*”You Never Do Anything Right!”*: One Evening Opened Mary’s Eyes to the Truth
—”Tom and Emily have invited us over,” Andrew announced over supper, barely glancing at his wife. “We’re going tomorrow.”
—”Should I bake something? An apple tart, perhaps? It’s rude to turn up empty-handed,” suggested Mary.
—”Don’t bother. Emily’s a brilliant cook,” he dismissed. “Just bring wine and fruit. That’ll do.”
Mary nodded, but resentment simmered inside her. True, she wasn’t a gourmet chef, and these days she had little time—what with their young son and everything else on her shoulders. Still, she tried her best—cooking, cleaning—but it seemed no one noticed.
She’d only met Emily once, briefly, at a work do. Now, here they were, summoned as if by command, with sly hints that other men’s wives were better.
By Saturday evening, Mary had dressed carefully, styled her hair—it was nice to go out properly, after all. They left their son with his grandmother and set off.
Emily and Tom’s flat was, indeed, immaculate. Everything gleamed; the air smelled of roast chicken and fresh bread. Mary glanced around—they had a child too, yet not a toy or crumb in sight. And Emily looked as if she’d just stepped out of a salon.
—”Your home is lovely!” Mary said politely.
—”And spotless,” Andrew added. “Not like ours. Mary, you could learn a thing or two!”
Everyone laughed—except Mary. The remark stung. She forced a tight smile, biting her tongue. She wanted to leave right then, but manners held her in place.
Conversation flowed easily until Andrew began praising Emily—her cooking, her looks, how she ironed Tom’s shirts.
—”Now *that’s* a proper wife!” he exclaimed. “I wish I had one like her!”
—”And what am I?” Mary snapped.
—”Oh, you’re fine… but Emily’s in a league of her own. Don’t take it to heart.”
Mary stood and retreated to the loo. Locking the door, she wept. He compared her. Belittled her. And after all she did for him.
She returned to the table, pretending nothing was wrong.
Then Emily spoke up.
—”Andrew, if you admire how I look so much, perhaps you could take a leaf out of Tom’s book. He looks after our son so I can go to the gym, the salon, or shopping. Meanwhile, you leave Mary to manage everything alone—then complain?”
Andrew faltered, trying to laugh it off.
—”Well, not everyone can be perfect.”
—”Mary could be, if she weren’t doing it all by herself,” Emily pressed. “Maybe if you lifted a finger now and then, your home would be tidy, and she’d have time for herself.”
—”Are you ganging up on me?” Andrew scowled. “It was just a compliment!”
—”No, you humiliated your wife. Over and over. Praising Emily isn’t an excuse to shame Mary,” Tom cut in sharply. “You didn’t even realise how much it hurt her.”
—”Mary, tell them!” Andrew turned to her. “Explain that everything’s fine.”
She looked at him. Smiled—but her eyes were hollow.
—”No, Andrew. It’s not fine. You belittle me. Constantly. I’m tired of it.”
—”So now you’re against me?!” he hissed. “Let’s go. This is mortifying.”
—”Call me if you need anything,” Emily murmured as Mary said goodbye.
In the taxi, Andrew erupted. At home, he raged on—accusing her: *”They’ve turned you against me! We were fine before!”*
But Mary didn’t shout. Didn’t argue. She simply prepared for the morning—when she’d file for divorce.
A month later, she’d found work. Their son started nursery. And for the first time in years, she breathed freely. No more comparisons. No more blame. And the silence in the flat? It wasn’t emptiness—it was peace.
