**Diary Entry**
*12th March*
You said you married me because I was convenient!
So what? He shrugged. Is that bad?
Are you really wearing that old dressing gown again? Edward sneered at Emily, adjusting his cufflinks like armour before battle.
She froze, coffee cup in hand. Steam curled up, scalding her fingers, but she didnt flinch.
Hes *convenient*.
Yeah, convenient, he scoffed, straightening his tie in the mirror. Just like everything else about you.
Emily looked down. The coffee had stopped steaming. Its surface was black, reflecting the ceiling like a shattered mirror.
Ed, you
What? He jangled his keys, the metal clinking against his wedding band.
Never mind.
The door slammed so hard the porcelain on the shelf trembled.
***
Theyd met at work. She was the quiet accountant, hair always in a messy bun. He was the loud, confident manager whose laughter echoed down corridors. Edward courted her with roses dripping with dew, candlelit dinners where he ordered her steak medium-rare without asking what she liked.
Youre not one to fuss over little things, are you? hed asked on their third date, smoothing a napkin over her lap.
No, Emily 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.
Except when she tried on a dress with bare shoulders, hed say, Stick to something simpler. Thats not *you*.
Or when she applied lipstick, hed murmur, Why bother? Youre just at home.
Once, she bought a floral perfume. He wrinkled his nose. Smells cheap. Like Margaret from HR.
She never wore it again.
For her birthday, he bought her a vacuum cleaner.
The old ones knackered, he said, watching her unbox 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 quiet. He was a good husband, wasnt he? Didnt drink, didnt hit her, brought home the money.
Wasnt that enough?
***
Did you ever love me?
Same evening. Same conversation. Edward looked away, as if checking the latch on the window.
Of course Youre the perfect wife.
Thats not an answer.
He sighed like she was asking for the square root of pi.
Emily, why are you making a fuss? Everythings fine.
*Fine?* Her voice tremblednot with tears, but fury finally breaking free. You said you married me because I was *convenient*!
So? He shrugged. Whats wrong with that?
She studied him like she was seeing him for the first time: the tan on his neck from tennis with colleagues, not her. The crease between his browsnot from worry, but irritation at having to explain himself.
What about Sarah?
Edwards face twitched, as if yanked by an invisible thread.
Whats she got to do with this?
You loved her.
Yes, he admitted sharplymore feeling in that one word than in all their years. But she wasnt *stable*.
Something inside Emily snapped, quiet as a broken heel. You could still walk, but never the same way again.
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? Emily stood by the window, watching raindrops smear the glass. Her fingerprints marked the paneshed stood here so often lately, as if waiting for the world outside to give her an answer.
And Edward Edward carried on as if nothing had changed.
A week later, seeing her endure it, he stopped pretending altogether.
Pasta *again*? He prodded his fork like it was evidence of her failure. Couldve at least seasoned it.
You said you hated spice, she replied, but the voice wasnt hers.
So? Sarah always
Emily stood abruptly. The chair screeched, leaving a scratchanother invisible crack in their home.
Want to go back to Sarah? *Go.*
Oh, grow up. His laugh cut deeper than a shout. Where would I go? You know Im *comfortable* with you.
Thats when she understood.
He wasnt trying to keep hernot because he trusted her love, but because he trusted her submission.
She noticed it everywhere now.
The way he no longer corrected her outfitsjust walked past, unseeing. The way his gaze slid over her like she was part of the furniturea sofa no one sat on anymore. The way his calm stretched for weeksno arguments, 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 waiting for her to accept it. Like shed accepted the vacuum. The unworn perfume. The idea that she wasnt the fussy type.
Then something inside her *shifted*.
Not pain. Not rage. *Liberation.*
Because if they dont love you but still get angryyou still exist.
But when even the anger stops
Youre already gone.
***
A month later, she filed for divorce.
Edward didnt believe it at first. He found her in the kitchen, packing the childrens clothes into boxes, and frozeas if she were a stranger.
Youre serious? Uncertainty flickered in his voice for the first time in years.
Emily didnt look up, folding tiny jumpers.
Yes.
Over *this*? He stepped forward; her shoulders tensed.
Its not *this*, she said softly. Im not furniture.
He laughedsharp, brittle.
Christ, the drama! You always exaggerate.
She finally met his eyes. His face was painfully familiar, but she saw it differently now: the tight lips, the narrowed gazehe wasnt upset at losing *her*, but at his convenient world cracking.
Im not exaggerating, she said. Im just tired of being convenient.
Edward grabbed his keys.
Fine! Think Ill struggle? You cant even cook properly.
She flinchedthe old sting. Once, those words wouldve made her doubt herself. Now? They rang hollow.
Maybe, she agreed. But someone else disagrees.
His face twisted.
Oh, *thats* it! Youve got someone else? He smirked. Look at yourselfwhod want you?
The old ache tightened in her chest. She almost said, Youre right, like she had a hundred times before.
But suddenly, she didnt want to.
*I* do, she said firmly.
He stared.
Youve lost it. What about the kids? Dont you care?
She closed her eyes. The children God, she thought of them every second.
Theyll learn what self-respect looks like.
*Selfish.* Weve got a house, money And youll throw it away over *nothing*?
She understood then: he genuinely didnt get it. To him, it *was* nothing.
To youyes, she said. To meno.
He turned away, keys tapping against his palm.
Youll regret this.
On the day she took the last of her things, he asked:
You really think youll find someone better?
She paused at the door, the breeze touching her face.
Better? I dont know. But someone who *sees* menot an empty space.
He said nothing.
She stepped outside, where the air smelled like rain and freedom.
***
Two years later.
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 an old dressing gown, hair tangled, shadows under her eyes. Who once saw that same vacuum on sale, laughed, and bought her peonies insteadbecause they matched her lipstick.
She wore perfume again. Painted her lips. Chose dresses with bare shoulders. And every time she caught her husbands admiring gaze, warmth spread in her chestlike something long frozen had thawed.
And Edward?
She bumped into him once at a café. Alone at a corner table, nursing a coffee, staring at his phone. A worn photo of their children lay beside himedges frayed from handling.
She meant to walk past, but he looked
