My mum warned me not to marry her.
Emily watched as James ate his porridge. He was hunched over his phone at the small kitchen table, scrolling through the news with his left hand while spooning food into his mouth with his right. She stood at the cooker with her back to him, quietly stirring soup. Years ago, in their early days of living together, James would put his phone aside at mealtimes and say,
Ive got you, and youre far more interesting than anything online.
Now, he never bothered, and he certainly didnt say things like that anymore.
Oy, whys the soup so watery? James grumbled, still focused on his phone. Its just like hot water. Honestly, Em? I come home after a full day of work, starving, and you serve me this?
Emily didnt turn around. She gripped the ladle a little tighter and kept stirring.
Ill make it thicker tomorrow, she replied flatly. We ran out of potatoes today.
No potatoes? James finally put his phone down and looked at her. His gaze was heavy, suspicious, as if he was accusing her of lying. Why didnt you show me the receipt yesterday when you got back from Sainsburys? Did you buy potatoes at ninety pence a kilo? I told youbuy the ones for sixty-five. But no, you had to choose the expensive ones.
They didnt have any of the cheaper ones. I asked.
Theyll tell you anything to make you pay more. Do you actually use your head at all?
Emily said nothing. She knew this tone. If she started justifying herself, the argument would drag on for an hourfirst about the groceries, then about how she couldnt do anything right, then about how James was the only one keeping their family afloat. He would quote his mother: how she had warned him not to marry Emily, how she lived off others, wasted money, was ungrateful. And how, like a fool, he hadnt listened.
She quietly finished the soup, poured it into containersone for the fridge, one for the freezer, just in case she didnt have time to cook again. James finished his porridge, dumped his bowl in the sink (without rinsing it), and disappeared into the lounge. Almost immediately gunfire and explosions from his video games echoed down the hall. Emily washed the dishes, letting the too-hot water sear her handsanything to distract from the ache inside.
It was odd to remember how it all began, because in truth, there hadnt seemed to be any warning signs.
Shed met James Peters five years ago in the spring. Emily worked at a small construction supply company in Leeds, answering phones and making coffee for the managers. James had come in for an interview as a sales managertall, well-built, with a cheeky smile. Not classically handsomehis nose a bit large, ears sticking outbut he seemed solid. Unflappable, quietly confident, not the sort to fawn over the boss. Emily had thought, Hes someone you could rely on in a crisis.
The first six months were nearly perfect. James took things slowly, bringing her coffee in a paper cup each morning and waiting outside the office for her. Hed bring small, inexpensive but thoughtful gifts. Once, hed brought a cactus for her desk.
You sit in here all daythought you could use something alive.
Shed laughed. She was twenty-three and still believed kindness lasted forever.
A year later hed proposed, sitting her down on his slightly lopsided sofa in his tiny flat.
Right, so, listen. My flat isnt much, but its mine. Ive got a steady job, a carI’ll never hurt you. Will you marry me?
She said yes. She thought this, the matter-of-factness, the steadiness, was what proper grown-up happiness looked like.
She could barely remember the early years togetherthey had got a new sofa on credit, done a bit of decorating on the kitchen, taken a summer holiday to Scarborough. James got bonuses at work, sometimes they saw a film, or just stayed in with tea and biscuits dreaming of buying a bigger place.
Then, Emily fell pregnant with Sophie.
It hadnt been planned but they were both happy. James would talk to her bump, joke about listening to the baby inside. He even signed up for antenatal classes, though he gave up after two weekstoo tired from work, he said.
The birth was hard, and Emily was in hospital for a week, then home but barely able to walk for another fortnight. When she was discharged, James carried her in his arms down the hallway. Sophie in the carrier, a scrunched-up, otherworldly little thing. James looked at her and smiled. Hello, little one, he murmured. Took your time.
At first, James helped at night, changed nappies, soothed Sophie, and even when he lost patienceWhy is she always crying? I’ve got work tomorrow!hed calm down and take Sophie to walk in circles, whispering, Shhh, daddys here.
But then, he changed. Emily never noticed exactly when.
One evening, James sat down to dinner, glanced at his plate and said, Porridge again? Wheres the chicken?
We’ve run out. I’ll get some tomorrow, Emily replied, nursing Sophie.
Why didnt you buy any today? I gave you money this morning.
I bought nappies and formula. There wasnt enough left for meat.
