**The Loud Silence**
“He just wont speak to me!” Emily nearly sobbed into the phone. “Ive apologised five times, even bought three types of his favourite cheese! Nothing. He just sits there, glued to his screen, acting like I dont exist.”
“Well, stop dancing around himcome over,” Charlotte suggested. “Let him cool off. Mums baking her famous steak and kidney piesyour favourite. Smells like heaven in here, not frost.”
Emily smiled. She remembered the mouth-watering scent from Aunt Margarets kitchen and the taste of those pies. Every week after school, she and Charlotte would dig in. Theyd been neighbours, classmates, and inseparable friends, dreaming about their futureswhat careers theyd have, the men theyd marry, how their families would stay close.
Emily loved visiting Charlottes lively, chaotic home. It might have lacked order, but it was full of laughter, warmth, and Aunt Margarets cooking. In contrast, Emilys childhood had been quiet and stricther mother cold, the house spotless, friends never allowed over. Her parents never argued, never raised their voices. But her mother knew how to freeze someone out. If she took offence, she could go weeks without speaking to Emily or her father.
Once, at sixteen, Emily had hurled a book at herjust to get any reaction. Her mother had merely raised an eyebrow and walked out. That day, Emily vowed never to live in such suffocating silence.
And now her husband, James, was doing the same.
There had been warning signs before marriage, of course. Once, James joked in front of friends that Emily had “won the lottery” marrying a man with a flat. Shed laughed and teased back, “Whos the lucky one, really?” Hed been deeply offended and stonewalled her for days.
Another time, shed gone to bed early instead of staying up late with his mates. The silent treatment lasted a week. But back then, caught up in love, it had all seemed trivial.
Now, four days into his latest silenceover something as small as her forgetting his preferred cheese at breakfastEmily called Charlotte, desperate to escape the suffocating quiet. It was humiliating, familiar. Her mothers script, one shed sworn never to repeat.
Invited for pies, Emily grabbed her coat and left. If James wanted solitude, fineshed enjoy good company. Aunt Margaret, sharp as ever, soon noticed Emilys downcast eyes. Hearing the reason, she shook her head.
“Listen, love, if you dont nip this in the bud, youll always be tiptoeing. Some folks dont know how to arguejust freeze up. Probably grew up in a house where silence was the weapon.”
“Mine too. I hated it.”
“And did it make them happy? 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, enjoy your life. Make his sulking pointlesssilence needs an audience.”
“You think itll work?”
“Worth a shot. If not, ask yourselfdo you really want to share a bed with someone who treats you like thin air?”
The next morning, watching Jamess turned shoulder in bed, Emily felt something newnot hurt, not despair, but icy resolve. “No,” she told herself. “Not again. Hes not my mother. I wont live like this.”
She remembered Charlottes parentsloud, quick to argue, quicker to laugh. “Two hours tops,” Charlotte had once said. “Never seen them sulk longer.”
Two hours. It sounded impossible. But it was a start.
That evening, after James ate alone in front of the telly, Emily switched it off and sat across from him. “Lets talk. Not about cheese. About us.”
He reached for his phone.
“Im serious. Im done playing these games. Silence isnt solving anythingits cruelty.”
“Leave me alone,” he muttered.
“Fine. I will. But know this: from tomorrow, Im out of this charade. You stay silent? Then youve nothing to say. Ill live my lifecook for myself, see friends, enjoy my time. Youll be my flatmate. If thats what you want, carry on.”
She walked away. No pleading, no tears. Just new rules: her life wouldnt pause for his sulks.
James scoffed and turned the telly back on.
Next morning, no breakfast waited. He drank coffee in silence and left. No dinner after work, no questions about his day. Emily chatted loudly with Charlotte, planning a cinema trip.
Later, she approached him. “Youre angryfine. We all get upset. But lets set a limit: two hours. Its seven now. At nine, we talkcalmly. If not, the problem isnt meits your refusal to speak. And then Ill draw my own conclusions.”
James stared. She was stealing his weapontime.
“Thats ridiculous.”
“No, ridiculous is adults pretending the other doesnt exist for days. Nine oclock.”
He didnt come at nine. But at eleven, climbing into bed, he broke first. “Youre acting like some shrink from your dramas. Its stupid.”
Emily breathed deep. A week ago, shed have snapped or wept. Now, calmly: “It hurts when you shut me out. I feel invisible. Ill listen, apologise if Im wrong. But I wont spend days guessing.”
James stayed quietbut it was thoughtful now, not icy.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Forgetting the cheeseits disrespectful.”
“Forgetting cheese means I dont respect you?” she asked gently. “Or that Im human and forget things sometimes?”
He had no answer. His grievance sounded petty aloud. Next morning, he cooked breakfast for two.
“Truce?” she checked.
He nodded.
“Brilliantactions speak louder!” she beamed. “Ill make your favourite roast tonight.”
Six months on, the silent spells havent vanishedold habits die hard. But now, there are rules.
“You sulking?” Emily asks lightly when James withdraws. “Alright. Two hours. Then we talk.”
And it works. He stews, cools off, then returns: “I overreacted,” or “This bothered me.” Sometimes he takes a whole day. Emily doesnt fussshe fills her time elsewhere, waits for his peace-offering breakfast.
Shes learned this: escaping a toxic script isnt enough. You must rewrite the rulesand stick to them.
