“You said today you married me because I was ‘convenient’!”
“So what?” He shrugged. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Are you wearing that old dressing gown again?” Mark sneered at Sophie as he fastened his shirt cuff, as if preparing for battle.
She froze, the coffee cup in her hands. A thin stream of steam rose, scalding her fingers, but she didnt pull away.
“Hes convenient.”
“Yeah, convenient,” he huffed, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “Like everything else about you.”
Sophie lowered her eyes. The coffee had stopped steaming. The surface had darkened, reflecting the ceiling like a shattered mirror.
“Mark, you”
“What?” He jingled his keys, the metal clinking against his wedding ring.
“Never mind.”
The door slammed so hard the porcelain on the shelf trembled.
***
Theyd met at work. She was the quiet, mousy accountant who tied her hair in a messy bun. He was the loud, confident manager whose laughter echoed down the corridors. Mark courted her grandlyroses with dewdrops on the petals, candlelit dinners where he ordered her a medium-rare steak without asking what she liked.
“Youre not one of those women who fusses over little things, right?” hed asked on their third date, straightening the napkin on her lap.
“No,” Sophie had smiled, ignoring the warning bells.
“Good. My ex was always making a scene”
She didnt dwell on it. Then came the wedding, the kids, the house. Everything normal.
Except when she tried on an off-shoulder dress, hed say,
“Something simpler would suit you better. Thats not your style.”
Or when she dabbed on lipstick, hed mutter,
“Why bother? Youre just staying home.”
But the worst was when she bought a new perfume, light and floral. He wrinkled his nose.
“Smells cheap. Like that auntie from accounting.”
She never wore it again.
On her birthday, he bought her a vacuum cleaner.
“The old ones squeaky,” he explained as she unwrapped it. “Youre always sighing when you clean.”
She thanked him. Then stared out the window for a long time before the kids called her to cut the cake.
But she never complained. Because he was a good husband, wasnt he? Didnt drink, didnt hit her, brought home the money.
Wasnt that enough?
***
“Did you ever love me?”
The same evening. The same conversation. Mark glanced away, as if checking the latch on the window.
“Of course Youre the perfect wife.”
“Thats not an answer.”
He sighed, as if explaining basic arithmetic.
“Sophie, stop making a fuss. Everythings fine.”
“Fine?!” Her voice shook, not with tears but with fury finally breaking free. “You said you married me because I was ‘convenient’!”
“So what?” He shrugged again. “Is that a bad thing?”
She stared at him, really lookedthe tan on his neck from tennis with colleagues, not her. The crease between his brows, not from worry but irritation at having to justify himself.
“What about Kate?”
Marks face twitched, like someone had tugged an invisible string.
“Whats she got to do with this?”
“You loved her.”
“Yeah,” he admitted sharply, and that one word held more feeling than all their years together. “I did. But she wasnt wife material.”
Something inside Sophie cracked quietly, like a broken heelyou could still walk, but never the same.
“So I was the obedient replacement.”
“Dont be dramatic,” he waved her off like a fly. “Weve got kids. A home. What more do you want?”
***
She hesitated.
Maybe he was right? Maybe love was a luxury, and family mattered more? Sophie stood by the window, watching raindrops smear the glass. Her fingerprints marked the paneshed been standing there so often lately, as if waiting for the world outside to give her an answer.
And Mark Mark carried on as if nothing had changed.
A week later, seeing she hadnt argued, he stopped pretending entirely.
“Pasta again?” He prodded his fork as if dissecting evidence of her failure. “Couldnt even add seasoning.”
“You said you didnt like spicy,” she replied, but her voice sounded distant, like someone else was speaking.
“So what?” He pushed his plate away like it was garbage. “Kate always cooked”
Sophie stood abruptly. The chair screeched, leaving another scratch on the flooranother invisible crack in their life.
“Go to Kate then!”
“Oh, give it a rest,” 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 trusted her love, but because he trusted her obedience.
She started noticing it everywhere.
How he no longer corrected her clothesjust walked past without looking. How his gaze slid over her like she was part of the furniturea sofa no one sat on anymore. How his “calm” days stretched into weeksno fights, no complaints, just nothing.
And the worst part? That nothing was louder than any scream.
Standing at the kitchen counter, gripping the edge, 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 being the woman who “didnt fuss.”
Then something inside her turned over.
Not pain, not ragefreedom.
Because if they dont love you but still get angry, you still exist.
But when they stop even being angry?
Youre already gone.
***
A month later, she filed for divorce.
Mark didnt believe it at first. He walked into the kitchen where Sophie was packing the childrens things and froze, as if she were a stranger.
“Youre serious?” His voice wavered, uncertain for the first time in years.
Sophie didnt look up, folding tiny jumpers neatly.
“Yes.”
“Over something this petty?” He stepped forward, and her shoulders tensed.
“Its not petty,” she said quietly. “Im not furniture.”
He laughed sharplynervous, harsh.
“Oh, here we go! You always exaggerate.”
Sophie finally looked at him. His face was painfully familiar, but now she saw it differentlythe tight lips, the narrowed eyes. He wasnt upset about losing her. He was annoyed his convenient life had cracked.
“Im not exaggerating,” she said. “Im just tired of being convenient.”
Mark was silent, then snatched his keys from the table.
“Fine! You think Ill struggle?” He glanced at the boxes. “You cant even cook properly.”
She flinchedthe old, familiar sting. Once, those words would have made her doubt herself. Now they rang hollow.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But someone else thinks differently.”
His face twisted.
“Oh, so thats it! Youve got someone else?” He smirked. “Look at yourselfwhod want you?”
The old ache tightened inside her. 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.”
Mark froze. He hadnt expected that.
“Youve lost it,” he hissed. “What about the kids? Dont you care?”
She closed her eyes briefly. The kids Yes, she thought of them every second.
“Theyll learn what self-respect looks like,” she replied.
“Rubbish!” He waved a hand. “Youre selfish. Weve got a home, money And youll throw it away over nothing?”
Sophie looked at him and realised: he truly didnt understand. To him, it was nothing.
“To you,” she said. “Not to me.”
He turned away, tapping his keys impatiently.
“Fine. Youll regret this.”
On the day she collected the last of her things, Mark suddenly asked,
“You really think youll find someone better?”
She paused at the door, feeling the breeze brush her face.
“Better?” She smiled. “I dont know. But someone who sees me, not an empty space.”
He said nothing.
And she stepped outside, where the air smelled like rain and freedom.
***
Two years passed.
Sophie 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 tangled, shadows under her eyes. Who once saw that same vacuum on sale, laughed, and bought her peonies insteadjust because their colour matched her lips.
She wore perfume again. Painted her lips. Chose off-sh
