«Sorry about my little piggy! She’s at it againeating like there’s no tomorrow!» Arthur’s voice, usually smooth as honey, cracked through the festive air like a whip, leaving everyone at the table wincing.
Emily froze, her fork hovering mid-air, a sliver of roast beef teetering precariously. She might as well have turned to stone under the weight of the starespitying, shocked, uncomfortably amused. Her delicate frame, usually so graceful, now felt alien, heavy, as if her own bones had betrayed her.
Across the table, Oliver, Arthurs oldest friend, choked on his champagne, bubbles hissing in protest. His wife, Charlotte, gaped like a goldfish, though not a sound escaped her perfect lips. The lavish dining room, groaning under the weight of silver platters, fell into a silence so thick you could hear the clink of cutlery against porcelain.
«Arthur, what on earth?» Oliver finally managed, his voice rough.
«What? Cant a man speak his mind?» Arthur leaned back in his antique chair, smug as a cat with cream, his gaze daring someoneanyoneto side with him. «My silly goose heres been stuffing herself againembarrassing, really. Cooks like shes feeding an army, not guests.»
Emily burnednot with shame, but with something fiercer, something molten. The sting of tears pricked her eyes, but she swallowed them down, a skill honed over three years of marriage. First, shed cried into pillows, then into bathwater, and eventually, the tears just stopped. What was the point when they only fed the beast?
«Oh come off it, Arthur,» muttered Benedict from the far end, weakly attempting damage control. «Emilys lovelywarms the heart just looking at her.»
«Lovely?» Arthur scoffed, his laugh grating like a rusty hinge. «Seen her at dawn, have you? No makeup, hair a messhonestly, sometimes I wake up and think, ‘Christ, whos this next to me?'»
Someone tittered nervously, then cut off under Charlottes icy glare. The others suddenly found their plates fascinating.
Emily stood. Slowly, deliberately, as if dragging herself through tar.
«I need the loo,» she whispered, vanishing before anyone could protest, her dignity in tatters.
«Oh, now shes in a huff!» Arthur rolled his eyes theatrically. «Shell be backpouting like a child, silent till morning. Women, eh? Keep em too soft, and they grow mould.»
Oliver stared at his friend of fifteen yearsonce charming, now a strangerand felt something curdle in his gut. Arthur had been the life of every party, the golden boy whod swept Emily off her feet. A fairy-tale matchuntil the cracks appeared. First, the «playful» nicknames («my little dunce,» «clumsy chick»). Then the barbs disguised as jokes. Then outright cruelty.
«Look, my greedy goose gobbled another cake!» hed crow in restaurants when she dared order dessert.
«Forgive the slop, ladsmy half-dead mouse here cant cook!» hed announce over dinners shed spent hours preparing.
«Useless, isnt she? Barely scraped through uni, teaches toddlers for pennies!»this about a woman with first-class honours, adored by her students.
Charlotte elbowed Oliver. «Do something.»
He found Emily in the marble-clad loo, gripping the sink like a lifeline, mascara streaking her cheeks.
«Em you okay?»
She startled, scrubbing at her face. «Fine. Just need to freshen up.»
«How long will you take this?» His voice trembled.
«And go where?» Her laugh was brittle. «This flats his. The cars his. Even this stupid jumperhis gift. I teach reception, Oliver. My salarys a joke. Parents live hand-to-mouth in Dorset. Go back? Mumd die of shame.»
«Shame? Youve done nothing wrong!»
«To them, I have!» Her whisper cracked. «They bragged Id married upnow what? Admit my golden husband calls me a pig at parties?»
«Was he always like this?»
She shook her head. «First yearflowers, gifts, whispers of perfect. Then cracks. You roast beef wrong. Dress like a farmers wife. Clueless about real work. Now? Now he humiliates me for sport. At home» She trailed off.
«At home?»
«Doesnt hit me. Worse. Acts like Im air. Weeks of silence, then explosions over crumbsa cup left out, a towel hung wrong. Says he keeps me out of pity.»
«Em, thats rot! Youre brilliant, kind»
«I dont even know who I am anymore,» she interrupted. «I look in the mirror and see what he says: a dim, fat, ugly thing. Maybe hes right.»
From the dining room, Arthurs roar of laughter: «Get thislast night, she lay there like a plank, stiff as a board!»
Emily went sheet-white. Olivers fists clenched.
«Enough. Grab your coat.»
«Where?»
«Anywhere. Your parents. Our place. A hotel.»
«He wont let me.»
«Not his choice.»
Back in the dining room, Arthur, wine-flushed, was regaling guests: «She spent an hour hunting her glasseson her head, the twit!»
«Were leaving,» Oliver said flatly.
«Like hell!» Arthur snarled. «Emily, sit down!»
She flinchedbut Oliver gripped her elbow. «Were going.»
«Shes my wife!»
«Wife, not serf,» Oliver shot back.
«Emily, NOW!» Arthurs bellow rattled the chandelier.
Charlotte wrapped an arm around her. «Youre staying with us.»
«Shes not going anywhere!»
«I am.» Emilys voice, though quiet, cut through.
«You? With what? Youre nothing without me!»
«Then Ill be nothing,» she said, buttoning her coat with deliberate slowness. «Thank you for finally saying it out loud.»
Arthur grabbed her sleeve. «Waitthis over jokes?»
«Over years of degradation. Im tired.»
«But I love you!»
«No. You love power. Its not the same.»
«Off to Dorset to live with the pigs, then?»
«Yes. Theyll respect me more than you ever did.»
He lunged. «Emily, dont be daft!»
«Let go.» She wrenched free. «You wont change. Goodbye.»
The door clicked shut.
Arthur turned to his guests, forcing a grin. «Shell be back. They always are.»
She wasnt. Not the next day. Not ever.
He called. Begged. Sent roses. Loomed outside her school. She walked past like he was a ghost. Three months later, divorce papers arrived. She stayed with Oliver and Charlotte, then rented a tiny flat with a leaky ceilingbut hers. A place no one called her «piggy.»
«Alright?» Oliver asked months later.
«Learning,» she smiled. «To look in mirrors and not hear his voice. Hard. But worth it.»
«Arthur asks about you.»
«Dont tell me.»
«They say hes changed.»
«Maybe. So have I. And Im not going back.»
Her smilereal, unguardedsaid it all.
Arthur stayed alone with his «jokes» that stopped being funny. With the delusion that cruelty was love. Only then did he realise: the woman hed called a fool had the heart of a lion. And no woman stays forever as a mans shadow.
Emily? She learned to breathe again. To loveherself, life. Proving even the shards of broken dignity can piece together a happiness of your own.
