“How can you not see?” Mark slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “This will ruin our marriage!”
“It wont,” sighed Eleanor. She regretted coming. Her husband had asked for help closing up the cottage for winter, and shed agreed. But that meant four hours trapped together in the car.
It was late autumn, cold and damp. Rain had poured all week, but today the sky cleared. Side by side, they readied the cottagepacking away food (they couldnt leave it, or mice would come), sealing the shutters, draining the taps. To Eleanor, it felt like they were draining the life from the place, locking it into hibernation until spring.
As they left, the sun broke through unexpectedly, casting light over the rows of cottages. Theirs stood hunched and lonely. Tears pricked Eleanors eyes. She climbed into the car and fastened her seatbelt.
She felt like that cottage. Still standing. Walls intact. Roof overhead. But no life inside. The windows were dark, barred by shutters. And she, too, was bent under the weight of it.
The marriage suffocated her. Shed wanted out for ages, painfully, but didnt know how to escape the mire.
Eleanor was miserable. Not just the wordit summed up her existence since the second day of marriage.
Back then, Mark had called her over sharply. “You left the bathroom, and now the curtains dripping. Fix it.”
She did. Why couldnt he just do it himself? A seconds work.
“Come here,” hed demanded from the kitchen. “Why did you open another milk carton?”
“I didnt see the first one was open.”
“What were you looking with?”
Shed stayed silent. Her eyes, obviously.
“Are your eyes alright?” he asked, mock-concerned.
“Fine.”
“And the cartons so tiny you missed it?”
Shed cried then, baffled at how such a small thing warranted such cold fury.
He always did this. If she noticed his socks strewn about or the balcony door left open, shed just fix itquietly, without fuss. But hed summon her, ridicule her, demand corrections. “Do you understand?”
And often, hed ask, “Are you even normal?”
By the second year, Eleanor struggled to answer. Maybe she wasnt.
Later, she learned the term *gaslighting*psychological abuse that made victims doubt their own sanity. She felt herself fraying. At work, she was sharp, efficient, flawless. At home, she fumbled, terrified of missteps, which only made them worse.
“Come here,” Mark would bark, and shed shuffle in, shoulders tense. *What have I done now?*
Her coping trick: on bad days, do *something*. Tidy a shelf, bake a cake, iron the sheets. When despair loomed, shed cling to that small achievement. *Today wasnt wasted. Lookneat shelves. Folded jumpers.*
“What are you staring at the windowsill for?” hed snap.
Shed cleared the clutter thereher lifeline.
Or: “Why are you eyeing the wardrobe?”
Shed arranged the dresses, rolled the socks, stacked the tights.
“Are you mental?”
Then came the job offer. Another city. Four hours away.
She accepted instantly, giddy. It felt like divorce, but the choice wasnt hersit was circumstance. Perfect.
Mark was livid. At her agreement, at her deciding alone.
“This will ruin our marriage!” he yelled.
“Not this.”
*Not this.*
Once, at a childs birthday party, thered been a science show. The entertainer asked, “At what temperature does liquid nitrogen boil?”
The kidsbarely fivejust blinked. The adults didnt know either.
“Minus 196 degrees! And which country invented ice cream? Hint: Chi Chi”
“Kinder?” guessed the birthday boy.
“China!” The entertainer laughed.
Watching, Eleanor realized: this party was meant for older kids. The little ones didnt get it. Her marriage was the same.
Marriage was for grown-ups. Stuffy, stifling. Like a bus with sealed windows because someone might catch a chill. A never-ending tug-of-war between fresh air and drafts.
Shed boarded thinking it a grand double-deckerspacious, scenic, her partner beside her, ready to catch her scarf if it flew away.
Instead, she wondered if she simply wasnt cut out for marriage. Didnt know the answers, wasnt strong enough.
*Distance wont kill us. You dont want to love mejust to torment me. Im always wrong, always not normalby your measure. But I am normal. Youve convinced me a second milk carton is a crime. Its just milk. You dont see me. You smother me with words. All Im good at now is silence or apologies. Our love died long ago. The funerals overdue. Divorce is just the headstone.
Im sealed up in this marriage like that cottage. But its for winterIm trapped for life. And I refuse.
I want that other city. Ill unpack myself there. Ive never been, but its betterbecause you wont be there.
There, milk is just milk. A curtain, just a curtain. Mistakes, just mistakesnot crimes. There, Ill be normal, because only in your eyes am I not.*
She didnt say it aloud.
Often, tormentors dont even know theyre cruel. Proving it to them is pointlesstheyll only prove *youre* the mad one.
The car stopped at a red light.
Eleanor unclipped her seatbelt and stepped out, right there in the road. Because the most dangerous place on earth was staying beside him.