He stared at her coldly, sat back and started calculating aloud. I gave you eighty pounds. Nappiesseventeen. Formulatwenty. Wheres the rest?
Flustered, she tried to explain: fromage frais, baby food, juice, washing powder, nappy cream. The more she listed, the darker Jamess face grew.
Fromage frais? Shes only three months! Doctor said four at the earliest.
I bought it to keep in, for later.
Later? He sneered. Plan for today, not for later.
That night, Emily cried quietly in the bedroom, while Sophie slept beside her. In the morning, she pretended nothing was wrongsurely James was just stressed.
A week later, the same argument about chicken. Next, eggs and butter. James wanted receipts for everything. Emily hoarded them, hoping hed understandeverything was expensive, the baby needed so much, she was trying but sometimes she just wanted to buy a slightly nicer yoghurt, because the cheap one made her sick.
He just grew sterner, the questions more intrusive and the demands more humiliating.
Got a receipt? Show me. Whats this? Marshmallows? Why are you buying sweets? Youve complained you can’t lose the baby weight, and here you are buying marshmallows.
Theyre for you. You like them with your tea.
I didnt ask for them. Spending my money without asking, were you?
Sorry, Emily muttered. I wanted to do something nice.
You dont think. Thats the problem.
She stopped buying marshmallows. Then biscuits. Then even yoghurts and cottage cheese for herself. Sophie got only the essentials. James had her write down every expense in a notebook, and each night, she would painstakingly record: nappies£7.99, formula£8.50, cauliflower purée£1.30. James checked it line by line.
Buy formula at Tesco. Its fifty pence cheaper than Waitrose.
But Tescos always got nearly expired stock, she said timidly.
They dont sell out-of-date stuff. You just go where its most expensive.
Emily went quiet. It felt like she was sinking under water, her words and breath unable to break the surface.
One day she ran out of shampoo. She waited for a good moment, then asked, James, I need to get myself some shampoo. Is that alright?
He didnt look round. Use mine, its on the shelf.
Youve got the one for greasy hair. Mines dry.
So what? Its shampoo. Wont kill you.
But its only £2
He turned, his face hard. ‘Only £2? Do you know how many hours I work for every pound? You sit at home, do nothingjust eat and wash and ask for money.
Emily nodded, went to the bathroom, and washed her hair with his shampoo. Her hair hung limp, her scalp itching, but she endured it.
She convinced herself that if she waited long enough, if she was quiet and invisible, James would remember how much he cared. Surely, he’d return to himself once the worst had passed.
But nothing got better.
When Sophie was eight months old, Emily asked for money for a winter coat for Sophie.
How much?
Thirty quid. Ive found a discounted one.
Thirty? James whistled. Shell outgrow it in a month. Buy a second-hand one.
I looked. Theyre still fifteen, twenty. And theyre worn outshell get cold.
Shell be cold in a new one too. Same filling. Im not giving you thirty quid. Here’s tenfind a cheaper one, or check a charity shop.
Charity shops dont usually have baby outerwear, James. They need new clothes. Its a health thing.
He stepped close, almost whispering, which somehow scared her more than shouting. Im tired of your endless requests. I work myself sillyfor who? For you and that child? You never say thank you, just whingeI need this, I need that. Im not your wallet, understood?
Im not saying youre just a wallet. I just want Sophie to be warm.
Shell be fine. Or just dont take her outside for a week.
He gave her ten pounds. Emily made up the difference from her own secret savings and said she’d found a sale.
That night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling while Sophie snuffled in her cot and James snored, arms flung wide. She watched his sleeping facecalm, no sign of the hard lines that appeared during the day. She wondered: Who is this man? Where did the one with the cactus and the coffee cups go? Or had he never existed outside her hope?
But morning always came. There was feeding, laundry, porridge to cook, toys to tidy. Thoughts were postponed, and later never seemed to arrive.
A year slipped by.
A year of silent humiliations, receipts checked, petty cruelties and tears half-hidden in the bathroom. Emily stopped asking for things for herself. Sophie was her only joyshed bear anything for her. Sometimes, as James left for work, Emily watched the other mums in the playground outside, laughing and drinking takeaway coffee. She never joined them. She was sure they’d see she didnt belong, would notice her faded jeans and tired eyes and recognise her as a failure.
Her mum, Margaret Harris, phoned every week. Emily always replied, bright-voiced.
Were fine, Mum. Sophies growing well, sleeps at night. James? Hes working a lot, but were managing.
