The Shadowed Role
Emma first thought of divorce six months after the wedding. But the test showed two lines, and the idea dissolved in waves of morning sickness.
She first met Edward in a pub, dragged there by her old dance academy friends—”just once, for fun.” A confident man in an expensive watch sat at the bar, flipping through documents, and he seemed like someone from another world.
“You’re too lovely to look so glum,” he said when she was left alone—her friends had dashed off to touch up their makeup.
He kept talking, but Emma couldn’t recall the words. She only remembered his voice, rich as aged brandy, smooth with velvet notes.
Edward was eight years older, with a stake in the family’s cleaning supply business. Emma caught his eye because she looked entirely out of place there, as if she’d never set foot in a pub before.
Delicate, beautiful, and—as he soon learned—modest in her wants. Raised in hardship, she’d spent her childhood chasing ballet dreams until an injury forced her into coaching.
Young, poor, naive. Perfect wife material. He told his mother that very night:
“I think I’ve found the girl who’ll give you those grandchildren you’ve been waiting for.”
When Edward proposed three months later, Emma’s mother wept with joy. “Finally, you’ll be taken care of!”
His mother, Margaret, inspected her future daughter-in-law like a prize mare. “Good girl. We’ll take her.”
The wedding arrangements were all handled by Edward’s family. “You don’t mind a blue cake, do you?” Margaret asked. “Our company’s colour.”
Emma smiled. “Of course, whatever you think best.”
Their honeymoon took them to the seaside. On the plane, Edward warned, “Mother worries if I’m out of touch too long. We’ll call twice a day—morning and evening. Best jot down notes or take photos. She loves details.”
Back home, Emma’s new life began.
“Mother asked me to give you this,” Edward said, handing her a leather-bound notebook. “A list of family traditions. Birthdays, anniversaries, trips to the country house…”
Emma flicked through the pages:
*5th January – Aunt Grace’s Day. Flowers: white chrysanthemums.*
*23rd February – Uncle Richard’s birthday. Best gift: fine Scotch.*
*First Sunday in June – family barbecue.*
*Every Sunday – family lunch. Dress code: formal.*
The schedule was tight, unyielding.
“And… where do I fit in time for myself?” she ventured.
Edward laughed, ruffling her hair. “Your time *is* our time, darling.”
The reality struck a week later.
“Where are you off to?” Edward blocked the doorway.
“Massage course… we agreed—”
“No. Mother needs help at the shop today.”
“But I—”
“Emma.” He tilted her chin gently. “We’re family. This *is* the family business. Do you want to be part of it?”
At Sunday lunch, Margaret announced, “You’ll leave that fitness club. You handled the till well yesterday—we need you there.”
“But I—”
“You *do* want to be useful, don’t you?” Margaret arched a brow, then glanced at Edward. “Or not?”
He nodded silently, cutting into his steak. No discussion. Roles assigned, duties set.
That night, Emma first thought not of divorce—but escape. Lying in the bath, listening to the dripping tap, she imagined telling her parents she’d made a terrible mistake.
“Are you mad? Back to nothing? He *provides* for you!” Her mother’s voice echoed before she even spoke.
Then came the two lines. And Emma stayed.
What choice did she have?
***
By the birth of their second child, Emma had learned to make roast beef just as Margaret liked, to flinch no longer at Edward’s “late meetings,” to wear a radiant smile and say “everything’s fine” when asked.
Only her childhood friend Lily saw through it.
She knew Emma bought two sets of cosmetics—one for Margaret’s ledgers, one for herself. That she met Lily in secret, if she could forge an alibi. That she needed *permission* to visit her own parents. That “happy wife and mother” was a mask, costing everything.
“You’re *drowning* there! You hate that shop! Margaret counts the till after you!” Lily hissed.
“It’s normal,” Emma shrugged.
“And your massage course? You dreamed of working with people!”
“That was years ago.”
“Edward’s cheating—right under your nose!”
True. At first, suspicions. Then, at Margaret’s anniversary party, she caught him in the pantry with a guest—adjusting his tie, the woman smoothing dishevelled hair.
“It meant nothing,” Edward said later, handing her diamond earrings. “You’re a clever girl.”
Of course, she told Lily—the only one who knew her.
Emma sighed, spinning her teacup. “No choice now. Too late. The children…”
“Children *see* everything! You think they don’t know you’re miserable? Life’s too short to chain yourself to mistakes!”
“Maybe I’m just… spoiled? Maybe this *is* how it’s meant to be?” Emma’s voice wavered. “The house, the money… the children…”
“Spoiled?!” Lily leaned in. “You haven’t *spoken up* in ten years! Who sobbed on the phone when he ‘missed’ your birthday—again?”
Emma laughed, sharp and hollow. “Margaret gave me a spa voucher. Said I ‘needed upkeep.’”
Lily grabbed her wrist. “I’ve a spare room. Come anytime.”
“No.” Emma stood so fast her chair clattered. “Just… no.”
That night, unpacking her bag, she found Lily’s note: *When you’re done being convenient—call. Always.*
***
Five more years. Emma studied a new wrinkle in the mirror. Children shrieking, Margaret’s call ringing, the dog clattering down the hall.
She realised, sharply: *She* was gone. Only the convenient wife remained. The perfect daughter-in-law. The devoted mother. But the Emma who’d dreamed of the stage, feared heights, adored strawberries and cream, who’d *inspired* people—she no longer existed.
The day before, her daughter brought home a school drawing: *My Family.*
“Grandma—biggest. Daddy—with his watch. Me and brother… and you, Mummy.”
Emma stared at the tiny figure in the corner.
“Why am I so… small?”
“Grandma says you’re always in the shadows. It means you’re *modest*!”
That night, Emma wept, properly, for the first time in years. She thought of Lily, who’d tried to pull her free. Of her lone therapy session—Lily’s insistence. The question that undid her:
“If you had one day just for yourself—what would you do?”
She’d frozen. Then sobbed. She *didn’t know.* She never went back.
