20 September
Ive just left the shops on Oxford Street, clutching a crumpled note that Ive handed over for the fifth time. The shop assistant stared at me, irritation plain on her face.
Sorry, my husband only gave me a hundred pounds for groceries I muttered, cheeks flushing.
Only a hundred? Youre fortyfive and you behave like a child! she snapped, waving her hands. What are you going to buy with a hundred? Pick something and get out!
I snatched a loaf of bread and a pint of milk, paid, and bolted outside. I pressed my back against the wall, inhaled deeply. Tears pricked my eyes, but I swallowed them. No crying in public.
Later that evening Simon arrived home, his mood sour from work. I met him in the hallway, lifted my briefcase.
Simon, dinners ready. Ive made meatballs and chips
Again fried food? he grimaced. My stomach cant bear your cooking!
You asked for meatballs yesterday
Yesterday I asked! Today youve changed your mind! Is it that hard to remember?
I lowered my head and slipped into the kitchen. He flopped into the armchair before the telly.
Wheres the money? I gave you four hundred in the morning!
Three hundred. You gave three hundred, I replied, not daring to argue.
Dont argue! I know what I gave!
Fine, three hundred. I handed him the receipts. Bread, milk, butter. Heres the proof.
He examined them. Bread for fortyeight pence? Why so pricey?
Its a regular loaf, Simon
A regular one costs thirty pence! Youve overpaid. Wasteful!
I bit my lip. Another argument over pennies, another day of the same old pattern.
It wasnt always like this. We met at work when Simon took over our departmenthandsome, confident, successful. He noticed me, started flirting.
Emma, youre lovely. Shall we go to a café tonight?
Sure.
Just no talk about work. I want to know you better.
He was charming, lavished compliments, sent flowers. After two failed relationships I was desperate for someone right, and Simon seemed perfect.
We wed quickly, six months after meeting. I thought Id found my destiny.
The first months were wonderful. Simon was attentive, caring, though occasionally hed make odd remarks.
Emma, that dress isnt for you. Its too bright.
I like it
Like it, but you look vulgar in it. Wear something grey instead.
I changed, wanting his approval.
Then his criticisms moved to the kitchen.
The soup is undersalted.
The meat is tough.
The salad is odd.
I bought cookbooks, watched recipes, tried harder. Yet he always found something to pick at.
Eventually he suggested I quit my job.
Emma, why work? I earn well enough to support us.
But I enjoy working
Working for pennies! Stay home, run the house. Our home is a mess, the food bland. Take care of it properly.
I gave in, became a housewife. At first I liked the slower paceno early alarms, everything at my own rhythm. But Simon soon turned my life into an endless series of inspections.
Why is there dust on the shelf?
Why isnt that shirt ironed?
Why is lunch at one oclock, not twelvethirty?
I raced to keep up, yet pleasing him was impossible. He always had a new fault to point out.
Money was the worst weapon. He gave me a fixed weekly allowance£5, at most £7. He demanded a linebyline report of every penny.
Wheres the twenty pounds?
I bought a bun
A bun? We have bread at home!
I wanted something sweet
Sweet? Money isnt elastic! Ask next time!
I was forced to ask permission to buy a bun. I tried to find work, went to several interviews, but Simon always discovered it and threw a fit.
Have you gone mad? Want to work? Who will keep the house?
I can both work and keep the house
You cant! You do everything halfheartedly! Your place is the home!
He barred me from seeing friends, claiming they turned me against him.
Emma, I want to go to Tanyas birthday
Tanya? That tramp? Shes been married three times!
Shes my friend
No friend! Friends support each other, not temptations! You wont go.
I stopped attending events. Friends stopped inviting me. Tanya tried to call.
Emma, whats happened to you? Youve vanished!
Just busy
Busy? You sit at home! Lets meet for coffee!
I cant, Simon wont like it
Forget Simon! Are you in a cult?
Maybe I was, but the cult was my own home, and the guru was Simon.