She never mentioned the receipts, the shampoo quarrels, how Jamess mum said she was dragging him down. No need for pity.
The turning point arrived on a nondescript Tuesday.
James came home angrythe boss had shouted, a client blamed him, his bonus had been pulled. Emily met him in the hallway and tried to take his work bag. He brushed her away.
Whats for dinner?
Soup and patties. I made them fresh today.
Soup again? My god. Why cant you cook something decent? My mates wife does something different every night. Yousoup, pasta, soup again. What a life.
Emily kept quiet, served the food. James tasted it and grimaced.
Too salty. Cant eat it.
Its finemust be your taste.
Are you answering back now? he slammed his spoon down. Burn my money, ruin my meals, disrespect memy mum warned me about you. I should have listened; youre dragging me under.
Emily bit her lip till it hurt. Sophie started crying in her room. Emily moved to go, but James stopped her.
Im not done.
Sophies cries turned desperate. Emilys chest tightened painfully.
You think I dont see? You despise mejust waiting for me to die so you can have the flat.
James, what are you saying? Its justSophies
Sophie! Always hiding behind the baby. You think having a child means youre entitled to everything now? Any fool can give birthraising her to be somebody is what matters. Can you do that? You cant even look after yourself.
Sophie cried harder. Emily rushed to her, grabbed her, and rocked her, ignoring Jamess rattle in the kitchen.
She thought of that first night at his, the empty fridge, the small bowl of toffees, and his words: I have nothing, but Ill make it work if you stay with me. Five years onwas this what shed stayed for?
The next morning, Emily rose before everyone. Sophie still slept; Jamess snoring filled the room. The weak autumn sun shone through the drizzly Leeds sky. On the sill, the old cactus sat, long dead because Emily never watered it, but she couldnt throw it out all the same.
She stared at the brittle spines, thinking: This is usdried up, but she hadnt the heart to let go.
After James left for work, Emily called her mum.
Mum Her voice wavered. Mum, is it okay if we come and stay with you?
There was a pause on the line. Is he hitting you?
No. He doesnt. Just
What then? Margaret asked gently.
Emily swallowed hard, unable to speak.
All right, love. Of course you can. Ill leave the key under the mat. Ill be home late tonight.
Emily packed two bagssome t-shirts, jeans, tights, documents, rattle toys, two books, the last of the nappies. Each trip through the flat felt as if she was laying down a heavy cloak, becoming lighter and lighter.
She left a brief note on the table: I cant go on like this. Dont look for me. Ill call when Im ready.
She called a taxi, gathered Sophie and their things, and carried her daughter out. In the courtyard, other mums were laughing by the playground. One of them, blonde and friendly, waved. Emily nodded awkwardly and hurried to the taxi.
It felt like everyone was watching, whispering behind closed curtains.
The first three days, James didnt call. Emily didnt know whether to be afraid or relieved. She stayed in her childhood bedroom, under her mums roof. At night she heard the ticking of the old cuckoo clock on the wall. Margaret didnt ask questions, just stroked Sophies hair as she once had for Emily.
On the fourth day, James showed up in person.
Margaret let him in with a severe look, then allowed him through to the kitchen without a word. Sophie napped in the other room. Emily entered, hair still damp in an old dressing gown.
James looked awkward, nervous, wringing his hands. Whyd you leave a note and run? Youre driving me mad.
You havent called in three days.
I thought youd cool down and come back. Em, Im sorry, all right? Ive been stressed out at work, took it out on you. But you know how much I love you.
Love? Emily let out a hollow laugh. Is that what you call itmaking me beg for shampoo?
I said I was sorry! I know I messed up. Let me make it up to you. Please, Emily, give me a chance. I promise Ill change. Honest, I will.
He even crossed himself, as if vowing at an altar. Emily just stared at the thick wedding band on his hand.
Im tired, James. So tired that I dont even feel angry anymore. I just feel nothing.
You cant feel nothing! He took her hands. You still love meweve got Sophie, weve been together too long to give up now
Emily said nothing. She watched his fingers clutching her wrists. He let go, retreated to the window and stared out.
I cant cope without you two. The flats empty. I tried making myself food, and it was a disasterI even forgot the salt. Sat there eating bland mush thinking, What have I done?
Emily kept silent.
James turned. One month. Give me one month to prove I can change. Ill give you all my wages, no more receipts. Just one more chance.
