The Perfect Couple
Look, what a sweet couple sighed Emily, her lips pursed in a childish pout as she angled herself towards her boyfriend. Her words floated into the air, filmy, like a line from a half-remembered romantic film. Its obvious, isnt it? He absolutely adores her.
James, leaning next to her on the wide library windowsill, just rolled his eyes. He pressed his hands deeper into the pockets of his faded jeans and lazily followed her gaze. Another pair: boy and girl, holding hands in the twilight, the sort of scene you see a hundred times and forget every one.
And whys that, then? he asked indifferently, not bothering to pretend even a glimmer of interest.
Emily flung her hands up, as if hed said something positively outrageous.
Dont you see? she huffed, a quiver of irritation in her voice. The way he holds her hand! So gentle! Couldnt let go for a second! But you , she turned away with an offended sniff you barely remember to hug me at all. Can you blame me for being jealous?
Jealous? thought darling, that girl outside, whose fingers were indeed trapped in the grip of her companion. If only you knew if only you could feel what this actually is.
From outside, it was close to idyllic: man lightly supporting his lady, serene smiles instead of words. But she alone knew how support felt like a vice a careful, unrelenting squeeze. His touch, to others so gentle, pressed down firm, claiming. Shed learned to never show her discomfort, how desperate she was to be free, how she merely endured.
And it had all begun so innocuously. Theyd met by chance in line at a coffee cart at Oxford Circus, both late after missing their train. He smiled, she smiled back, words flowed easily. Then came the dates: mumbling through films, walks along the Thames path, speech marathons until dawn trickled in. Matthew (that was his name) was everything a romantic could wish for: sweet messages, little gifts, remembering her favourite biscuits and every quirk.
They moved into a snug flat together, and at first it was all a rosy fairy-tale. The wedding followed a tasteful do outside Winchester, champagne glasses, tearful vows, and well-wishers confetti-ing the air with happily ever after.
But the fairy dust faded. At first, there was only a hint: he started suggesting what she ought to wear, which shops to go to, who she ought to chat with. Then those suggestions became conditions come straight home, explain every minute, call if delayed. His gentleness hardened into control, his care evolved into pressure.
Now, when strangers admired their perfect couple act, she simply smiled politely hiding bitter exhaustion behind that mask of serene contentment.
Her life passed, every deed filtered through Matthews expectations, little jokes about not a step without approval losing their staleness, steadily forced to reality. They were rules, unquestionable.
Ill just nip to Tesco. Need anything? shed murmur, tying up her dressing gown, fridge is bare again.
Hed never look up from his phone: Not unless I come with you. Thats final.
Shed freeze for just a moment: But youre at work all day. And we need food.
Then wait for me or order a delivery.
Shed clench her jaw. Not the first time.
Next it was seeing her family. Shed been wanting to visit her mum for weeks to pick up blackberry jam, to chat like before.
Im dropping by Mums tomorrow shed say, carefully, over dinner.
Matthew would slowly set his fork aside, annoyance sharp in his voice: Werent you there last week? Our family comes first. Call her tonight. Thats enough.
But shes waited
Emily, his voice cold, did you hear me? I said no.
Shed stare at her plate, insides boiling, knowing argument was pointless.
When it came to work, she had her little bookshop job, not much but she liked it: the rhythm, the camaraderie, a sense of being useful. One evening, Matthew announced flatly:
No more working. You just need to look pretty and mind me. Ill make the money. No more men ogling you!
She pushed back her chair indignantly Are you being serious? I love my job! Im not doing anything wrong!
I said enough. Quit tomorrow.
No! Im not quitting!
His phone dropped onto the table with a dull clatter. In his eyes, something glassy and alien flickered.
Didnt you hear me?
I heard. Im not doing it!
He stepped close. She hardly had time to react: a sudden slap across her cheek, time swirling oddly, air humming in her ears as she slumped to the floor, gripping her jaw.
He stood over her. His voice was ice: Dont answer me back again.
Bruises faded slowly. The headache, longer still. She barely slept every move a dull ache. She suspected a concussion, but Matthew just laughed:
Youre imagining things. Youre fine.
No doctor. Instead, some middle-aged woman vague acquaintance perhaps checked her, shook her head, left a note, and disappeared without a word.
After that, Emily learned not to stir the waters. Yes, agree. Yes, nod. Swallow the silence. But deep underground, some stubborn seed whispered: This cannot go on forever.
After all, to outsiders, it was perfect. Emilys friends, when they met at cafés or strolled through shops, sighed admiringly: Gosh, what a dreamboat husband! So steady, so loyal youre as safe as houses with him. They looked over at Matthew as he, like a scripted actor, appeared to drape her coat over her shoulders, order her peppermint tea, sweep the room with his stern gaze, declaring wordlessly: Shes mine. I take care of her.
