From the outside, Emily and Daniel’s marriage seems perfectly respectable—calm and harmonious. Daniel doesn’t drink, except on special occasions and even then only in moderation. He doesn’t smoke, and in eleven years, he’s never once raised a hand to his wife.
There was just that one incident, but Emily blames herself and sometimes shares it with her best friend, Claire:
“It was years ago—we had a row, and I got so worked up I lunged at him with my fists. Can you imagine? Me, a slip of a woman, going at a bloke his size. What was I thinking? He just pinned my wrists gently and sat me down on the sofa. Another man might’ve hit back, taught me a lesson. That’s when I realised I was in the wrong, and I’ve never let myself behave like that again.”
“You’re something else, Em. Your Dan could flatten you with one hand if he wanted,” Claire would laugh. “Come off it—since when can a woman beat a bloke in a scrap?”
This is Emily and Daniel’s second marriage. She left her first husband because he drank too much and picked fights. He’d come home late when their daughter, Sophie, was already asleep, start a row, wake her up, and not care. Emily had enough and filed for divorce, moving back in with her parents.
“You did the right thing, love,” her mum reassured her. “Five years with that man brought you nothing but grief. Don’t worry—we’ll raise Sophie, and you’ll find happiness. You’re a proper catch, you know.”
By the time Sophie turned twelve, Emily married Daniel. They met at Claire’s husband’s birthday party in a cosy pub. He’d approached her with a smile.
“You look like you could use a dance,” he said, flashing his perfect teeth.
Tall and handsome, with an easy air about him, he made a good first impression.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she replied, “but I wouldn’t say no to a dance.”
That’s how it began. Claire was thrilled—her friend wasn’t alone anymore. By then, Emily and Sophie lived in a modest three-bed flat she’d inherited from her gran, who’d been ill and lived alone before passing.
Small rooms, an old council block, but Emily was grateful—it was hers, and Sophie had her own space. Soon, Daniel moved in—he’d been living with his mum.
His first marriage hadn’t worked out either. His ex, Lily, and his mother couldn’t stand each other. They bickered constantly, neither backing down, nearly coming to blows.
“Daniel, where on earth did you find that shrew?” his mother would demand the moment he walked in from work. “I can’t stand sharing a roof with her.”
Lily was just as blunt. “I can’t live with your mum. We need our own place, or I swear I’ll lose it.”
They moved out before their son was born. Daniel did his best, but Lily was never satisfied.
“Money’s tight—he needs new clothes, Dan. Cook dinner, I haven’t time. Take him out, I’m knackered.”
He did as she asked, but his mother called daily, furious Lily kept her grandson from her.
“She won’t even let me see him!”
“I’ll bring him round this weekend, Mum.”
But Lily sent them off and went out with friends, coming home late, sometimes smelling of drink. Daniel hated it. She picked fights, slagged off his mother. Then one weekend, she didn’t come home at all. He had to drop their son at his mum’s before work.
“Where d’you even find a woman like that?” she’d snipe.
When their son was four, Lily announced, “I’m leaving. You’re still tied to your mum’s apron strings. I want a real man—and I’ve found one.”
Daniel moved back in with his mother, who, truth be told, was no prize herself. No woman was ever good enough for her son.
At first, Emily and Daniel were happy. Only his mother soured things. She resented Emily having a child from her first marriage, even though Sophie was sweet-natured and called her “Gran.”
“Don’t call me that. You’ve got your own grandma—I’m no relation,” she snapped once, upsetting Sophie.
Emily bit her tongue. The woman wasn’t wrong, was she? Sophie spent most weekends at Emily’s parents’.
Years passed. Sophie left for uni, and Emily and Daniel never had kids of their own. She’d have kept a pregnancy, but it never happened. Her mother-in-law never warmed to her, no matter how polite Emily was.
But lately, Daniel had changed. He was a decent cook—when he fancied it. But his good moods grew rarer.
“Claire, I don’t know what’s got into him,” Emily confessed. “He’s like a different man—everything’s wrong, no matter what I do. It’s like he wakes up looking for a reason to be miserable. Was he always like this, or is it just age?”
“Blimey, Em. I always thought you two were solid. Shows what I know—other folks’ marriages are a mystery.”
“He nitpicks over everything, as if he’s set on ruining my day. He’s snappy, takes things out on me. Thank God Sophie’s not here to see it. I don’t know what’s happened to him, Claire. The perfect husband—no drinking, no smoking. I keep hoping he’ll snap out of it…”
“Em, why’d you quit your job?” Claire asked. “Ran into Lucy from your old office—she told me.”
“I quit. Because if a workmate texted me, Dan assumed I was cheating. It wasn’t worth the rows.”
At first, he’d said, “You’re always chatting with coworkers or mates. Your family should come first.”
Tired of the accusations, Emily quit. Stopped seeing friends. The arguments stopped—until the next issue.
“You spend too much on nonsense—manicures, new dresses. Put the family first.”
“Fine,” she said. “You do the shopping from now on. I’ll make lists. Skip what you think we don’t need. So long as we’re not fighting, I’ll manage.”
He calmed down—briefly. Then found new faults. She’d left work, stopped shopping, ditched her friends. But when she took up fitness classes, he snapped.
“You just go to eye up other blokes. Pack it in.”
So she quit that too.
With all this free time, she wondered—why had he turned into such a petty, miserable man? She decided to watch him closer.
“Maybe he’s cheating. That’s why he doesn’t trust me. I should check his phone—hate the idea, but what choice do I have?”
She snooped. Apart from his mother, he barely spoke to anyone—just a couple of mates. But his mum called constantly, sometimes multiple times a day. Lately, he’d leave the room when she rang.
Emily eavesdropped. His mother griped, and he’d agree—her name came up a lot. Once, when he was in the shower, his phone rang. Emily answered before she could stop herself.
“Daniel, have you done what I said? Your wife’s out gallivanting while you sit at home like a mug. Can’t even control her—she walks all over you.”
“Hello, Margaret,” Emily said evenly, though her hands shook. “Daniel’s in the shower. I’ll pass that on.”
She expected an apology. Instead, her mother-in-law exploded, calling her names before hanging up.
Now Emily understood—his mother was poisoning him.
“Why does she hate me? I’ve done nothing to her. Yet she’s determined to make him miserable too.”
Two weeks passed, but Emily couldn’t shake it. His mother thrived on misery—even her son’s.
“What can I do? I can’t stop him seeing her. I love him, but he’s hurting us both. Sometimes he apologises, but after one call from her, he’s back to square one. How do I save him from this? A therapist, maybe?”
For now, that’s where she left it—booking an appointment.
