“Sorry about my cow! She’s at it againeating like there’s no tomorrow!” Arthur’s voice, usually smooth and confident, cut through the festive air like a whip, leaving everyone at the table wincing.
Emily froze, her fork suspended mid-air, a slice of ham skewered neatly on its tines. She might as well have turned to stone, her delicate frame rigid with humiliation. Across from her, her husband lounged in his chair, smug, while a dozen pairs of eyespitying, judgmental, uncomfortableburned into her. Her body felt alien, her pulse hammering in her throat.
Oliver, Arthurs best mate, choked on his expensive champagne, bubbles hissing in protest. His wife, Victoria, beside him, gaped in perfect, silent shock. The lavish dining table, groaning under dishes, was suddenly suffocated by a thick, sickening silence.
“Arthur, what the hell?” Oliver was the first to break it, his voice strained.
“What? Cant I speak the truth now?” Arthur leaned back, pleased with himself, scanning the room for approval. “My silly girls piled on the pounds again. Embarrassing to take her out. Cooks like shes feeding an army, not guests.”
Emily sat motionless, her cheeks flamingnot with shame, but with the slow burn of degradation. Bitter tears pricked her eyes, but she swallowed them back, a skill shed perfected over three years of marriage. At first, shed cried into her pillow, then in the bath. Eventually, the tears dried up. What was the point? They only fuelled him.
“Come off it, Arthur,” muttered Stephen from the far end of the table, trying to salvage the evening. “Emilys lovely. Heart of gold.”
“Lovely?” Arthur scoffed, his laugh grating. “Seen her without all the slap in the morning? I wake up sometimes and wonder who the hells next to me. Bloody fright!”
Someone snickered nervously, then fell silent under Victorias glare. The others suddenly found their plates fascinating.
Then Emily stood. Slowly, as if underwater, every movement an act of defiance.
“I need the loo,” she whispered, slipping away with the shattered remains of her dignity.
“Oh, touchy!” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Shell be back in a minute, sulking. Women, eh? Need to keep em in check or theyll walk all over you.”
Oliver stared at his friendfifteen years of shared historyand didnt recognise the man. Arthur had always been the life of the party: charismatic, generous, sharp. When hed married Emily, everyone had cheered. She was gentle, porcelain-delicate; he was handsome, successful. A perfect match.
But cracks had formed, quiet as fractures in antique glass. First came the “playful” nicknames”my daft mare,” “clumsy cow.” Then the real cruelty.
“Look, my little piggys at the cake again!” hed crow in restaurants when she dared order dessert.
“Sorry, lads, the missus cant cook to save her lifebetter brace yourselves!” hed say, presenting a meal shed slaved over.
“What can you expect from her? Barely scraped through uni, works for pennies!”this about a woman with a first-class degree, adored by her students.
Victoria nudged Oliver. “Do something. This is vile.”
Oliver stood. “Need some air.”
He found Emily not in the bathroom, but in the marbled ensuite, gripping the sink so hard her knuckles whitened. Silent sobs wracked her. Mascara streaked her cheeks; lipstick smudged. She looked exactly as Arthur wanted herbroken.
“Em you alright?” Oliver asked softly.
She startled, scrubbing at her face. “Fine. Just washing up. Be back in a sec.”
“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, Oliver. My salarys a joke. My parents are in Devon, barely scraping by. If I go back, Ill disgrace them.”
“This isnt your fault!”
“To them, it will be!” she hissed. “They were proud I married up. Now what? Admit my perfect husband calls me a cow in front of everyone?”
“Was he always like this?”
Emily shook her head. “First yearfairytale. Flowers, gifts, compliments. Carried me about like I was glass. Then it started. The wrong way to make tea. Dressing like a farm girl. Useless with money. Now? Now he doesnt care who hears him. At home” She trailed off.
“At home, what?”
“Doesnt hit me. Worse. Ignores me. Walks past like Im a ghost. Then explodes over nothinga cup left out, a towel hung wrong. Says Im nothing. Keeps me out of pity.”
“Em, thats bollocks. Youre brilliant, kind”
“I dont even know who I am anymore,” she cut in. “I look in the mirror and see what he says: stupid, fat, ugly. Maybe hes right.”
From the dining room, Arthurs laugh boomed. “Get thislast night, dead as a plank in bed!”
Emily paled. Oliver clenched his fists. “Enough. Get your things. Were leaving.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. Your parents. Ours. A hotel. Doesnt matter.”
“He wont let me.”
“Not his choice.”
Back in the dining room, Arthur was mid-“joke”: “She spent an hour looking for her glassesthey were on her head!”
“Were going,” Oliver said firmly.
“Going where?” Arthur glowered. “Emily, sit down.”
She took a mechanical step, but Oliver grasped her elbow. “Were leaving.”
“Shes my wife!” Arthur surged up, furious.
“Wife, not property,” Oliver said coolly.
“Family matter, none of your business! Emily, sit NOW!” His roar rattled the chandelier.
Emily stood frozenuntil Victoria wrapped an arm around her. “Youre staying with us tonight.”
“Shes not going anywhere!” Arthur bellowed.
“Yes, I am,” Emily said, quiet but clear.
“You? With what? Youve got nothing!”
“Ive got me. Thats enough.”
Arthur sneered. “Whod want you, you fat, common”
“Thanks for saying it out loud,” she said evenly, turning to the door.
“Wait! Over a few jokes?”
“Over years of humiliation. Im done.”
He grabbed her sleeve. “I love you!”
“No. You love power. Thats different.”
“So what, back to the cows in Devon?”
“Yes. Theyll respect me more than you ever did.”
She buttoned her coat, each fastening a seal on the past.
“Emily, dont be daft!” Arthur yanked her back.
“Let go. You wont change. Goodbye.”
She walked out. Oliver and Victoria followed.
Arthur faced the stunned guests. “Shell be back,” he muttered. “They always are.”
But Emily didnt return. Not the next day. Not ever.
He called, begged, sent flowers, lurked by her school. She walked past like he was air. Three months later, she filed for divorce. Stayed with Oliver and Victoria first, then rented a tiny flat with a cracked ceilingbut hers. A place no one called her a cow.
“How are you?” Oliver asked six months later.
“Learning,” she smiled. “To look in the mirror and not see his words. Its hard. But Im fighting. And winning.”
“Arthur asks about you.”
“Dont tell me.”
“They say hes changed.”
“Maybe. But so have I. And Im not going back.”
She smiledreal, calm.
Arthur stayed alone. With his “humour” that amused no one. His belief that cruelty was love. Only then did he realise the woman hed called daft had the heart of a lion. That no woman would ever be a mirror for a man who only saw her shadow.
Emily? She rebuilt. In time. Learned to breathe, to live, to loveherself, and life. Proved even from the shards of contempt, you can piece together your own happiness.
