**The Loud Silence**
“He just wont speak to me!” Emily nearly sobbed into the phone. “Ive apologised five times and bought three types of cheese! Nothing. He just sits there, glued to his monitor, like I dont exist.”
“Well, stop dancing around himcome over,” suggested Olivia. “Let him cool off. Mums just baked her cabbage pastries, my favourite. And yours! Smells like heaven in here, not frost.”
Emily smiled. She remembered the delicious aroma from Aunt Roses flat all too well. And the taste of those pastriesonce a week, sometimes more, she and Olivia would devour them after school. Olivia had been her neighbour, classmate, and closest friend.
How many times had they dreamed about the futurewhat theyd become, the princes theyd meet, how their families would grow up side by side. Emily loved visiting Olivias home, always lively and warm. Maybe it lacked order, but it was full of noise, laughter, hospitality, and, of course, Aunt Roses brilliant cooking.
Emilys mother had been strict and silent, their flat spotless, friends never allowed over. Her parents never argued, never even raised their voices. But Mum knew how to hold a grudge. If she found reason, she could go weeks without speaking to anyoneher husband or her daughter. Emily remembered hating that icy silence as a child, how it crushed her when her mother ignored her. Once, at sixteen, shed snapped and thrown a book at herjust to get any reaction. Mum had merely raised an eyebrow and walked out. That day, Emily swore shed never live in that kind of atmosphere.
Now, her husband was doing the same.
Of course, there had been warning signs before the wedding. Even alarm bells.
James once joked in front of friends that Emily had hit the jackpotlanding a husband with a flat. Shed laughed and shot back, “Whos the lucky one, really?” Hed taken deep offence and spent three days stone-faced.
Another time, hed sulked for a whole week because shed gone to bed instead of staying up late with his mates. But in the whirlwind of romance, it had all seemed trivial.
That day, when Emily called Olivia, James had been silent for four days. The reason? As always, something pettyshed forgotten his favourite cheese for breakfast. Not on purpose; it had slipped her mind. She rang her friend, desperate to escape the silence that made her feel small, guilty, invisible. Worst of all? It was painfully familiar. Her mothers script, the one shed vowed never to repeat.
With the invitation for pastries, Emily grabbed her coat and fled. James wanted space? Fine. His young wife would happily spend the evening in good company. Aunt Rose was delighted to see her. Over tea, she quickly sussed out why Emilys eyes were so sad. Hearing the reason, she shook her head.
“Listen, love, if you dont nip this in the bud, youll always be tiptoeing around him. Sounds like his family never arguedjust shut down. Doesnt know any other way.”
“My parents did the same. Polite silence, sour faces.”
“And howd that work out for them? Is that what you want?”
“I dont. But every time I try to talk, James just says, ‘Leave me alone.'”
“Then say while hes silent, youll act like hes not there. Hes leaving you alone, after all. Cook for yourself. Go to the cinema with friends, visit, take walks. Make sulking pointless. Silent types usually need an audience.”
“You think itll work? What if he gets angrier?”
“Dont know. Id try. If notleave. I couldnt live like that. How do you share a bed with someone who wont speak to you? Whats the point?”
The next morning, staring at Jamess turned back in bed, Emily felt something newnot hurt, not despair. Cold, calm resolve. “No,” she told herself. “This ends here. Hes not my mother. I wont live in silence.”
She remembered Olivias words about her own parents: “Minell argue for two days over which veg patch to plant, but weeks of silence? Never! Cant recall them sulking for more than two hours. One minute shouting, the next laughing. Mums fiery but quick to forgive. Dad jokes everything off.”
Two hours. It sounded like fantasy. But it was her goal.
That morning, Emily read relationship articles, watched rom-comsher day off. That evening, as James ate alone and flicked on the telly, she switched it off and sat opposite him.
“James, we need to talk. Not about cheese. About us.”
He reached pointedly for his phone.
“Im serious. Im done playing these games. Silence isnt solving anything. Its cruelty.”
“Leave me alone,” he muttered.
“Fine,” she said, clipped. “Ill leave you alone. But know this: from tomorrow, Im out. You stay silent? Youve got nothing to say. Ill live my life. Cook for myself. Watch my shows. See friends. Youll be my flatmate. If thats what you wantkeep quiet.”
She left. No begging, no excuses, no attempts to “thaw” him. 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 coffee and left wordlessly. No dinner after work. No one asked about his day. Emily chatted loudly on the phone, planning a cinema trip.
Later, she approached him.
“I get youre angry. Thats fine. Were humanwe mess up. But lets set a limit. Two hours. Its seven now. At nine, you come to the kitchen, and we talkcalmly, no shouting. If you wont, the problem isnt me. Its you not knowing how to talk. Then Ill draw my own conclusions.”
James stared, stunned. His weapontimewas being taken.
“Thats absurd,” he sneered.
“No. Absurd is adults pretending the other doesnt exist for weeks. Two hours. Nine oclock.”
At nine, he didnt come. But at eleven, climbing into bed, he broke first.
“Youre acting like some shrink from your shows. Its ridiculous.”
Emily breathed deep. A week ago, shed have cried or exploded. Now, she just said,
“It hurts when you shut me out. I feel invisible. Ill listen, apologise if Im wrong. But I wont spend weeks guessing what I did.”
James was silent. But this silence wasnt icyit was thoughtful.
“Fine,” he said suddenly. “Forgetting the cheesethats just disrespect.”
“I disrespect you by forgetting cheese?” she asked gently. “Or am I just human, tired, capable of forgetting?”
He had no answer. His complaint sounded silly out loud.
The next morning, he woke early and made breakfast for two.
“Truce?” Emily checked.
He nodded.
“Brilliantbetter than words!” she beamed. “Ill make your favourite fish tonight.”
Six months on, the silent treatment hasnt vanishedhabits dont die easy. But now, there are rules.
“You sulking?” Emily asks calmly when James withdraws. “Fine. Two hours. Then we talk.”
Andastonishinglyit works. He storms off, but returns exactly when hes calmed down. “Listen, I was wrong,” or “This bothered me.” Sometimes, he takes a whole day. Emily doesnt mind. She finds things to do outside, waits for his peace-offer breakfast.
Shes learned the hard way: escaping a family script isnt enough. You have to rewrite the rulesand stick to them.
