“You said today you married me because I was ‘convenient’!” she snapped. He just shrugged. “So what? Is that a bad thing?”
“Are you seriously wearing that old dressing gown again?” James wrinkled his nose at Emily as he fastened his shirt cuff, like he was arming himself for battle.
She froze, coffee cup in hand. The steam curled up, scalding her fingers, but she didnt flinch.
“Hes convenient.”
“Yeah, convenient,” he scoffed, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “Like everything about you.”
Emily looked down. The coffee had stopped steaming. The surface was dark, reflecting the ceiling like a broken little mirror.
“James, you”
“What?” He jangled his keys, the metal clinking against his wedding ring.
“Nothing.”
The door slammed so hard the porcelain on the shelf rattled.
***
Theyd met at work. She was the quiet, mousy accountant who tucked her hair into a messy bun. He was the loud, confident manager whose laughter echoed down the corridors. James courted her with roses still damp with dew, candlelit dinners where he ordered her a medium-rare steak without asking what she liked.
“Youre not one of those women who fuss over little things, are you?” hed asked on their third date, smoothing a napkin over her lap.
“No,” Emily had smiled, ignoring the warning bells.
“Good. My ex was always making a scene”
She brushed it off. Then came the wedding, the kids, the house. Everything as it should be.
Except when she tried on a dress with bare shoulders, hed say, “Youd suit something plainer. Thats not really you.”
Or when she put on lipstick, hed mutter, “Why bother? Youre just staying home.”
Once, when she bought a new floral perfume, he wrinkled his nose. “Smells cheap. Like something Margaret from accounting would wear.”
So she stopped wearing it.
For her birthday, he bought her a vacuum cleaner.
“The old ones falling apart,” he said, watching her unwrap it. “Youre always sighing when you clean.”
She thanked him. Then stared out the window until the kids called her to cut the cake.
But she stayed quiet. Because overall, he was a good husband. Didnt hit her, didnt drink, provided for them.
Wasnt that enough?
***
“Did you ever love me?”
Same night. Same conversation. James glanced away, like he was checking if the window was shut.
“Of course Youre the perfect wife.”
“Thats not an answer.”
He sighed, like she was asking him to explain basic maths.
“Emily, why are you being like this? Were fine.”
“Fine?!” Her voice shook, not with tears but with fury finally breaking free. “You said today you married me because I was ‘convenient’!”
“So what?” He shrugged. “Is that bad?”
She studied him like she was seeing him for the first time: that tan on his neckfrom tennis with colleagues, not her. The crease between his browsnot from worry, but irritation at having to explain himself.
“What about Sarah?”
His face twitched, like someone had tugged an invisible string.
“Whats she got to do with this?”
“You loved her.”
“Yeah,” he admitted sharplymore emotion in that one word than in all their years together. “I did. But she wasnt wife material.”
Something inside Emily snapped, quiet as a broken heel. You could still walk, but not the same way.
“So Im the obedient, domestic replacement.”
“Dont be dramatic,” he waved his hand like shooing a fly. “Weve got kids. A home. What more do you want?”
***
She wavered.
Maybe he was right? Maybe love was a luxury, and family mattered more? Emily stood by the window, watching raindrops smear the glass. Her reflection showed smudged fingerprintsshed stood here so often lately, waiting for the world outside to give her an answer.
And James James carried on like nothing had changed.
A week later, seeing shed swallowed it again, he stopped pretending.
“Pasta again?” He prodded his fork like it was evidence of her failure. “Couldve at least added seasoning.”
“You said you hated spicy food,” she replied, but her voice sounded hollow, like someone else was speaking.
“So what?” He pushed his plate away like it was garbage. “Sarah always knew how to cook”
Emily stood abruptly. The chair screeched, leaving a scratchanother mark in their home, another invisible crack.
“Go to Sarah, then!”
“Dont be daft,” he laughed, and it cut deeper than a shout. “Where would I go? You know Im comfortable with you.”
Thats when she finally understood.
He wasnt trying to keep her. Not because he was sure of her love, but because he was sure of her obedience.
She noticed it everywhere now.
In how he no longer corrected her outfitsjust walked past without looking. In how his gaze slid over her like she was part of the furniturea sofa no one sat on anymore. In how his “good moods” lasted weeksno fights, no complaints, just nothing.
And the worst part? That nothing was louder than any scream.
Clutching the kitchen counter, she realised: he wasnt even angry. He was just waiting for her to give in. Like she had with the vacuum. Like she had with the perfume. Like she had with not being “one of those women who fuss.”
Then something inside her shifted.
Not pain. Not rage. Freedom.
Because if someone doesnt love you but still gets angryyou still exist.
But if they stop bothering to get angry
Youre already gone.
***
A month later, she filed for divorce.
James didnt believe it at first. He found her in the kitchen, packing the kids things into boxes, and froze in the doorway like she was a stranger.
“Youre serious?” His voice wavered, uncertain for once.
Emily didnt look up, folding tiny jumpers neatly.
“Yes.”
“Over nothing?” He stepped forward, and her shoulders tensed.
“Its not nothing,” she said quietly. “Im not furniture.”
He laughedsharp, nervous.
“Oh, here we go! You always overreact.”
She finally met his eyes. His face was painfully familiar, but now she saw it differently: the tight lips, the slight squinthe was furious, not because he was losing her, but because his convenient world was cracking.
“Im not overreacting,” she said. “Im just tired of being convenient.”
He was silent, then snatched his keys off the table.
“Fine! You think I care? Look at youyou cant even cook properly.”
She flinchedan old, familiar sting. Once, those words wouldve made her doubt herself. Now? They rang hollow.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But someone else seems to think differently.”
His face twisted.
“Oh, so thats it! Youve got someone else?” He sneered. “Look at yourselfwhod want you?”
Her chest achedthe old pain. She almost opened her mouth to say, “Youre right, Im sorry,” like she had a hundred times before.
But then she realised: she didnt want to.
“Me,” she said firmly. “I want me.”
James froze. He hadnt expected that.
“Youve lost it,” he hissed. “What about the kids? Youre just being selfish!”
She closed her eyes for a second. The kids Yes, shed thought of them every moment.
“Theyll learn what self-respect looks like,” she replied.
“Rubbish!” He scoffed. “Weve got a house, money Youd throw that away over nothing?”
Emily looked at him and suddenly understood: he truly didnt get it. To him, it really was “nothing.”
“For youyes,” she said. “For meno.”
He turned away, jingling his keys.
“Fine. Youll regret this.”
The day she collected her last things, James suddenly asked,
“You really think youll find someone better?”
She paused at the door, feeling the breeze on her face.
“Better?” she echoed. “I dont know. But at least someone who sees me, not an empty space.”
He said nothing.
She stepped outside, where the air smelled like rain and freedom.
***
Two years passed.
Emily married a man who kissed her shoulder every morning, even when she grumbled it was too early. Who whispered, “Youre beautiful,” when she was in her old dressing gown, hair messy, dark circles under her eyes. Who once saw that same vacuum on sale, laughed, and bought her peonies insteadjust because they matched her lipstick.
She wore perfume again. Put on lipstick. Chose dresses with bare shoulders. And every time she caught her
