“How can you not see?” her husband slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “This will ruin our marriage!”
“It wont be this that ruins our marriage,” sighed Evelyn.
She regretted coming.
He had asked for her help closing up the country cottage for winter, and shed agreedbut that meant four hours trapped together in the car.
It was late autumn, the air sharp with cold. Rain had fallen all week, but that day, the clouds had parted. Side by side, theyd prepared the cottage: clearing the rooms, sealing the grains (lest mice find them), stuffing cracks in the shutters, draining the basins.
To Evelyn, it felt as though they were draining the life from the place, locking it into a slumber until spring.
They were about to leave when, quite unexpectedly, the sun broke through, casting gold over the garden plots. Their cottage stood hunched and lonely in the light.
Tears pricked her eyes.
She climbed into the car and fastened her seatbelt.
In that moment, she was the cottage.
Still standing. Walls intact. Roof holding. But no life inside. The windows dark, the shutters nailed tight.
And just as hunched.
Her marriage stifled her.
She had wanted a divorce for yearsachingly, desperatelybut didnt know how to claw her way free.
Evelyn was miserable. Not just in passing, but in a way that had settled into her bones by the second day of their marriage.
That morning, hed summoned her and scolded her coldly:
“You left the bathroom, and now the curtains dripping onto the floorfix it.”
She had. Why couldnt he have done it himself? A single second of effort.
“Now come here,” hed called from the kitchen. “Why did you open another carton of milk?”
“I didnt see the first one was already open.”
“What were you looking with?”
Shed said nothing. What did he mean? Her eyes!
“Is your eyesight all right?” he asked, mock-concern in his voice.
“Its fine.”
“And the milk cartonis it so small you couldnt possibly see it?”
Shed cried then, bewildered. What crime had she committed to warrant this? Such venom over something so trivial.
He did this often. If she noticed his scattered socks or an open door, she simply fixed it. Silently. No interrogation, no humiliation.
But he would summon her, ridicule her, force her to correct herself, then demand: “Do you understand?”
And always, always, the question: “Are you even normal?”
By the end of her second year as his wife, Evelyn found it harder to answer. Perhaps she wasnt.
Later, she learned the word “gaslighting.”
Psychological torment that made a person doubt their own mind. That whisper: *Maybe there is something wrong with me.*
She felt herself slipping.
Every move she made was wrong, and fear only made her fumble more.
“Come here,” hed bark from another room, and shed go, shoulders tensed.
*What have I done now?*
And yet, at work, she was sharp, efficientflawless under pressure.
Evelyn had a trick for surviving bad days.
Do *something*. Anything. Sort a shelf, bake a pie, fold the laundry.
When the weight grew unbearable, shed cling to that small task. *I didnt waste the day. Looka tidy shelf. Neatly folded sheets.*
During their fights, when self-doubt churned inside her, shed fix her eyes on whatever shed accomplished.
“Why are you staring at the windowsill?” hed snap.
Because shed cleared it. And it was her lifeline.
Or:
“Whats so interesting about the wardrobe?”
Because shed arranged the dresses, stacked the jumpers, rolled the socks into careful spirals.
“Are you insane?”
Then came the job offer.
Another city. Four hours away.
She accepted at once, giddy with relief.
Like a divorce, but one decided by circumstance.
Perfect.
He was furious. At her choice. At her daring to decide alone.
“This will ruin our marriage!” he shouted.
“Not this.”
Not this.
Once, Evelyn attended a childs birthday party. The entertainer hosted a cryo-show, letting the children make ice cream.
“At what temperature does liquid nitrogen boil?” he asked cheerfully.
The childrenfour or five years oldstared blankly. The adults didnt know either.
“Minus 196 degrees! And which country invented ice cream? Heres a hintChi Chi”
“Kinder?” guessed the birthday boy.
“China!” The entertainer laughed.
Watching, Evelyn realized: this celebration was meant for older children. The little ones didnt understand.
Her marriage was the same.
Marriage was for grown-ups. Dull. Suffocating. Like a bus with sealed windows because someone feared a draft.
An endless tug-of-war between fresh air and stagnation.
A desperate urge to escape because the ride had long since lost its purpose.
When Evelyn stepped into this marriage, shed imagined a grand double-decker busspace to breathe, a scenic route, a companion whod catch her scarf if the wind took it.
Instead, she wondered if she simply wasnt cut out for marriage. Too naive, too weak to endure it.
*Distance wont kill us. What will is that you dont want to love meonly to break me. Every move I make is wrong. Im “not normal” in your eyes. But I am. Youve convinced me that a second milk carton is a crime. Its just milk. You dont see me. You smother me with words. All Ive learned is silence. Or excuses. Our love died long ago. The funerals over. Divorce is just the headstone. I dont need it, but its proper.
Im sealed in this marriage like our cottage. But its only for winter. For me, its for life. And I refuse.
I want that other city. There, Ill pry myself open. Ive never been, but it must be betterif only because you arent there.
There, my milk will just be milk. My curtain just a curtain. My mistakes just mistakes, not crimes. There, Ill be normal, because the only madness is in your reflection of me.*
She didnt say it aloud. Only thought it.
Often, tormentors dont know theyre cruel. Theyll never see the truthonly convince their victims theyre the ones at fault.
The car stopped at a traffic light.
Evelyn unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped out onto the road.
Because the most dangerous place in the world was beside him.
