The Loud Silence
“He just wont speak to me!” Emily nearly sobbed into the phone. “Ive apologised five times and even bought three different types of cheese! Nothing. Hes glued to his screen like I dont exist.”
“Well, stop dancing around him. Come over,” suggested Olivia. “Let him stew. Mums baking her cabbage pastiesmy absolute favourite. And yours! Smells like heaven, not a sulk.”
Emily smiled. She remembered the delicious aroma wafting from Aunt Maggies flat, the taste of those pasties devoured after school every week. Olivia had been her neighbour, classmate, and most loyal friend.
How many times had they dreamed about the futurecareers, princes, raising families side by side? Emily adored visiting Olivias lively, chaotic home, where laughter drowned out any mess. Aunt Maggies cooking was legendary, and guests were always welcomed with open arms.
Emilys own home had been the oppositespotless, silent, and stern. Her mother never raised her voice, but she could hold a grudge for weeks, freezing out both her husband and daughter. At sixteen, Emily had hurled a book at her, desperate for any reaction. Her mother had merely arched a brow and walked away. That day, Emily vowed never to live in such icy silence.
And now her husband was doing the very same thing.
Of course, there had been warning signs before marriage. Blaring ones.
Once, James joked in front of friends that Emily had “hit the jackpot” marrying a man with a flat. She laughed and shot back, “Whos the lucky one, really?” Hed been mortally offended and stonewalled her for three days.
Another time, shed dared to go to bed instead of staying up late with his mates. The silent treatment lasted a week. But in the whirlwind of love, it all seemed trivial.
Now, four days into his latest sulktriggered by her forgetting his favourite cheeseEmily called Olivia, desperate to escape the suffocating quiet. She felt invisible, guilty, and worst of all, trapped in her mothers script.
Within minutes, she was out the door. If James wanted solitude, fine. His young wife would enjoy better company. Aunt Maggie took one look at her and sighed. “Love, if you dont nip this in the bud, youll spend your life tiptoeing. Some families dont arguethey just freeze. Doesnt mean its right.”
“Mine did. And I hated it.”
“And look how happy they were! Is that what you want?”
“No. But James just says, Leave me alone.”
“Then do. Live like hes not there. Cook for yourself, go out with friends. Make sulking pointless. Silent types need an audience.”
“You think itll work?”
“Dunno. Id try. If notdump him. Lifes too short for this nonsense. Imagine sharing a bed with someone who wont speak to you!”
The next morning, watching Jamess turned back, Emily felt something newnot hurt, but cold resolve. “No,” she told herself. “This ends here. Hes not my mother. I wont live in silence.”
She remembered Olivias parents: “Theyll bicker over where to plant carrots for two days, but sulk? Never! Mum shouts, Dad jokes, and its over in minutes.”
Two hours. It sounded miraculous. But it was her goal.
That evening, after James had eaten alone and parked himself in front of the telly, Emily switched it off. “James, we need to talk. Not about cheese. About us.”
He reached for his phone.
“Im serious. Im done with these games. Silence isnt solving anythingits cruel.”
“Leave me alone,” he muttered.
“Fine,” she said calmly. “But from tomorrow, Im out. You sulk? Ill live my life. Cook for me. Watch my shows. See friends. Youll be my flatmate. If thats what you wantkeep quiet.”
She walked away. No pleading, no tears. Just new rules: her life wouldnt pause for his sulks.
James snorted and turned the telly back on.
Next morning, no breakfast waited. He drank black coffee and left. No dinner that night. No questions about his day. Emily phoned Olivia, loudly planning a cinema trip.
Later, she approached him. “Youre angry. Fine. But lets set a limittwo hours. Its seven now. At nine, we talk calmly. If not, the problems yours, not mine.”
James stared. His best weapontimewas being stolen.
“Thats ridiculous.”
“No, ridiculous is grown adults pretending the other doesnt exist for days. Two hours. Nine oclock.”
At nine, he didnt come. But at eleven, climbing into bed, he broke first.
“You sound like a therapist from your soaps. Its daft.”
Emily breathed deeply. A week ago, shed have exploded. Now, she just said, “Silence hurts me. Ill listen if Ive upset you. But I wont spend days guessing.”
James stayed quietbut it was thoughtful now, not icy.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Forgetting the cheese was just disrespectful.”
“Really? Or just human?”
He had no answer. His grievance sounded petty out loud. Next morning, he made breakfast for two.
“Truce?” she checked.
He nodded.
“Brilliant! Better than words. Ill make your favourite fish tonight.”
Six months on, the silent spells arent goneold habits die hard. But now, there are rules.
“You sulking?” Emily asks lightly. “Two hours, then we talk.”
And miraculously, it works. James stews, but only for his allotted time. Then: “Listen, I overreacted,” or “That thing you said bothered me.” Sometimes he takes a whole day. Emily doesnt mindshes out with friends, waiting for his peace-offering breakfast.
Shes learned: to change the script, you dont just run. You rewrite the rulesand stick to them.