Emily smiled, nodded, said thank you for the complimentsinside shrinking. His care wasnt warmth, it was grip; hard, relentless, letting in no light or air.
Mum would positively beam at the mention of Matthew, every Sunday call a barrage of delighted praise: Darling, you dont know how lucky you are! A man with backbone, real values. He just looks after you! None of this nonsense, proper stability. Youre safe as houses, sweetheart!
Safe as houses Emily pressed the phone closer, choosing her words to keep her voice level: Yes, Mum. Were were doing well.
Of course youre doing well her mum would chirp He doesnt waste money on silly baubles, but he gives you whats real stability, and order. Youre so lucky!
Safe as houses, Emily repeated to herself after hanging up. Only her mother didnt know that the wall wasnt to protect her it was to keep her in. Behind the stone blocks, in those leafy silent lanes of the smart Hampshire village, reality grew different.
The house fit every dream: two stories, big Georgian windows, crisp lawn, ornate iron gate. Guests stepping over the threshold exclaimed: So beautiful! So peaceful here! Emily smiled, served tea, ensured every tray just so. Matthew, in these moments, became charm itself jokes, questions, generous hospitality.
Once the last guests shoes faded down the drive and the grand oak door slammed, everything shifted.
Smiled a bit much at Daniel tonight Matthew would mutter, pulling off his jacket. What was he talking to you about?
Nothing special Emily tried to joke it away just asked about books, why I left the shop.
Why does he need to know about your work? he turned to her, voice thick as treacle. Remember your real job now being home, here. Dont forget.
She kept silent. To argue was to lose. Shed learned long ago outside was picture-perfect, inside were rules. Rigid, precise, unbreakable.
The village gave it all the feeling of a snow globe; neat paths, polite neighbours, CCTV fixed everywhere. Here, no one screamed. Problems never left the doorstep. Here, everythings fine.
So Emily smiled. Nodded. Said, Everythings fine.
For truth hid behind those doors, in the perfect house. Where no one saw
********************
A mellow lamp soaked the sitting room in golden light, laying its glow across the set tea table. The mantel clock ticked gently near the bay window; outside, twilight deepened. The air carried the scent of Early Grey and home-baked shortbread her mum always made an effort with little rituals when Emily visited, husband in tow.
Youve got yourself a good one, Em her mum said warmly, nudging Emilys tea mug closer. Her eyes were tender, noticing the new ring on her daughters hand, the dainty earrings. Matthews spoiling you rotten these days!
Matthew, on the other side, beamed; he reached for her hand, just ostentatiously enough, stroking it as if for an unseen audience Look, see how happy we are.
Just love my wife, thats all he purred, running a thumb across her knuckles. Best thing in the world, making her smile with a little something shiny.
Inside, Emily shrank. His caresses, so affectionate for any bystander, were for her another performance, another display of ownership. She flinched as his grip tightened, a touch more forceful than necessary.
Well, yes! she blurted suddenly, jerking her hand away and standing up quickly, moving to hide behind her father who had been quietly watching her all along. Of course youre happy you just want to apologise for the latest bruise!
The quiet in the kitchen grew thick, clinging. Her mothers cup froze mid-air, wide-eyed with shock. Her father set his spoon down carefully, fixing Matthew with a long, hard stare.
Sit down, Emily Matthew said sharply, giving her a look that left no doubt. His voice was even, but the threat was plain. Enough theatrics. Ive apologised for leaving you here last night.
The words leaving you here twisted like a knife she knew he remembered exactly why she ended up sleeping alone, pressed against the cold guest room wall, listening for footsteps.
I cant bear any more! her voice trembled, tears pounding up without resistance. Dad, please protect me from him!
Her father stood, his face grave, granite-jawed. Not rushing words, but resolved. Her mothers tea cup trembled between her hands.
Matthew, her fathers words were measured, cold steel at the core do you want to explain yourself?
Matthew leaned back, arms folded, a twitch of a smirk. Emily caught it You brought this on yourself. You ruined it.
Whats to explain? he said, spreading his hands, feigning confusion. Shes just tired. Overworked, probably. Imagining things.
Imagining? Emilys fists shook, fighting anger and fear. Who shoved me last night? Who screamed that I talk too much? Was my job to blame for that?
Mum gasped, hand to her heart. Her father inched forward, Matthews smirk gone now. The silence pressed in; the only sound the shivering branches outside.
Emily broke down, tears streaking her cheeks, shoulders convulsing. Years of effort sustaining the masquerade caved in, leaving nothing but fragments. No matter what others thought of her now anything was better than returning to a home where each morning began with dread.
Emily, were leaving her father finally said, voice hard as ever. His face was a mask, unreadable, each word final. Well discuss your behaviour at home.
She stumbled backwards, clinging to her fathers arm, voice trembling but defiant:
Im not going. I wont!