Years passedfive, seven, ten. I became a shadow, moving silently, speaking softly, avoiding attention. My only lifelines were secret books and latenight TV when Simon was at work.
One day, while picking vegetables, a familiar voice called my name.
Emma? Emma, is that you?
I turned. It was Tanya, my best friend from university, not seen in eight years.
Emma
Good heavens, you! Where have you been? Ive been calling, texting!
Im sorry. Ive been occupied.
Tanya looked me over, concern in her eyes. Emma, are you alright? You look pale.
I tried to joke, to change the subject, but Tanya grabbed my hand and led me into a café across the street.
Sit, well talk. No arguing.
I spilled most of the storycontrol, petty accusations, the allowance. Tanyas face grew darker.
Thats domestic abuse, Emma. Psychological, she said sharply, pounding the table. Hes not hitting you, but hes destroying you mentally!
Hes just demanding, I whispered.
Hes demanding! Hes treating you like a servant! Are you a robot?
Im a person
Then why let him treat you like that?
I had no answer. Love? Nojust habit and fear.
Tanya, how do I leave? I have nothing!
You have yourself! Youll find a job, a flat!
At fortyfive? Who needs me?
Youre a qualified accountant! I have contacts, Ill help.
Tanya arranged a interview at a small firm. A week later she called, They have a spot, decent salary, flexible hours. Go, Emma.
I went, telling Simon I was just heading to the shop. The interview went well; the manager, a polite man in his fifties, asked why Id been out of work.
Family reasons, I said.
Understood. You have good experience. Start Monday?
Absolutely.
I returned home buoyed, feeling a spark of joy I hadnt known in years. Work, my own money, freedom.
That evening Simon came home, eyes glued to his phone.
Emma, we need to talk.
What about? he grunted.
Ive got a job. Accountant. Starting Monday.
Silence hung. He finally looked up, angry.
Without my permission?
Im an adult. I dont need your permission.
He lunged, his face twisted with rage.
Youre supposed to ask! Youre my wife! You must obey!
Ive already signed the contract.
Youll quit tomorrow!
I wont.
What?
I said I wont! Ive endured ten years of your control, your nitpicking! Enough!
Are you rebelling? he snarled, grabbing my shoulders. Who are you without me? I feed you, clothe you!
You give me a hundred pounds a week! That barely buys bread and water!
Youre wasting it!
I bought the cheapest coat in years! Im wearing rags while you splurge each month!
My appearance matters at work!
My dignity matters too! Im human!
He raised his hand. I braced, expecting a blow, but he simply turned and slammed the door, shaking the windows.
I stood trembling in the kitchen, knees wobbling, yet a strange lightness filled me. For the first time in a decade Id spoken my mind.
Monday arrived. I walked into the office, Simon silent, not even a goodbye. He seemed to wait, perhaps to see what would happen.
The office felt strangedesks, colleagues, tasks. I was out of my depth at first, but I relearned old skills, learned new software. My coworker, Iris, a woman my age, also an accountant, became a friendly guide.
Emma, hows it going? Settling in?
Trying. Ive forgotten a lot over the years.
Youll catch up. Ask me anything.
My first paycheck came a month later£2,500. To some its modest; to me it was a fortune. I held the envelope, stunned, my own earnings in my hands.
I bought a bright new sweater, decent groceriesnot the cheapest, but ones I liked, even a small cake for no reason.
Simon saw the bags, frowned.
Whats this?
Groceries. And a sweater.
Whered the money come from?
I earned it.
He inspected the sweater, grunted. £15 for a jumper? Wasteful! I said save!
Its my money. I earned it.
Its not just yours! We share everything!
He fell silent, realizing his grip had loosened.
Fine, you can pay for your food yourself from now on. I wont give you a penny! he declared.
Ill manage, I replied, smiling.
Months passed. I grew to love my job, my colleagues, afterwork drinks, weekend cinema trips. Simon muttered about those ladies and friends turning you against me, but he could no longer forbid me.
