair opposite them, took an almond biscuit from the plate.
Its not a joke. I won the money at the world chess championship.
Claire burst out laughing, a nervous, strangled laugh.
Chess? You? Dont make me laugh. Youre just Emily.
Yes, Im just Emily, I agreed calmly. Ive played chess all my life, like my father. He taught me on the very board you gave to the gardener.
At that moment my fatherinlaw walked in, drawn by the uproar.
Whats happening here?
Dad, shes lost it! Claire squealed. She says shes buying a townhouse and won millions in chess!
He looked at me, then at Margaret and Claire. He was the only one who didnt laugh; a calculating look flickered in his eyes.
What money, Emily? he asked, businesslike.
One point two million pounds, I answered evenly.
He let out a low whistle. Margaret gasped, hand to her mouth. Their neat little world, with its fixed roles, was cracking.
Just then the front door slammed. James stood there, a day early, surprising us.
Mum, Dad, Im home! Whats
He stopped when he saw our faces. His mother rushed to him.
James, thank God youre here! Your wife she shes saying the most incredible things!
What am I saying, Margaret? I stood. The truth?
James looked at me, confused.
Emily, what happened?
I told him everything the poor waif jokes, the handdowns, the lectures, the board. He listened, eyes widening.
When I finished, he turned to his mother.
Mom, is this true? You threw away his fathers board?
James, but it was just old junk! I meant well! she babbled.
Meant well? His voice hardened. For three weeks youve been humiliating my wife behind my back, thinking shes a voiceless orphan you can mould?
He glanced at his father and sister; they were silent, eyes down. Their swagger evaporated.
And you, he said to me, admiration, pain, bewilderment in his gaze. You kept quiet through all of this? And you won the world championship? Emily Who are you? Why didnt I know any of this?
Because this was my game, James. Not yours. I had to finish it myself. I love you, but Im not who you all thought I was.
I took his hand. I cant live here any longer.
Ten minutes later James walked in with a suitcase.
Im coming with you. Forgive mefor them and for being blind.
We packed my few belongings and the ridiculous branded dresses Id never worn. We walked through the living room; the family sat frozen, like statues.
Were leaving, James said. And Im asking you not to bother my wife again. Ever.
We walked out without looking back. In the car, James took my hand.
One point two million pounds Youre richer than I am now, he halfsmiled.
Its not about the money, I said, watching the city lights blur past. It never was.
He nodded. He got it. It was about the right to be yourself, about respectsomething you cant buy, only win. They wanted to teach me breeding. I taught them a lesson instead. True breeding isnt about designer bags or pricey cars; its the spine that keeps you from bending and lets you make your own quiet moveeven if it ends in mate.
Six months later were in our new townhouse. Sunlight floods the spacious lounge where, on a special Karelianbirch table, sits the old chessboard. James found the gardener the next day. He hadnt given it to his grandkids; hed left it in his shed because he couldnt bring himself to throw it away. James paid him ten times its worth and brought it backa silent apology for his family.
We never needed to discuss what happened. James had seen it with his own eyes, and that was enough. His relationship with his parents settled into a cold, polite neutrality. They still try to call, to invite themselves over to see our palace, especially Margaret, who now calls me our brilliant Emily in every conversation. But James is firm. You didnt respect my wife when you thought she was poor. I dont want you to be hypocrites now that you know shes rich.
One day Claire tried to corner me outside a supermarket, eyes glittering with a new scheme.
Listen, Emily Ive got this business idea Maybe youd invest? Youre an investor now, she said with a fawning smile.
I shook my head. No, Claire. Im not an investor. Im a chess player. And I never invest in losing games.
I opened an online chess school for kids, calling it Quiet Move. It quickly took off. I found my selfrealisation not in shuffling papers, but in teaching children to think, calculate, and respect their opponent.
One evening James and I were on the terrace. He was reading; I was setting up pieces for tomorrows lesson.
You know, sometimes I wonder he said without looking up. What if you hadnt won that money? What if theyd kept on
I placed the white queen on its square. Then the game would just have lasted longer, but the ending would have been the same. Because it wasnt about the money I had. It was about what they never had.
And whats that? he asked, meeting my eyes.
I smiled, looking at the worn board my father had made with his hands.
