Emma agreed to her husband’s humiliating conditions all so that one day, she could repay him in kind.
Simon marched off to the bedroom, slamming the door so hard the wine glasses rattled in the cupboard. Emma just sat there, staring at her hands dry, little cracks by her nails.
She used to work in the records office, sharp pencil skirts, sipping tea with colleagues. She used to laugh. She used to dream. Then their son was born, and Simon said, “Why bother going back to work? I earn enough.” Calm, brisk, as if discussing the weather.
And she agreed.
Then he told her he wasnt keen on her wearing bright lipstick. Too much, he said. So she stopped. Then it was: That friend of yours, Olivia, shes a bit odd, isnt she? Best see less of her. Emma nodded. And before she realised it, with every casual word, she became slightly less. A bit quieter. A smidge less visible.
Tonight, hed come home in high spirits. Reeked of someone elses expensive perfume; all sweetness and money. Emma said nothing. He ate dinner, babbled on about clients, some meal out, a waitress who was practically sparking at me.
Are you jealous? he laughed, as she turned back to the cooker.
No, she lied.
Good. Lets get a few things clear then, Em.
He slid his plate away, looking at her like he was laying out Monopoly rules for a child.
Im tired of you sulking when Im late. Tired of attitude, sighs, that whole drama. Im a bloke, okay? I talk to people, have a cheeky flirt, means nothing. But you you need to stop spoiling the atmosphere with your nonsense.
Emma said nothing.
And another thing. He poured his tea. I want you to make more of an effort. No more baggy jumpers. You used to look great, remember?
Pause.
If you dont like it, he smirked, the doors right there. Im not locking you in.
Emma looked at his smug, satisfied face. And she agreed.
Because she was scared of being alone, didnt know how shed live without the flat, the routine, the illusion of marriage.
Because fifteen years is a hefty chunk to just toss aside.
All right, she said quietly.
Simon grinned in triumph.
A Game of Obedience
For the next few weeks, Emma played the perfect wife.
Breakfast ready spot on eight. Eggs, tea, freshly ironed shirt on the back of the chair. Simon ate, scrolled his phone, muttered a fine his idea of gratitude.
Emma said nothing.
She bought a new dress his style. Navy blue and fitted. That evening he glanced over her and said,
See? You clean up well when you make an effort.
She swallowed that. Said,
Thank you, Simon.
And he believed her.
Believed shed broken. Now he could behave any way he liked.
Absolute Power, Absolutely Ridiculous
Simon got lazy.
Now hed roll in at midnight, not a single phone call, no explanation. Hed throw his keys on the console and announce,
Been at the pub with Dan. Theres a new barmaid. Absolute firecracker.
Emma put dinner in front of him. Said nothing.
Youre awfully quiet, hed laugh, We agreed on no drama, didnt we?
Yes, she answered. We agreed.
One day, their friends popped round Peter and his wife, Grace. Kitchen table, wine, pointless chitchat. Simon performed a stand-up routine, waving his arms about, loving the sound of his own voice.
Grace asked Emma something about the cake, perhaps. Simon cut in,
Oh, Grace, you know Emmas a genius with puddings. Shame shes useless at anything else though.
He chuckled, like it was a joke.
Peter coughed awkwardly. Grace scowled.
Emma lifted her eyes. Looked at Simon, calm and level. And smiled.
Yes, Simon. Quite right.
He didnt catch the steel in her gaze.
Emma started noticing things shed once ignored.
How Simon checked himself in the hall mirror. Straightened his hair, sucked in his gut, assessed the reflection. Needing to be admired. Hoping for awe from her, friends, even random barmaids.
How terrified he was of looking weak.
She realised he never spoke about work in detail. Always vague wrapped up that project, talked the client round. But if you dug deeper? Asked for specifics?
Hed get snappy. Dodge the subject.
She saw: he feared being seen for who he was. Not confident, not successful just a man playing the part.
And realising that? Rather odd.
A Crack Appears
One evening Simon brought home a workmate Tom, the new manager. Young, sharp suit, already a bit too keen.
They sat in the lounge, talking shop. Emma brought tea and biscuits. Tom thanked her. Simon never looked up.
Emma, mind shutting the door as you go? he called. Youre distracting us.
She paused in the doorway. Turned back.
Of course, love.
Her voice was calm, almost warm.
But Tom looked awkward for some reason.
Emma closed the door and sat in the kitchen. Picked up her phone.
Found Graces number.
Texted: Can we meet? Need some advice.
The reply pinged back a minute later: Of course. Tomorrow?
Simon had no idea the rules were about to change.
The Night Everything Shifted
Simons birthday.
Forty-eight. He insisted on a low-key dinner twenty people squeezed round the house. Colleagues, mates, a couple of distant relations. Emma cooked for three days straight. Salads, roasts, an M&S cake.