One night, after a long shift, Simon met me in the hallway, drunk and angry.
Where have you been?
At work. I was late.
Youre lying! Youve been seeing someone!
Youre drunk. Go to bed.
Im not drunk! Youre cheating on me! Admit it!
No one! Let me go!
He shoved me; I hit the wall, pain flashing through me. In his eyes I saw fury, and then a cold realisation: staying would only bring more hurt.
Im done, I said softly.
This what?
This marriage. Im leaving.
Where will you go? You have nothing!
I have a job, money. Ill rent a flat.
You wont survive a week without me!
I will. Youll see.
I fetched my suitcase, began packing. Simon stood at the door, bewildered.
Youre serious?
More than serious.
Emma, dont be foolish. Where will you be at eleven?
At Tanyas. She let me stay.
That that tramp?
She isnt a tramp. Shes a friend who helped when I was down.
I zipped the suitcase, grabbed my coat and bag, headed for the hallway. Simon grabbed my wrist.
Wait. Lets talk.
Theres nothing left to say. Its over.
Emma, Ill change. I promise.
How many promises? Twenty? Thirty?
Now Ill change, I swear!
No. You never see the problem, so you cant fix it.
I ripped my hand free, opened the door, and fled down the stairs. Simon chased, shouting, Come back! Youll regret this!
Maybe. But not the regret of staying.
Outside the cold October wind hit my face. I stopped, breathed deeply. Free, for the first time in ten years.
I called Tanya.
Tanya, can I come over? Ive left Simon.
Come straight away! Im waiting.
Tanya listened, held my hand, we cried together. Emma, Im so proud of you, she said. Its scary, but youll manage.
I stayed with her for a week, then moved into a tiny studio of my ownmodest but mine. No one demanded reports, no one told me what to eat or when to sleep. I could finally be myself.
Simon called in the first weeks, begging me to return, promising change. Then he threatened, Youll be alone! Nobody needs you! I blocked his number, cut him off, knowing that listening would only pull me back.
At work, Iris noted the change.
You look fresh, Emma! Youre glowing!
Its true. Im happier.
I started caring for myselfnew haircut, manicure, a few nice outfits. One day the manager offered me promotion to senior accountant.
Emma, we need a head accountant. Interested?
Absolutely, I replied.
The salary rose to £4,000 a month. I moved to a larger, brighter flat, painted in soft colours, with fresh flowers on the windowsilla space I owned.
A year after the split, I ran into Simon on the street. He looked older, worn.
Emma
Hello, Simon.
How are you?
Fine. You?
Married again.
Congratulations.
I dont need congratulations. Its over.
He asked for coffee, an apology. I listened, felt his remorse, accepted a brief apology, then walked on. No looking back.
Now, more than a year after I packed those suitcases, I sometimes recall those ten years of fear, the belief that I couldnt survive alone. I realise now that being alone is not frighteningits liberating. I can breathe fully, be myself, stop shaping my life to fit someone elses expectations.
Loneliness still visits, and sometimes I feel a gentle sadness, but its a light sadness, not the suffocating dread of my marriage. I have new friends, colleagues who are almost family. Tanya drops by for tea, we chat late into the night.
Tanya, Im proud of you, she says. Youve rebuilt your life.
It was your push that helped, but I chose the path, I answer. It was a hard, scary decision, but the right one.
I often wonder: what if I hadnt left? Id still be a shadow in a cramped house, tolerating control and humiliation, slowly losing my will. Instead, I found the strength to cut the chains.
Now I truly live. Each day brings small joysa morning coffee in my favourite mug, a walk in the park, a good book before bed. Freedom to choose.
When I finally placed Simons suitcase by the door, fear seized me. It felt like an ending. In truth, it was only the beginninga real, full, free life. Im grateful for the courage to choose myself.
Lesson: freedom isnt a gift you receive; its a decision you make, even when the world tells you otherwise.
