**The Loud Silence**
“He just wont speak to me!” Emily nearly sobbed into the phone. “Ive apologised five times, and I even bought three types of cheese! Nothing. He just sits there, glued to his screen, as if I dont exist.”
“Well, stop dancing around him. Come over,” Sophie suggested. “Let him cool off. Mums just baked her cabbage pastiesyou know, the ones we love. Smells like heaven in here, not frost.”
Emily smiled. She remembered the delicious scent of baking that always drifted from Aunt Margarets flat. And the taste of those pastiesshe and Sophie had eaten them after school nearly every week. Sophie had been her neighbour, her classmate, her truest friend.
How many times had they daydreamed about the future, imagining their careers, their princes, their families growing up side by side? Emily loved visiting Sophies homea lively, warm place, never spotless but always full of laughter, hospitality, and Aunt Margarets incredible cooking.
Emilys own mother had been strict and silent, their flat gleaming with order. Friends were never allowed over. Her parents never shouted, never arguedbut her mother knew how to hold a grudge. If offended, she could go weeks without speaking to her husband or daughter. Emily remembered hating that icy silence as a child, how shed craved even the smallest attention. Once, at sixteen, shed hurled a book at her mother just to provoke a reaction. Her mother had merely raised an eyebrow and left the room. That day, Emily vowed never to live like that.
And now her husband was doing the same.
There had been warnings before the weddingalarm bells, even.
James had once joked in front of friends that Emily had “hit the jackpot” marrying a man with a flat. Shed laughed and shot back that maybe *he* was the lucky one. Hed taken deep offence and spent three days stone-faced.
Another time, hed sulked for a week because shed gone to bed early instead of staying up late with his mates. But in the whirlwind of love, it had all seemed trivial.
The day Emily called Sophie, James had been silent for four days. The reason? Shed forgotten to buy his favourite cheese for breakfastnot deliberately, just slipped her mind. Desperate to escape the suffocating quiet, shed phoned her friend. It was painfully familiar: her mothers script, the one shed sworn never to repeat.
Invited over for pasties, Emily grabbed her coat and left. If James wanted silence, fine. His young wife would enjoy cheerful company instead. Aunt Margaret was delighted to see her. Soon, the truth spilled out. Shaking her head, Margaret said,
“Listen, love, if you dont break James of this silent treatment now, youll always be tiptoeing. Probably grew up in a house where sulking was normal. Doesnt know any other way.”
“My parents communicated like that too.”
“And were they happy? Do you *want* that?”
“No, but James just says, Leave me alone.”
“Then leave him. Literally. Cook for yourself. Go out with friends. Make sulking *pointless*. Silent types need an audiencetake it away.”
“You think itll work? What if he gets worse?”
“Worth a try. If not, ditch him. Lifes too short for this nonsense. How can you share a bed with someone who wont even speak to you?”
The next morning, watching Jamess turned back in bed, Emily felt something newnot hurt, not despair, but cold resolve. *No,* she thought. *This ends now. Hes not my mother. I wont live in silence.*
She remembered Sophies parents: “Theyll argue for two days over where to plant carrots, but *weeks* of sulking? Never! Even after yelling, theyre laughing by teatime. Dad jokes through everything.”
Two hours. It sounded impossible. But it was her goal.
That evening, after James ate alone and flopped in front of the telly, Emily turned it off.
“James, we need to talk. Not about cheese. About *us*.”
He reached for his phone.
“Im serious. Im done playing these games. Silence isnt conflict resolutionits cruelty.”
“Leave me alone,” he muttered.
“Fine,” she said evenly. “But know this: from tomorrow, Im *done*. You silence me? Then you get nothing. Ill cook for me. Watch my shows. See friends. Youll be my flatmate. If thats what you wantkeep sulking.”
She walked away. No pleading, no excuses. Just new rules: her life wouldnt pause for his silence.
James scoffed and turned the telly back on.
The next morning, no breakfast waited. He drank black coffee and left. No dinner after work. No one asked about his day. Emily chatted loudly with Sophie, planning a cinema trip.
Later, she approached him.
“I get that youre angry. Fine. Lets set a limit: two hours. Its seven now. At nine, we talk calmly. If you refuse, the problem isnt meits *you* refusing to communicate. Then Ill draw conclusions.”
James stared. His weapontimewas being stolen.
“Thats absurd.”
“No, *absurd* is adults who pretend the other doesnt exist. Nine oclock.”
At nine, he didnt come. But at eleven, climbing into bed, he broke first.
“You sound like one of your soap-opera therapists. Its pathetic.”
Emily breathed. A week ago, shed have cried. Now? Calm.
“Silence hurts me. Makes me feel invisible. Ill apologise if Im wrong. But I wont spend weeks guessing.”
James stayed quietbut it was thoughtful now, not icy.
“Fine,” he said finally. “Forgetting the cheese was just disrespectful.”
“Forgetting cheese means I dont respect you?” she asked gently. “Or that Im human and forget things?”
He had no answer. His grievance sounded ridiculous aloud. The next morning, he made breakfast for two.
“Truce?” Emily checked.
He nodded.
“Brilliant! Actions *do* speak louder.” She grinned. “Ill make your favourite fish tonight.”
Six months later, the silent treatment hadnt vanishedold habits die hard. But now, they had rules.
“Sulking?” Emily would ask if James clammed up. “Two hours. Then we talk.”
Andastonishinglyit worked. Hed stew, but only for his allotted time. Then hed return: “I was wrong,” or “This bothered me.” Sometimes he needed a whole day. Emily wouldnt fretshed just go out and wait for his peace-offering breakfast.
Shed learned the hardest lesson: escaping a family script isnt enough. You must rewrite ittogether.
