The Hollow Role
Emily first considered divorce just six months after the wedding. But the test showed two pink lines, and the thought dissolved in waves of morning sickness.
She had met James at a bar, dragged there by old dance school friends—*“Live a little for once.”* A confident man in an expensive suit sat at the counter, flipping through paperwork, and he seemed like someone from another world.
*“You’re far too pretty to look so sad,”* he said when she was left alone—her friends had scurried off to touch up their makeup.
He kept talking, but Emily couldn’t recall the words later. Only his voice, smooth and rich like aged whisky, lingered in her memory.
James was eight years older, part-owner of his family’s cleaning supply business. Emily had caught his eye precisely because she didn’t belong there—fragile, beautiful, and, as he soon learned, modest in her needs. She’d grown up poor, spent her childhood chasing a ballet dream, then switched to fitness training after an injury.
In short: young, naive, and malleable. The perfect wife. That same night, he told his mother, *“I’ve found the girl who’ll give you those grandchildren you’ve been after.”*
When he proposed three months later, Emily’s mother wept with joy. *“You’ll finally be taken care of!”*
James’s mother, Margaret, inspected her like a prized mare. *“Good girl. She’ll do.”* The wedding plans were handled entirely by his family.
*“You don’t mind a blue cake, do you?”* Margaret asked. *“It’s our company’s colour.”*
Emily smiled. *“Of course. Whatever you think is best.”*
Their honeymoon was by the sea. On the plane, James warned, *“Mum worries if I’m out of touch too long. We’ll call her twice a day—morning and evening. Best take notes or photos—she loves details.”*
Back home, Emily’s new life began.
*“Mum wanted you to have this.”* James slid her a leather-bound notebook. *“Family traditions. Birthdays, anniversaries, weekends at the cottage…”*
She flipped through the pages:
*5th January – Aunt Grace’s Day. Flowers: white roses.
23rd February – Uncle Robert’s birthday. Best gift: single malt.
First Sunday of June – Family barbecue.
Every Sunday – Family lunch. Dress code: smart casual.*
The schedule was rigid, unforgiving.
*“Where do I fit in time for myself?”* she ventured.
James laughed, ruffling her hair. *“Your time is family time, love.”*
A week later, the reality sank in.
*“Where are you going?”* James blocked the doorway.
*“Massage course. We agreed—”*
*“No. Mum needs help at the shop today.”*
*“But I—”*
*“Emily.”* He tilted her chin up gently. *“We’re a family. This is a family business. Don’t you want to be part of it?”*
That Sunday, Margaret announced over lunch, *“You’ll quit the gym. You did well yesterday—we need a cashier at the shop.”*
*“But I—”*
*“You want to be useful, don’t you?”* Margaret arched a brow, then glanced at James. *“Or don’t you?”*
James nodded silently, carving his steak. No discussion. Roles assigned, duties set. Obedience expected.
That night, in the bath, Emily first thought of escape. Imagined telling her parents she’d made a terrible mistake—that she refused to be a voiceless doll.
*“Have you lost your mind? You’d rather go back to nothing?”* Her mother’s imagined reply came before she could speak.
Then came the two pink lines. And Emily stayed.
What choice did she have?
***
By the time their second child was born, Emily had learned—to make roast beef just how Margaret liked it, to flinch no longer when James was *“working late,”* to wear a flawless smile and insist *“everything’s fine”* to anyone who asked.
Only her childhood friend Sophie knew the truth.
Knew about the two sets of cosmetics—one for Margaret’s approval, one for herself. Knew about the stolen coffees when she could fabricate an alibi. Knew that *“happy wife and mother”* was a mask that drained her soul dry.
*“You’re suffocating!”* Sophie hissed one afternoon. *“You hated that shop! You told me she audits your till every night!”*
*“It’s normal,”* Emily shrugged.
*“What about your massage course? You wanted to help people!”*
*“That was a lifetime ago.”*
*“And James—he’s cheating!”*
It was true. No proof at first, just whispers. Then, at Margaret’s birthday party, she’d caught him in the pantry—adjusting his tie, a woman giggling as she smoothed her hair.
*“It meant nothing,”* James said later, presenting diamond earrings. *“You’re smarter than this.”*
Of course, she told Sophie. The only one who knew her.
*“I’ve no choice,”* Emily murmured, spinning her teacup. *“It’s too late. The children…”*
*“They see everything! You think they don’t notice you’re miserable?”* Sophie leaned in. *“Life’s too bloody short to chain yourself to a nightmare.”*
*“Maybe I’m just… ungrateful,”* Emily’s voice cracked. *“We’ve a home, money, the kids…”*
*“Ungrateful? You haven’t breathed freely in ten years!”* Sophie gripped her wrist. *“Who sobbed down the phone when he missed your birthday again?”*
Emily laughed—sharp, hollow. *“Margaret gave me a spa voucher. Said I needed maintenance.”*
Sophie shoved a note into her bag: *“When you’re done being convenient—call me. Anytime.”*
***
Five years later, Emily studied a new wrinkle in the mirror. Children shrieked behind her, Margaret’s call buzzed insistently, the family Labrador thumped down the hall.
And she realised—she was gone.
The dutiful wife. The perfect daughter-in-law. The devoted mother.
But the Emily who dreamed of the stage, feared heights, adored strawberries and cream, who could light up a room—she no longer existed.
The day before, her daughter had brought home a drawing: *“My Family.”*
*“That’s Granny—big! Dad—with his watch! Me and my brother… and you, Mum.”*
Emily stared at the tiny figure in the corner.
*“Why am I so… small?”*
*“Granny says you’re happiest in the shadows—means you’re humble!”*
That night, Emily wept—really wept—for the first time in years. Remembered Sophie’s fury, that lone therapy session her friend had begged her to attend.
The therapist had asked, *“If you had one day entirely to yourself—what would you do?”*
Emily had frozen. Then burst into tears.
She hadn’t known.
And never went back.