He micromanaged everything polished glasses himself, chose the playlist, even changed the tablecloth.
Needs to look top-notch, he declared that morning. Got it?
Emma nodded.
Put on the trusty blue dress. Did her hair. Subtle makeup.
Guests arrived at seven.
Simon was in his element.
Cracked jokes, told tales, clinked glasses with each person. Clutched Emma by the waist for the showy toasts tight, possessive. Look at me.
Shes a stunner, my Emma! he bellowed. Put up with me for fifteen years imagine!
Laughter all round. Emma smiled for the crowd.
Grace studied her over the table. Theyd met up last week long chat, lots said. Grace had asked bluntly,
Em, are you sure you want to do this?
Yes.
He wont forgive.
I know.
Now Grace nodded gently across the champagne flutes. Solidarity.
About ten oclock, Peter a bit tipsy clapped Simon on the shoulder.
Honestly, mate, howd you land a wife like that? Gorgeous, runs a tight ship, never a word out of place.
Simon laughed,
Easy. We made an adult agreement.
Hows that? asked Peter, confused.
Told her straight: no drama, no jealousy, no complaints. Im a bloke; I need some space. She he grinned, she agreed. Clever woman.
Silence dropped like custard on a hot day.
Not total the stereo still trilled, someone giggled in the kitchen. But around the table, hush.
Grace frowned. Tom, the manager, gave an awkward cough.
Emma put her wine down. Very gently.
And spoke.
Yes, we did agree.
Her voice calm, almost bored.
Simon looked round, eyebrow arched, expecting a punchline.
Simon told me, Emma said, looking at the guests, not him, that if I wanted to keep our family, I must never complain. Never argue. Never spoil his mood.
Pause.
He said hell flirt with other women. Its allowed. Im to stay quiet. And if I dont like it, the doors open.
The silence got thicker.
Peter stared. Grace pressed her lips together. Tom started attacking his pavlova.
Simon blanched.
Emma, whats got into you? Youre twisting things!
No, she replied, coolly. Thats exactly what you said. You told me, Im tired of your moods. You told me, Make an effort. You said Im pretty much useless for anything else. Remember?
Peter swallowed. Grace nodded confirmation.
And I agreed, Emma sipped her wine, because I was scared. Scared to be alone. Scared I couldnt manage. Thought fifteen years of marriage was too expensive a bill to walk away from.
She set her glass down.
But you know what? I was wrong.
Simon managed a feeble laugh. Forced, desperate.
Em, pack it in, this is awkwardpeople are
People deserve the truth, she cut in. You always say: lets be grown up, honest, no fuss. So here I am. Being honest.
Someone stood up Ill pop out for a smoke. Two more followed. Party spirit crumbled like overbaked shortbread.
Tom looked at Simon with something closer to disgust than respect.
Grace came to Emma, hand on shoulder:
Lets get some air, love.
Emma rose. Nodded.
Simon grabbed her arm, tight and sudden:
What the hell do you think youre doing?! Youve made me a laughing stock!
Emma glanced at his fingers gripping her wrist. Then looked him in the eye.
No, Simon. Youve done that yourself.
And left the room.
Guests drifted away quickly.
Oh, early meeting tomorrow, someone muttered, pulling on their coat. Grace hugged Emma hard at the door.
Im so proud of you, she whispered.
The door closed.
Emma stood in the kitchen, gathering plates. Her hands were steady.
Simon stormed in.
Face red, jaw clenched. Struggling to keep control, she could see.
Do you have any idea what youve done?! his voice nearly cracked. Do you?!
Emma turned, looked at him steadily.
Yes.
Im a bloody joke! In front of my mates, my colleagues! Tomll have this all over the office
You told them yourself, she interrupted. I just confirmed.
He moved closer. Tried to tower over her his old habit, making her shrink.
Dont forget who pays for all this! Without me, youre nothing!
Emma didnt move.
Maybe. But you know what, Simon? Im not scared of nothing anymore. Staying your shadow that was much scarier.
He opened his mouth. Closed it. No more words.
Because threats didnt work now. Blackmail neither. He had nothing left.
I wont live like this anymore, Emma said quietly.
Youll leave? he sneered, defensively. Go where? Move in with Grace? Into a grotty little studio flat? You cant do anything!
Maybe not, she shrugged. But it would be my grotty little studio. My life.
Simon stood, big, heavy, fuming. But for the first time in fifteen years small.
Because his power had always been an illusion.
And illusion fades.
Or, Emma added, pouring herself some water, you can stay. But only if we start again. No more ridiculous rules.
She put down the glass.
Up to you. Im done deciding for both of us.
And she left the kitchen.
Simon was alone.
Emma lay down on the sofa, closed her eyes.
For the first time in years, she slept peacefully.
Even if the morning brought divorce, drama, the great unknown it would be her morning.
