«Sorry about my cow! At it again, stuffing her face!» The voice of Timothy, usually smooth and confident, cracked through the festive air like a whip, leaving every guest stung in its wake.
Emily froze, her fork suspended mid-air, her delicate frame turning to stone under the weight of shame. The slice of roast beef balanced on her fork never reached her plate, hanging in limbo. She sat opposite her husband, feeling dozens of eyespitying, curious, discomfortedpinning her down. Her own body felt foreign, her pulse throbbing in her throat, choking her breath.
James, Timothys closest friend, choked on his champagne, the golden bubbles hissing in protest. His wife, Victoria, sat beside him, lips parted in perfect shock, but no sound escaped the knot of embarrassment lodged in her throat. The grand dining table, laden with dishes, fell into a suffocating silence, thick as custard, where even the flutter of eyelashes felt like betrayal.
«Timothy, what are you saying?» James finally broke the quiet, his voice hoarse.
«What? Cant a man speak the truth now?» Timothy leaned back in his chair, smug, scanning the room for approval. «My silly girl here cant help herselfshameful, really. Cooks like shes feeding an army, not guests.»
Emily burned, not with shame, but with humiliation, scalding from within. Bitter tears pricked her eyes, but she swallowed them down, a skill honed over three years of marriage. First, shed cried into pillows, then in the bath, until finally, the tears dried up. What use were they when they only fed cruelty?
«Come on, mate,» muttered Steven from across the table, trying to salvage the evening. «Ems lovely, warms the heart.»
«Lovely?» Timothy snorted, his laugh grating. «You ever see her without all that makeup? Wakes up looking like something the cat dragged in. Gives me a fright!»
A nervous titter rose, then died under Victorias glare. Others busied themselves with their plates. That was when Emily stoodslowly, dreamlikeevery movement an act of defiance.
«I need the loo,» she whispered, barely audible, and left the room, carrying the shreds of her dignity with her.
«Oh, shes sulking now!» Timothy rolled his eyes. «Shell be back soon enough, lips pursed, silent till dawn. Women need a firm hand, or they grow mouldy.»
James watched his friendfifteen years of shared historyand no longer recognised the man hed once admired. Timothy had been the life of every partycharismatic, generous, sharp. When he married Emily, everyone cheered: she, porcelain-fragile with hazel eyes like autumn; he, handsome, successful, self-assured. A match made in heaven.
But cracks had formedsilent, creeping, like flaws in antique glass. First came the «playful nicknames.» In company, Timothy called her «my dimwit,» «clumsy goose,» «hopeless case.» Friends laughed awkwardly, blaming marital quirks. Then came the real torment. Jokes became jabs, then outright degradation.
«Look, my little piggys at the cake again!» hed crow in restaurants when she dared order dessert.
«Forgive her cooking, ladsmy half-dead mouse tried her best!» hed announce over meals shed slaved over.
«What can you expect from her? Scraped through uni, earns pennies!» hed sneer about the woman with a first-class degree in literature, adored by her pupils.
Victoria nudged James. «Stop him. This is vile.»
James rose. «Need some air.»
He found Emily not in the loo, but in the marble-clad bathroom, gripping the sink so hard her knuckles whitened. Silent sobs wracked her shoulders. Mascara streaked her cheeks, lipstick smeared. She looked brokenexactly as Timothy wanted her.
«Em, you alright?» James asked softly.
She startled, scrubbing her face. «Fine. Just need a moment.»
«How much longer will you take this?» His voice trembled.
«Where would I go?» Her eyes were hollow. «This house is his. The cars, his. Even this stupid jumperhis gift. Im a primary teacher, James. My salarys a joke. My parents are in Yorkshire, barely scraping by. Go back to them? Humiliate Mum in front of the whole village?»
«Humiliations on him, not you!»
«To them, its on me!» she whispered. «They were so proud Id married upa rich Londoner! Now what? That my golden husband calls me a cow in front of everyone?»
«Was he always like this?»
Emily shook her head. «First year, it was fairy tales. Flowers, gifts, sweet words. Then it twisted. Your roasts dry. Dressed like a farm girl. Clueless about business. Now now he doesnt care who hears him. And at home» She bit her lip.
«At home?»
«He doesnt hit. Worse. He doesnt see me. Walks past like Im air. Then explodes over nothinga cup out of place, a towel hung wrong. Says Im nothing. Keeps me out of pity.»
«Em, youre brilliant, kind»
«I dont even know who I am anymore,» she cut in. «I look in the mirror and see only what he says: dimwit, fatty, hag. Maybe hes right.»
From the dining room, Timothys laugh boomed. «Wait till you hearin bed, stiff as a board, like shes waiting for divine intervention!»
Emily paled. James clenched his fists. «Enough. Pack a bag. Were leaving.»
«Where?»
«Anywhere. Your parents, ours, a hoteldoesnt matter.»
«He wont let me.»
«Not his choice anymore.»
Back in the dining room, Timothy, drunk, regaled guests: «Yesterday, she lost her glassesthey were on her head!»
«Were going,» James said firmly.
«Going where?» Timothy scowled.
«Im taking Emily.»
«Shes not going anywhere! Emily, sit down!»
She flinched, but James took her arm. «Were leaving.»
«Thats my wife!» Timothy roared.
«Wife, not property,» James replied coolly.
«This is family business! Emily, sit down NOW!» His shout rattled the chandelier.
Emily stood paralyseduntil Victoria embraced her. «Stay with us tonight.»
«Shes not leaving!» Timothy bellowed.
«Yes, I am,» Emily said quietly, her voice steady. «Im leaving you, Timothy.»
«You? And go where? Youve got nothing!»
«Ive got me. Thats enough.»
«Whod want you, you fat, plain? I pitied you!»
«Thanks for saying it out loud,» she said, calm.
She moved to the door.
«Wait! Over a few jokes?»
«Over years of cruelty. Im tired.»
«But I love you!»
«No. You love power. Theyre different.»
«Off to the cows in Yorkshire, then?»
«Yes. Theyll respect me more than you ever did.»
She buttoned her coat, each fastening sealing the past.
«Emily, dont be daft!» He grabbed her sleeve.
«Let go. You wont change. Goodbye.»
She walked out. James and Victoria followed. Timothy stood alone in the empty flat.
He scoffed to the guests, «Shell be back. They always are.»
But Emily didnt return. Not the next day. Not ever.
He called, begged, sent flowers, waited outside her school. She walked past like a ghost. Three months later, she filed for divorce. First, she stayed with James and Victoria, then rented a tiny room with a cracked ceilingbut it was hers. A place no one called her a cow.
«How are you?» James asked six months later.
«Learning to live again,» she smiled. «To look in the mirror and not hear his words. Its hard. But Im winning.»
«Timothy asked about you.»
«Dont tell me. I dont want to know.»
«They say hes changed.»
«Maybe. But so have I. And Im not going back.»
She smiledgenuine, peaceful.
Timothy remained alone. With his «humour» that amused no one. His belief that degradation was love. Only then did he realise the woman hed called a dimwit had the strength of a lioness. That no woman would mirror a man who saw her as a shadow.
Emily rebuilt herselfjust in time. She learned to breathe, to love herself, to live. And proved: even from the shards of contempt, you can piece together your own happiness.
