My husbands relatives were gossiping behind my back, oblivious to the fact that just yesterday Id walked away with a fortune.
Dont wear that dress again, Emma. It makes you look cheap.
My motherinlaw, Margaret Whitaker, said it in a syrupy tonesoft as a motheaten cashmere cardigan. She tossed the remark over her shoulder as she slipped past me in the hallway, not even bothering to look up.
I halted in front of the mirror, staring at the simple summer frockmy favourite. James always told me I looked like the heroine of a French film in it.
Dont you like it? I asked, keeping my voice level.
She stopped, turned slowly, her porcelain complexion set in a look of condescending weariness.
Its not about my taste, dear. Its about appearances. My son runs a major project; his wife shouldnt look like shes just escaped a clearance sale.
Her eyes swept me from head to toe, lingering on my cheap sandals and the lack of heavy gold jewellery.
Never mindwell sort it. Claire is off to the boutiques. Come with her; shell show you how a proper lady should dress.
Clairemy sisterinlawpopped out of her room as if waiting for a cue, draped in silk, designer labels, and an air of effortless expense.
Ma, its pointless. She has no taste, she drawled, eyeing me like a curious zoo animal. To wear nice things you need proper breeding. And here
She didnt finish, but I understood. Here was me: the smalltown orphan the Whitakers had somehow adopted into their goldenboy family.
I gave no answer. I simply nodded and retreated to the room theyd assigned to me. Our flat had been flooded by the neighbours, and while endless repairs dragged on, Jamess parents had kindly invited us to stay with them.
James had flown off on a monthlong business trip, insisting it was for the best. Theyll grow to love you, youll see! hed said before boarding.
I shut the door, leaned against it, and felt my heart thuddingnot from hurt, but from a cold, quiet fury that had been simmering for two weeks.
I opened my laptop, launched the chess platform, and saw the final match of the world online tournament still on the home page. My handle, Quiet Move, glowed above the defeated avatar of an American grandmaster. Beneath it, the prize amount blazed: one point two million pounds.
I stared at the figure, and in my head I heard Claires sneer: You need proper breeding
That evening at dinner, my fatherinlaw, Edward Whitaker, was loudly on the phone about some problem asset. He hung up, glared at me, and said,
even a modest sum must be invested wisely, not wasted on nonsense. You, Emmawhat did you do before marriage? Some sort of analyst, I presume?
Financial analyst, I replied, calm.
There you go. You should understand. Though what kind of sums would you have handled
Claire snorted into her plate of rocket salad and prawns.
Dad, what sums? For their first anniversary she gave James silver cufflinks. I saw them. Probably saved up for half a year.
Claire! Margaret scolded, though amusement twinkled in her eyes.
I looked up from my plate. They were playing their favourite game: Show the poor relation her place.
The cufflinks are actually lovely, I said evenly. James liked them.
Our boy likes everything you give him, cooed Margaret. Hes sweet, not picky.
There was enough poison in that not picky to choke a whole city. I pretended to check the time; the banking app was already open, the prize money sitting in my account, converted to pounds.
I glanced at their three wellfed, impeccably groomed faces. They didnt know a thing. To them I was just their sons mistake, a penniless fool to be reshaped or cast out.
And I let them think thatfor now.
The next day they took me to be refitted. Claire marched me through Mayfair boutiques as if I were a pampered lapdog. She pointed out dresses with price tags that equalled a years salary in my hometown.
Well? Gorgeous, right? she thrust a silk jumpsuit at me. Try it on. Mum will pay.
I eyed the 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 grateful. Or do you think our family cant afford to dress Jamess wife?
She said it loud enough for the sales assistants to hear. Heat rose to my cheeks; any answer would make me look foolish.
Im just not used to such expensive things, I whispered.
Then get used to it. She barked at the clerk, Wrap it up. Deliver to the house.
She spent the rest of the day buying things without consulting me. That evening, as I unpacked the bags, Margaret clicked her tongue.
Well, that already looks more like a person. You were wandering about like a poor waif.
She pulled a wellknown designer bag from her wardrobe, 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; it was a handmedown, a relic they no longer needed but assumed would be a treasure to me.
Thank you, I said, the voice sounding strangely foreign.
Later, when Edward was watching the news, I sat beside him.
Im very 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 entered the living room and heard my last words.
Work? Emma, dear, what work? Your main job is James. Keeping him comfortable, having children. Youre clever, you must see that your pennies in our family budget are laughable.
Its not about the money, I tried to protest. Its about selfrealisation.
Self what? Claire burst into theatrical laughter. Seriously? Shuffling papers in a stuffy office is selfrealisation? Have a baby and youll understand.
They spoke among themselves as if I werent even in the room, planning my life like a project: Project DaughterinLaw.
That night James Facetimed me, his tired but happy face filling my screen.
How are you, love? They not giving you a hard time?
I smiled.
Everythings fine, darling. Theyre very caring.
I couldnt tell him the truth. Chess was my secret world, the bond Id once tried to explain to my father, whod waved it off as cute hobby. So I kept silent, protecting what mattered from misunderstanding. Complaining about his family would drag him into a war hed never win. Nothis was a game I had to win on my own.
I miss you so much, he said.
I miss you too, I replied. Very much.
After the call I opened my laptop againnot the chess site, but a luxury property portal. I stared at townhouses in Richmond, penthouses with river views. I wasnt buying; I was scouting, mapping the battlefield. Every snide remark only hardened my resolve.
They thought they were molding 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 give my bedroom a deep clean without me, claiming she was doing me a favour.
Emma, I tidied up a bit, dusted, she said when I returned from the shop. And what was that junk under your bed? Some shabby board and a few worn figurines.
