Evelyn, enough! begged her husband, his voice echoing like a distant siren you make living under one roof impossible! Youve trapped yourself in this haze yourself. Who keeps you from stepping outside? Am I locking you up? Go out, walk, what stops you?
Evelyn perched by the tall sash window of the sittingroom, watching the amber park beyond with a hollow stare. From the outside the scene seemed a perfect stage set: a devoted husband, the anticipation of a first child, a spacious terraced house bought on a mortgage. At twentyfive she wore the mask of a thriving young woman, yet inside a thick, syrupy melancholy had settled long ago.
That apathy had blossomed after her sole attempt at a professional breakthrough crumbled. Three years earlier, after moving to London, she had secured a twomonth stint at a clinic. The promised remuneration evaporated into thin air, and from that moment her hands fell limp. Interviews arranged through acquaintances yielded nothing, and a gnawing dread of people clung to her like wet wool.
The paradox lay in the fact that, armed with a psychology degree, Evelyn became the most hopeless case for herself. The education that ought to have been a key to the world now served only as a bitter reminder of how far she had drifted from her former competence.
Loneliness in the large house pressed especially hard. Her husband, a few years older, spent endless hours at the office. When Evelyn finally tried to offload the weight of her sorrow, he waved her off with irritated impatience.
Oh, cut it out! he snapped, voice flat. Youre stirring up negative feelings, Evelyn.
She tried not to remind him of her presence, especially since he provided for them entirely. Money was never a source of tension, yet occasional, tiny reproaches slipped through.
You never appreciate what I do, might have been his thought, though Evelyn spent almost nothing on herself.
His family added another layer of strain. His mother, Mrs. Whitaker, had taken a dislike to Evelyn from their first meeting. Evelyn, not particularly sociable, stayed out of the endless gossip, which only seemed to irritate the matriarch further.
She thinks our families are swindlers, flickered through Evelyns mind when she recalled the prewedding hustle.
Mrs. Whitaker insisted on a prenuptial agreement, demanding proof of serious intent. The Whitaker clan had hauled £100,000 from their countryside homea fortune for thembut it did not soften the chill. Constant backhandedness and feigned politeness at family gatherings wore Evelyn down to the bone.
Her relationship with her own father was a disaster that traced back to childhood. Having to beg him for money even for a loaf of bread left a deep scar. Recently he had drawn a line, declaring over the phone that she was not his daughter and that she only needed his cash.
Stop begging! he barked. Ask your husband! Youre married, Im not obliged to feed you!
Evelyn felt too ashamed to ask her husband. After that call she cut off all communication, yet the sting of humiliation lingered.
The pregnancy offered a brief respite: Mrs. Whitaker quieted for a spell. But simultaneously David, her husband, began disappearing more often, returning home at dusk almost every night.
I need to walk more, Evelyn whispered to herself, but the fear of people froze her in place. Venturing beyond the door felt like a heroic questDavid refused to accompany her, always claiming he was too busy.
The situation worsened with Davids younger sister, Lucy, whom Evelyn had helped secure a place at a London university. After receiving the aid, Lucy started to snap, calling Evelyn useless or simply ignoring her as if she didnt exist.
She talks to me like Im a dog, complained Evelyns mother, eyes wide. What have I ever done wrong? Ive always helped as best I could.
One evening, when David came home, Evelyn gathered the courage to sit opposite him in the livingroom.
We need to talk about whats happening between us, she began softly.
David set his phone aside.
About what? Ive had a rough day. If youre about to start whining, just stop! Im tired!
David, I cant live like this any longer. I feel completely useless.
His temper flared.
Youre talking nonsense. You have everything: the house, me, a baby on the way. Whats wrong?
Outwardly, yes. Inside I feel detached from it all. Im terrified to leave the house, I dread people, I cant work. Its not laziness. I have a problem.
Well, youre a psychologist, he sneered, his grin sour, a cobbler without shoes, perhaps? Youve trapped yourself in this corner of fear. Push past it and live like a normal person.
You dont get it. Its not fear, its alienation. After the job fell through I lost my bearings. And your mother her attitude is unbearable.
Dont bring your mother into this. She can be sharp, I know that. But shes an older woman and worries about me.
Evelyn managed a rueful smile.
Worries that well deceive her? That were not what she expects? She still doesnt believe in our marriage, I feel it. David, she thinks Im some sort of swindler.
Evelyn, youre dramatising. Find a hobby. See a friend, take a walk in the park. Clean the flat! I come home to a mess every night!
I have no friends here. Im terrified to go out alone! And you didnt help when you said I cause you negative emotions. Do you think that gives me strength? David, I need support
Im fed up with your endless complaints! I work to provide for you, and you just whine
Im not asking you to provide everything! I need your support. Your attention, your care, even a hint of sympathy. I feel like Im under the baseboard, and youre making it worse.
Enough! David exploded. You act like an ungrateful wretch.
Tears gathered at Evelyns throat, but she held them back.
I dont feel like your wife; I feel like a servant in this house, spoiling the picture of prosperity. Your sister is rude, your mother weaves intrigues, and you come and say I bring you negativity.
Maybe you provoke them yourself, he muttered.
The conversation dissolved into silence. David rose and drifted to the bedroom without another word. Evelyn remained on the sofa, realizing that the attempt to pour out her soul had only fortified the wall between them. The wounds from her father, the humiliation from the motherinlaw, the career collapseall merged into one massive knot that now pressed on her breathing.
The next day she made a decision. She could not change Mrs. Whitaker or her father, but she could change her attitude toward everything. She could shut herself away, retreat into a shell, sever all ties with the world. Yet she could notshe was about to become a mother, and for the child she had to straighten things out.
Evelyn opened her laptop, the first time in ages she logged into a social network. Among the friends were people from a previous life who might actually help.
Hi, Claire. I need help. Im completely lost, she typed to a former classmate who, Evelyn remembered, ran a private practice.
A reply soon arrived, suggesting a video call. When they began to talk, Evelyn felt for the first time in a long while that someone was truly listening, without judgment or an expectation of gratitude.
Evelyn, you cant help yourself while you stay in this isolation. Your pregnancy is a stressor, and your husband he isnt a psychologist; he simply doesnt know how to support you.
How do I step out of this fear of the world? I cant work; I cant even dash to the shopjust the thought of opening the door makes me tremble
Well start small. Tell me each day how you feel, plain and raw. I wont abandon you.
Evelyn began an online work with Claire, delving into childhood wounds tied to her father and her present state. The fear didnt vanish instantly, but she laboured to keep it at bay. A conversation with David about the future finally happened, and this time Evelyn restrained the blame.
Im starting to work remotely. Its both therapy and profession for me. I wont ask for money; Ill earn through my sessions.
David looked surprised.
What sort of work?
A crisis helpline needs operators. Ill speak with women caught in tough situations. By listening, Ill help them and, in turn, help myself.
David shrugged.
Well, you are a psychologist. Give it a go. It cant get any worse.
Under Claires gentle guidance Evelyn began to reshape her life. Progress was slow, but it was there. The work gave her purposeshe was truly needed. Over time she hoped to reclaim the woman she once was. The priority was that her condition not affect the baby, that she pull herself out of the depression that had settled like fog. She no longer doubted it was depression; now she faced it headon.