Its not about the money, Emily said quietly. Its about you forgetting I’m a personnot just your housemaid. When I ask for a little for myself, you look at me as if Im the enemy.
He almost shouted, I get it now! Truly! Ill do anythingjust dont walk away from our family.
Sophie started crying. Emily went to comfort her, but James hurried past, scooping their daughter up with gentle hands.
There we are, darling Daddys here. Missed me? I missed you too. Forgive me?
Sophie quieted, and Emily watched as Jamess big hands, once so hard, trembled faintly while he stroked Sophies back.
One month, Emily said, almost surprising herself.
James froze, then exhaled in relief. I swear Ill change. Youll see.
If this happens again, she said firmly, looking him in the eye, Ill leave for good. No second chances.
I understand. Thank you, Emily. I wont let you down.
Margaret entered, lips pursed, but said nothing and closed the kitchen door behind her.
That evening, Emily and Sophie returned home with James.
For the first month, he did everything right. He brought home shopping, bought fruit, nice shampoo (even marshmallows), never asked for receipts. Left money on the bedside table, with a simple, If you need more, tell me. Emily lay awake at night, barely believing him. Gradually, the tension in her shoulders eased; she felt herself coming back to life.
James played with Sophie, built towers out of blocks, chased cars over the rug. The little girl squealed with delight when he tossed her in the air. Emily watched, feeling warmth bubbling in her chest.
She dared buy herself a decent shampoo: something with coconut scent, not the cheapest. James saw it on the bathroom shelf and said nothing.
A month passed. Then another.
The cash on the table got smaller, but Emily said nothing. It felt wrong to complain, now he was trying.
James started working late: Cant help it, busy season. Emily always reheated dinner, sat in silence as James ate, nose in his phone.
The phone. Emily noticed how he always kept the screen facing down now, tilted away from her as he typed. The old habit of openness was gone.
Whos that? she asked once.
Just work, lovea message from Tom about tomorrows report.
She left it at that, afraid to push too hard and lose everything again.
A third month passed. Then the fourth.
James grew less attentive, leaving less money each week. He no longer asked about meals or money, just dropped off what he felt necessary. Emily went back to recording expenses in her old notebook, dredging up each cost for her own peace of mindnappies, baby food, childrens shampoo.
James found the notebook, flicked through it and chortled.
Counting again, Em? Wellmaybe I should keep handling the finances after all.
He walked off.
Emily shut the notebook, thinking of those days at her mothersJamess promises, her fragile hope. And now it was quieter, but the sting was in the same place. She might have spoken up, threatened to leave, reminded him of his promise
But she stayed silent.
It was easier to bear this drip, dripping ache than to face rows, packing bags, her mothers I told you so.
That night, Emily lingered under the hot shower, rinsing away fatigue and resentment. Her hair smelled of coconut shampoo, the last from her hopeful purchase. As the bottle emptied, she knew shed quietly revert to Jamess one again.
When she returned to the lounge in her towel, James was channel-surfing.
You were in there ages! How much hot water did you use? he sniped, without looking up.
Emily quietly lay on the edge of their bed, facing the wall. James watched telly for a minute longer, then turned it off, climbed in, and soon fell asleep.
She stared into the darkness, listening to the traffic, a neighbours dog, the footsteps overhead. Sophie whimpered in her sleep and turned over, arms sprawled out.
Everything was as usual. Nothing was going to change.
Tomorrow, shed make soup again. James would complain it was watery again.
Maybe, one day, shed find the strength to leave for good. But not today, not tomorrow. Not this year.
Emily curled up, knees drawn in like Sophie in her cot, and tried to remember the face of the man whod waited outside the office with coffee, whose eyes were always smiling. But the face her mind gave her was the one next to her nowhard, weary, turned away even in sleep.
Perhaps the man shed hoped for was never real after all.
The first hints of dawn crept through the curtains. Finally, she drifted off. Life would begin again in the morningfeeding Sophie, boiling porridge, washing, ironing, picking up toys. The routine.
She made the soup thicker today. Used big chunks of potato, more meat. James ate in silence, nodded, and turned back to his phone.
Emily washed up, letting the water scald her hands. The sting there was easier to cope with than the ache inside.
Endurance, she realised, was what shed learned in five years.
But sometimes, endurance is not the same as happiness, and no matter how long you patiently wait for someone to become kind again, life has a way of reminding youa person must care for themselves, not just hope theyll be cared for by someone else.