My heart dropped. She meant the old wooden chessboard my father had carved for me when I was six, each piece handcarved and lacquereda solitary link to my parents.
Where is it? I asked, voice steady.
Oh, I gave it to the gardener. He has grandkidslet them play. We cant keep that sort of junk in the house. It isnt an antique, just old rubbish. It ruins the look of the place.
She said it as if shed tossed a newspaper. She hadnt just lost a thing; shed erased a piece of my memory, of my soul.
I walked into my room, the boards empty space glaring back at me. The parquet floor shone, immaculate.
Something shifted in me. All those petty humiliations, the pricey clothes, the lecturesthat was a game I could endure. But this this struck at my most vulnerable spot.
I emerged to find Margaret and Claire sipping herbal tea in the lounge, chatting about an upcoming trip to Italy. They looked up, perhaps expecting tears, a plea, a breakdown.
Instead, I was perfectly calm.
Margaret, I said, voice level, you said you gave the board to the gardener. Please call him; I want it back.
She raised an eyebrow.
Emma, stop being childish. Why do you need that rubbish? James will buy you new onesivory, if you like.
I dont want ivory, I cut in. I want those pieces. Theyre my fathers memory.
Claire snorted.
My God, such drama over a few wooden pieces. Mum, tell her the gardeners already left.
Yes, hes already gone, Margaret said, seizing the lifeline. So forget it. Its just a thing.
She gave me that trademark condescending smile, and that was the last straw.
I grabbed my phone, dialled a number Id saved a few days earlieran upscale estate agent.
Hello, this is Emma. We spoke about the townhouse in Richmond. Ive decided; Im ready to make an offer.
Silence fell over the lounge. Margaret and Claire froze, teacups midair, faces draining.
Yes, the price is fine. Ill email proof of funds in five minutesno mortgage, personal funds.
I looked straight into Margarets stunned eyes. Confusion gave way to alarm.
And one more thing, I added, before ending the call. Ill need a good landscape designer and a gardener. Make sure he doesnt throw away other peoples things.
I set the phone down and smiledfor the first time, a smile that wasnt a performance. It was the grin of a player who had just checkmated the opponents king.
Claires voice quivered. What are you talking about? A townhouse? Where would you get that kind of money?
Is this a prank? Margaret ventured, her usual composure cracked. Emma, this is a very foolish joke.
I took an almond biscuit from the plate.
Its not a joke, nor a prank. I won the money at the world chess championship.
Claire burst into a nervous laugh.
Chess? You? Dont make me laugh. Youre just Emma.
Yes, just Emma, I agreed calmly. Ive played chess all my life, like my father taught meon the very board you gave to the gardener.
Just then Edward entered, drawn by the commotion.
Whats happening?
Dad, shes lost it! Claire squealed. She says shes buying a townhouse and won millions in chess!
He looked at me, then at his wife and sister. He was the only one not laughing; calculation flickered in his eyes.
What money, Emma? he asked, businesslike.
One point two million pounds, I replied, eventoned.
He let out a low whistle. Margaret gasped, hand over her mouth. Their tidy little world began to crumble.
A sudden bang at the front door announced Jamess early return, a surprise after just one day.
Mom, Dad, Im home! Whats
He stopped dead when he saw our faces. Margaret rushed to him.
James, thank God youre here! Your wife shes saying the most incredible things!
What am I saying, Margaret? I stood. The truth?
James looked at me, puzzled.
Emma, what happened?
I told him, calmly, without tears or hysteria, about the poor waif, the handmedowns, the lectures, and the board. When I finished, James turned to his mother.
Mom, is this true? You threw away her fathers board?
James, love, 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, treating her like a voiceless orphan you could mould as you pleased?
He looked at his father, at his sistersilence fell, swagger evaporated.
And you, he said to me, eyes a mix of admiration, pain, and bewilderment, kept quiet through all of this? And you won the world championship? Emma who are you? How did I never know?
Because this was my game, James, not yours. I had to finish it alone. I love you, but Im not the woman you all thought I was.
I took his hand.
And I cant live here any longer.
Ten minutes later James appeared with a suitcase.
Im coming with you. Forgive mefor them, and for being blind.
We packed my few belongings and the ridiculous designer dresses Id never worn. We walked through the living room, where the family sat frozen, as if turned to stone.
Were leaving, James announced. And Im asking you not to bother my wife again.
We stepped out without looking back. In the car, James squeezed my hand.
One point two million pounds youre richer than me now, he halfsmiled.
Its never about the money, I said, watching the city lights blur. It never was.
He nodded. He understood: it was about the right to be yourself, about respectsomething you cant buy or be handed to you, but earn. They wanted to teach me proper breeding. I taught them a lesson instead. True breeding isnt about designer bags or expensive cars; its the spine that keeps you upright and lets you make your own quiet move, even if it ends in checkmate.
Six months later we lived in our new Richmond townhouse. Sunlight flooded the spacious lounge where, on a place of honour on a Karelianbirch table, rested my old chessboard. James had found the gardener the next day. The man hadnt given it to his grandkids; hed simply put it in his shed, unable to throw it away. James paid him ten times its modest value and brought it backa silent apology for his family.
We never needed to discuss the past. 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 called, trying to invite themselves over to see our palace.
Now Margaret, ever the enthusiast, referred to me as our brilliant Emma in every conversation.
But James was firm. You didnt respect my wife when you thought she was poor. I dont want you hypocrites now that you know shes rich.
Claire once cornered me outside a supermarket, her usual gloss faded.
Listen, Emma I have a 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. I never invest in losing games.
I launched an online chess schoolAnd as the first class began, the childrens eyes lit up, proving that the truest riches are the moves we teach each other to make.