She grabbed her jumper, pulling it up to reveal the mottled blue-green bruises on her side not quite fresh, but ugly still.
Look! she choked out. I just wanted to see a friend! And he he
Shes not going anywhere her fathers voice was stone, eyes locked on Matthew. Now get out. Dont think money lets you hit your wife and get away with it.
Matthew stilled, lips curling. Hands clenched, restrained.
Emily fell, tripped down the stairs he muttered. Shes my wife. Only I decide what she does. Bit too spoilt, she is. I just put her right.
Mum leapt to her feet, hands shaking, voice trembling with rage:
Put her right? Youre hurting her! Dont you hear yourself? Thats not order. Thats a crime!
Emily pressed herself to her fathers chest, finally feeling real protection.
Youve no right to touch her her fathers words were quiet but lethal. Threaten her again and youll answer to me and the police.
Matthew edged away, irritation flickering in his eyes, fighting himself.
Fine he sneered. Let her stay for now. But its not over. Shes my wife and shell come back to me soon enough.
Her fathers composure began slipping. His anger blazed, hands now balled tight, voice hoarse with effort:
Think I wont find a way to stop you? I never wanted this marriage Emily was just a child, what did she know of men? She was happy, so I kept quiet. Her mum wouldnt stop fussing, Oh, what a catch! And look whats come of it?
He glared at Matthew, the room suffocating with tension.
Matthew, drifting near the door, twisted his lips into a mocking smile. His stance was easy, but in his eyes something glittered, cold and sharp.
She shouldnt have been so impudent he hissed, maintaining a mask of calm. Emily! Out the door. Now.
Emily cowered by the wall, panic caught in her eyes, darting between her father and her husband, fate hanging in the balance.
Out, before I set the dog on you! her fathers voice snapped, a whipcrack.
And as if from a hidden place in the dream, in lumbered Duke a massive Great Dane, the familys beloved pet. His bulk filled the room, enormous paws muffled on the carpet. Immediately, he saw: he gravitated to Emilys side, pressed close, showing rows of white teeth at Matthew silent, but the promise of violence clear.
The room held its breath. Duke didnt growl, but his intent was sharper than any bark: he would defend his mistress.
Matthew appraised the enormous dog, taking in the braced muscles and keen glare. He knew you dont play games with this sort.
Seriously? he tried for a laugh, voice cracking. Going to hide behind a dog?
Emilys father stepped forward: Ill do whatever I must. Leave my daughter be. Youll never have her again. Not now, not ever.
Emilys tears welled again, but this time they were mixed with relief. She placed her palm gently on Dukes neck as if to say, Im alright.
Matthew edged out towards the hallway, malice warring with calculation. Outnumbered, he retreated.
Were not done yet he flung out, words scissoring the air. Well see what happens next.
Go on! Ill see you in court! Well have a divorce and youll give nothing but your name Emily doesnt want your bloody money! her fathers voice was thunder, body half-turned to physically shield Emily, every line resolve.
Emily, clinging to her fathers back, sobbed. Her grip on the fabric of his shirt was desperate, as if letting go would unravel the entire fragile safety.
Hes got my passport she whispered, the tremor gone, replaced by brittle urgency. Why hadnt she reported him a year wasted!
Well replace it her father promised, calmly. Well report it missing. What matters is youre safe.
Matthew cast a final slow gaze over the scene father, daughter, Duke poised for guard, Emily shaking but no longer broken. For a moment, frustration bristled on his face, then he schooled it away.
With a sneer, he plucked her passport from his satchel and flung it onto the table. It struck with a hollow thud and slid towards Emily.
Wont even need the courts he drawled. Ill write the forms myself at the registrar. Just dont come crawling back. And if you do maybe Ill consider it
His gaze swept over Emily no regret, no apology, merely icy mockery. He turned on his heel, slammed the door. Dukes chest rumbled, but as Emily stroked his head, the noise faded.
Three years have slipped by.
Emily went to university somewhere small, far from reminders; she took her time, weighed her options, finally settling on a quiet town with a friendly campus. At first, it was tough new faces, new streets, learning to be alone. Sometimes, the nightmares came: Matthews face looming in dark corridors, his fist at her wrist. But slowly, the dreams grew fewer, faded away altogether.
She immersed herself in study lectures, reading, essays consumed her mind, left no room for memorys poison. She made friends, went to socials, even joined a painting club a secret wish, once unthinkable.
She caught herself, now and then, smiling. Not forced genuinely, when a friend told a joke, a tutor made a pun, she managed something herself.
She phoned home, told her parents about her successes and silly adventures. Her mothers breaths came easier, her father, brief but warm: Well done, love.
She knew: the past never truly dies. It will pop up random, in dreams or half-glimpsed thoughts, soft odd moments. But now she had what she most desired: a new beginning.
But she never walks hand-in-hand with anyone anymore.
