You said you married me because I was convenient! So what? He shrugged. Is that a bad thing?
Are you seriously wearing that old dressing gown again? Maxim shot a disgusted glance at Sophia as he fastened his shirt cuff, as if armouring himself for battle.
She froze, cup in hand. Steam curled upwards, scalding her fingers, but she didnt pull away.
Hes convenient.
Yeah, convenient he snorted, adjusting his tie in the mirror. Like everything about you.
Sophia lowered her eyes. The coffee had stopped steaming. Its black surface mirrored the ceiling like a shattered little mirror.
Max, you
What? He was already jangling his keys, the metal clinking against his wedding ring.
Nothing.
The door slammed so hard the porcelain on the shelves trembled.
***
Theyd met at work. She was the quiet, mousy accountant who hid her hair in a messy bun; he was the smug manager whose laughter echoed down corridors. Maxim courted her with roses still dewy from the florist, candlelit dinners where he ordered her steak medium-rare 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, shed smiled, ignoring the warning bells.
Good. My ex was always making scenes
She brushed it off. Then came the wedding, the children, the house. Everything as it should be.
Only sometimes, when she tried on a dress with bare shoulders, hed say:
Something plainer would suit you better.
Or when she dabbed on lipstick:
Why bother? Youre just staying in.
Once, when she bought a new perfume with a floral hint, he wrinkled his nose:
Smells like a cheap shop. Are you trying to imitate that frumpy woman from accounts?
She never wore it again.
For her birthday, he bought her a vacuum cleaner.
The old one was squeaking, he explained as she unwrapped it. Youre always sighing when you clean.
She thanked him. Then stared out the window until the children called her to cut the cake.
But she stayed silent. Because he was, after all, a good man. Didnt hit her, didnt drink, brought home money.
Wasnt that enough?
***
Did you ever love me?
The same evening. The same conversation. Maxim glanced away, as if checking the window latch.
Of course Youre the perfect wife.
Thats not an answer.
He sighed, as if explaining something obvious.
Sophia, why are you making a fuss? Were fine.
Fine?! Her voice shooknot with tears, but with fury finally breaking free. You said you married me because I was convenient!
So? He shrugged. Whats wrong with that?
She stared at him, really seeing him for the first time: that tan on his neck from tennis with colleagues, not her. That crease between his browsnot from worry, but irritation at having to justify himself.
What about Kate?
His face twitched, as if tugged by an invisible string.
Whats she got to do with this?
You loved her.
Yes, he admitted sharply, and that one word held more feeling than all their years together. But you couldnt build a proper life with her.
Something inside her snapped, quiet as a broken heel: you could keep walking, but never the same way again.
So Im the docile, practical replacement.
Dont be dramatic. He waved a hand, swatting at a fly. We have kids. A home. What more do you want?
***
She hesitated.
Maybe he was right? Maybe love was a luxury, and family mattered more? Sophia stood by the window, watching raindrops smear the glass. In the reflection, fingerprints marked where shed leaned so often lately, as if waiting for the world outside to give her an answer.
And Maxim Maxim carried on as if nothing had changed.
A week later, seeing her endure in silence, he stopped pretending entirely.
Pasta again? He prodded his fork, as if dissecting evidence of her failure. Couldnt even add seasoning.
You said you hated spicy food, she replied, but her voice sounded hollow, like someone else was speaking.
So? He pushed his plate away like it was rubbish. Kate always used to
Sophia stood abruptly. The chair screeched, leaving a scratchanother mark in the house, another invisible crack.
Want to go back to Kate? Then go!
Oh, give it a rest. He laughed, and it cut deeper than a shout. Where would I go? You know Im comfortable with you.
In that moment, she finally understood.
He wasnt trying to keep her. Not because he trusted her love, but because he trusted her obedience.
She saw it everywhere now.
In how he no longer corrected her clothesjust walked past without looking. In how his eyes slid over her, as if shed become part of the furniture. In how his calm stretches 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 submit. Like she had with the vacuum cleaner. Like she had with the perfume. Like she had with not being the type to fuss.
Then something inside her turned over.
Not pain, not rageliberation.
Because if theyre angry, at least you still exist to them.
But when the anger stops
Youre already gone.
***
A month later, she filed for divorce.
Maxim didnt believe it at first. He found her in the kitchen packing the childrens things and froze, as if staring at a stranger.
Youre serious? Uncertainty flickered in his voice for the first time in years.
Sophia didnt look up, folding tiny jumpers with care.
Yes.
Over nothing? He stepped forward, and her shoulders tensed.
Its not nothing. Her voice was quiet. Im not furniture.
He laughedsharp, nervous.
Always so dramatic. You exaggerate everything.
Finally, she met his gaze. His face was painfully familiar, but now she saw it differently: the pressed lips, the narrowed eyeshe was furious, not at losing her, but at his convenient world cracking.
Im not exaggerating. Im just tired of being convenient.
He hesitated, then snatched his keys.
Fine! You think Ill struggle? He eyed the boxes. You cant even cook properly.
She flinchedthe old, familiar sting. Once, those words wouldve made her doubt herself. Now they rang hollow.
Maybe. She nodded. But someone disagrees.
His face twisted.
Ah, so thats it! Youve got someone else? He sneered. Look at youwhod even want you?
The old ache tightened in her chest. She almost said, *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.
He froze. Clearly, he hadnt expected that.
Youve lost it. He hissed. What about the kids? Dont you care?
She closed her eyes for a second. The children Yes, she thought of them every minute.
Theyll learn what self-respect looks like.
Oh, spare me! He waved a hand. Youre selfish. We have a home, money And youll throw it away over nothing?
Sophia looked at him and realised: he genuinely didnt understand. To him, it *was* nothing.
To you, yes. She said. To me, no.
He turned away, keys tapping against his palm.
Fine. Youll regret this.
On the day she collected the last of her things, Maxim suddenly asked:
You really think youll find someone better?
Pausing at the door, she felt the breeze brush her face.
Better? She echoed. I dont know. But at least 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.
Sophia married a man who kissed her shoulder each morning, even when she grumbled it was too early. Who whispered *Youre beautiful* when she was in an old gown, hair tangled, shadows under her eyes. Who once, spotting that same vacuum cleaner on sale, laughed and bought her peonies insteadjust because their pink matched her lips.
