«Forgive my silly cow! Shes eaten enough for three!» Arthurs voice, usually smooth and assured, cracked through the festive air like a whip, leaving every guest stung by its cruelty.
Emily froze, her fork suspended mid-air, a sliver of ham trembling on its tines. Delicate as morning mist, she sat opposite her husband, feeling the weight of a dozen starespitying, curious, judgmental. Her body turned foreign, heavy; her heart lodged in her throat, stealing her breath.
Thomas, Arthurs oldest friend, choked on his champagne, the golden bubbles hissing as if sharing his outrage. Beside him, his wife, Beatrice, gaped in perfect, silent shock. The grand dining table, groaning under its feast, fell into a thick, suffocating quieta silence where even the flutter of an eyelash felt like betrayal.
«Arthur, what on earth are you saying?» Thomas rasped, the first to break the spell.
«What? Can a man not speak plainly now?» Arthur leaned back in his heavy oak chair, smug. His gaze swept the room, hunting for approval. «My little fools stuffed herself againembarrassing to be seen with her! Cooks like shes feeding an army, not hosting guests.»
Emily burned, but not with shamewith humiliations white-hot sting. Bitter tears rose, but she swallowed them, as shed learned to do in three years of marriage. First, shed wept into pillows, then in the bath, until finally, the tears dried. What use were they, when they only fed her tormentor?
«Come now, Arthur,» muttered Simon weakly from the far end of the table, grasping at the sinking evening. «Emilys a treasurewarms the heart just to look at her.»
«Treasure?» Arthur snorted, his laughter metallic. «Seen her at dawn, have you? Plain as porridge. I wake some mornings and wonderwhat beast shares my bed?»
A nervous titter flickered among the guests, swiftly silenced by Beatrices glare. Plates were suddenly fascinating. And then Emily stood, slow as a dream, each movement an act of will, as though she were peeling her dignity from the floor.
«II need the lavatory,» she whispered, and fled, the shreds of her pride clutched tight.
«Oh, now shes offended!» Arthur called after her, waving a hand. «Shell be back soon enough, lips pursed, silent till morning. Women need a firm hand, or they grow mould like old bread.»
Thomas stared at his friend of fifteen yearsonce the life of every gathering, charming, generousand scarcely recognized him. When Arthur had married Emily, theyd all rejoiced: she, porcelain-pale with eyes like twilight; he, handsome, successful, sure. A match made by fate itself.
Yet something had fractured, quietly, like a crack in antique glass. First came the «playful» names»my little dunce,» «clumsy hen»dismissed as odd marital humour. Then came the true torment.
«Look, my greedy pigs gone at the pudding again!» hed crow in restaurants when Emily dared order dessert.
«Forgive my half-dead mouses cookingwe must endure it!» hed announce, presenting a meal shed laboured over for hours.
«What can you expect from her? Scraped through university, earns pennies!»this of a woman with first-class honours, adored by her pupils.
Beatrice nudged Thomas. «Stop him. This is beyond bearing.»
Thomas rose. «Ill step outsideneed air.»
He found Emily not in the lavatory, but in the marble-clad powder room, gripping the sink so hard her knuckles bleached. Dry, soundless sobs shook her. Mascara streaked like ink; lipstick smeared. She looked brokenexactly as Arthur wished her to be.
«Emily, are you all right?» Thomas murmured.
She startled, swiping at her face. «Im fine. Just freshening up.»
«How long will you endure this?» His voice trembled with rage.
«Where would I go?» Her eyes were desolate. «Ive nothing. This house is his. The carshis. Even this ridiculous jumperhis gift. Im a primary teacher; my wages are a joke. My parents scrape by in Cornwall. Return to them? Id shame Mum before the whole village.»
«Shame? Youve done nothing wrong!»
«To them, I have!» she hissed. «They bragged Id married upa wealthy Londoner! And now? Shall I say my golden husband calls me a cow in company?»
«Was he always like this?»
Emily shook her head. «The first yeara fairy tale. Flowers, gifts, praise. He carried me like glass. Then the cracks. First it was you boil peas to mush, then dressed like a milkmaid, then understand nothing of business. Now now he humiliates me for sport. And at home» She bit her lip.
«At home?» Thomas pressed gently.
«He doesnt hit. Worse. He looks through me. Weeks of silence, then explosionsa cup misplaced, a towel hung wrong. Says Im nothing. Keeps me from pity.»
«Emily, this is madness! Youre smart, kind, beautiful»
«I dont know what I am anymore,» she cut in. «I look in the mirror and see only what he says: fool, frump, hag. Perhaps hes right?»
From the dining room, Arthurs laughter erupted. «Imaginein bed, stiff as a plank, like shes waiting for the Second Coming!»
Emily paled as if doused in ice. Thomas clenched his fists. «Enough. Pack a bag. Were leaving.»
«Where?»
«Anywhere. Your parents, our place, a hotelit doesnt matter.»
«He wont let me.»
«Thats not his choice.»
When they returned, Arthur, wine-flushed, was regaling guests: «Yesterday, she hunted her spectacles for an hourperched on her head all along!»
«Were leaving,» Thomas stated.
«Wheres this?» Arthur glowered.
«Im taking Emily.»
«She goes nowhere! Emily, sit down!»
She took a mechanical step, but Thomas caught her arm. «Were going.»
«Shes my wife!» Arthur surged up, furious.
«Wife, not chattel,» Thomas said calmly.
«Emily, sit now!» His shout rattled the chandelier.
She stood, fear-locked, until Beatrice embraced her. «Come. Youll stay with us.»
«Shes not leaving!» Arthur roared.
«She is,» Emily said, quiet but clear. The fear in her eyes had vanished. «Im leaving you, Arthur.»
«You? And go where? Youve nothing!»
«I have myself. Thats enough.»
«Whod want you, you frump with a face like a pudding? I kept you out of charity!»
«Thank you for saying it aloud,» she replied, steady.
She moved toward the door.
«Wait! Over jokes?»
«Over years of degradation. Im tired.»
«But I love you!»
«No. You love power. Theyre different.»
«Off to the cows in Cornwall, then?»
«Yes. Theyll respect me more than you ever did.»
She buttoned her coat slowly, each fastening a severance.
«Emily, dont be daft!» He grabbed her sleeve.
«Let go. You wont change. Goodbye.»
She left. Thomas and Beatrice followed. Arthur stood alone in the empty flat.
He shrugged at the guests. «Shell be back,» he croaked. «They always are.»
But Emily didnt return. Not the next day. Not in a month.
He called, begged, sent roses, waited by her school. She passed like a ghost. After three months, she filed for divorce. First, she stayed with Thomas and Beatrice, then rented a tiny room with a cracked ceilingbut hers. A place no one called her a cow.
«How are you?» Thomas asked six months later.
«Learning to live again,» she smiled. «To look in the mirror and not see his words. Its hard. But Im fighting. And winning.»
«Arthur asks after you.»
«Dont tell me. I dont want to know.»
«They say hes changed.»
«Perhaps. But so have I. And Im not going back.»
She smiled thentruly, peacefully.
Arthur remained alone. With his «humour» that now amused no one. With his belief that scorn was loves language. Only then did he understand: the woman hed called a fool had a lionesss strength. And no woman would ever mirror a man who saw her only as a shadow.
Emily had done it. In time. She learned to live, breathe, loveherself, and life. And proved: even from scorns wreckage, one could piece together happiness.
