“How can you not understand?” Mark slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “This will ruin our marriage!”
“Its not this that will ruin our marriage,” sighed Emily.
She regretted coming. Mark had asked for help closing up their holiday cottage for the winter, and shed agreedbut four hours trapped in a car with him was too much.
It was late autumn, cold and damp. Rain had poured all week, but today the clouds had lifted. Together, they winterised the cottage: packing away dry goods (leaving them out would invite mice), sealing the shutters, draining the taps. To Emily, it felt like they were squeezing the life out of the place, forcing it into hibernation until spring.
Just as they were leaving, the sun broke through, casting gold over the rows of cottages. Theirs looked slumped, lonely. Emilys eyes stung.
She climbed into the car and fastened her seatbelt.
She felt just like that cottagewalls intact, roof in place, but hollow inside. No light in the windows, just shutters nailed tight. And yes, slumped.
The marriage suffocated her. Shed wanted out for years, achingly so. But escaping felt impossible.
“Bad” didnt begin to cover it. From day two, shed been drowning. That morning, Mark had summoned her sharply:
“You left the bathroomwaters dripping from the shower curtain. Fix it.”
She did. Why couldnt he have just done it himself? One seconds work.
“Now come here,” hed called from the kitchen. “Why did you open a new milk carton?”
“I didnt see the open one.”
“Then what were you looking with?”
Silence. Her *eyes*, obviously.
“Are your eyes alright?” he asked, mock-concerned.
“Fine.”
“And the cartons so small you missed it?”
Shed cried then. What crime had she committed to warrant such scorn over milk?
He always did this. If she noticed *his* socks strewn about or *his* balcony door left open, shed just fix itquietly, without interrogation. But hed call her over, ridicule her, demand corrections. “Do you understand?”
And the question he loved: “Are you even normal?”
By year two, Emily struggled to answer. Probably not.
Later, she learned the word *gaslighting*. Psychological warfare that made her doubt her own sanity. Maybe she *was* broken.
At work, she was sharp, efficientflawless under pressure. But at home, she flinched at her shadow.
Her survival trick: on bad days, *do something*. Fold laundry, bake a pie, tidy a shelf. When the weight crushed her, shed cling to that small victory. *Today mattered. Lookclean shelves. Neatly folded jumpers.*
“What are you staring at the windowsill for?” Mark would snap.
But shed cleared it that morning, and it was her lifeline.
Then came the job offer.
Another city. A four-hour flight away.
She accepted instantly, giddy. It wasnt *her* choice to leavecircumstances decided. Perfect.
Mark raged. “This will destroy us!”
“No,” she murmured. “Not this.”
At a childs birthday party once, shed watched a cryo-show where kids made ice cream.
“Whats the boiling point of liquid nitrogen?” the entertainer asked cheerfully.
The toddlers blinked. They barely knew what *nitrogen* was.
“Minus 196 degrees! Now, which country invented ice cream? Hint: Chi”
“Kinder?” guessed the birthday boy.
“China!” the entertainer laughed.
Emily realised then: her marriage was like that show. Made for adults, but she was the child, lost and overwhelmed.
Marriage was a stuffy bus with sealed windows. A fight over oxygen versus drafts. The desperate urge to escape because the destination made no sense.
When shed boarded, shed imagined a double-deckerspacious, scenic, with someone to catch her scarf in the wind. Instead, shed suffocated.
She thought *she* was the problem. Not wise enough, not strong enough.
But the truth?
*Distance wont kill us. You needing me not to love, but to tormentthat will. To you, Im always wrong. Always not normal. But I am. Youve twisted milk cartons into crimes. You dont see me. You smother me with words. Ive mastered silence. Or apologies. Our love died long agowere just tending the grave. Divorce is the headstone. Optional, but final.*
*Im shuttered up in this marriage like our cottage. But its seasonalmines for life. And I refuse. That other city? Ill unseal myself there. Its beautiful because youre not in it. There, milk is just milk. Mistakes are just mistakes. There, Ill be normalbecause I only ever wasnt in your eyes.*
She didnt say it aloud. Some tormentors never realise theyre cruel. Arguing only proved her instability to him.
At a red light, Emily unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out onto the road. The most dangerous place on earth was beside him.
**Lesson:** A cage is still a cage, even if the lock is made of words. Sometimes walking away is the only way to breathe again.
