**Life in Order**
*Diary Entry*
“Emma, I forbid you to speak to your sister and her family! They have their own life, and we have ours. Were you calling Natalie again? Complaining about me? I warned you. Dont blame me if something happens,”Benedict gripped my shoulder painfully.
As usual in these moments, I retreated silently to the kitchen, bitter tears welling up. No, I never complained to my own sister about my miserable existence. We simply talked. Our elderly parents needed care, and there was always something to discuss. But Benedict despised Natalie. Her home was peaceful and comfortableunlike ours.
When I married Benedict, I thought myself the happiest woman alive. He swept me up in a whirlwind of passion. His height never bothered mehe stood a head shorter. Nor did I pay much mind to his mother, who stumbled drunkenly through our wedding. Later, I learned she was a seasoned alcoholic.
Blinded by love, I ignored the red flags. But after a year of marriage, doubt crept in. Benedict drank heavily, stumbling home drunk. Then came the affairs. I worked as a nurse, earning barely enough. Benedict preferred his drinking mates over responsibility. He refused to provide for me. Though Id once dreamed of children, I now settled for caring for our pedigree cat. I couldnt bear the thought of bringing a child into this mess. Yet, foolishly, I still loved him.
“Youre a fool, Emma!” my colleague scolded. “Men flock around you, yet youre blind to that drunkard! What do you see in him? You walk around bruised under layers of concealer. Dump him before he kills you in a rage!”
True, Benedict often lashed outbruises, locked doors, fear. My heart raced whenever his key turned in the lock. I thought he hated me for failing to give him a child, for being a bad wife. So I endured the beatings, the insults, the humiliation. Why did I still love him?
His witch-like mother once hissed, “Emma, obey your husband. Love him with your whole heart. Forget your family and friendstheyll only lead you astray.” So I did. I became his puppet.
I craved his apologiesthe knee-begging, the foot-kissing, the roses scattered over our bed. Those moments felt like heaven. Never mind that he stole those roses from a drunkards garden. Wives swooned over stolen flowers, forgiving their worthless men.
I might have stayed forever, patching my shattered illusions, if not for the stranger who appeared one day. “Leave Benedict. Hes the father of my son. Youre barrenuseless,” she spat.
“I dont believe you! Get out!” I snapped.
Benedict denied it, but his silence confirmed the truth.
“Emma, Ive never seen you happy. Trouble?” The hospitals head doctor, Henry Whitmore, surprised me with his sudden concern.
“Everythings fine,” I mumbled, flustered.
“Good. When lifes in order, its beautiful,” he said cryptically.
Rumour said Henrys wife had cheated, leaving him single at forty-two. Unassumingglasses, thinning hair, shortbut his cologne sent shivers through me. I fled his presence, yet his words haunted me. *Life in order.* Mine was chaos.
So I left Benedict. My mother gasped, “Emma! Did he throw you out?”
“No. Ill explain later.” Shame choked me.
Benedicts mother screeched curses over the phone, but I stood tall, breathing freely for the first time. Thank you, Henry.
Benedict hunted me, raging. But his power over me was gone. “Focus on your son, Benedict. Were done.”
I reconnected with Natalie, with my parents. I was myself againno longer a puppet.
“Emma, youre glowing! Like a bride!” my friend teased.
Then Henry proposed. “Marry me, Emma. You wont regret it. Just call me Henrysave Mr Whitmore for work.”
“Do you even love me?” I asked.
“Ah, women need words. FineI love you. But actions matter more.” He kissed my hand.
“Ill marry you. Ill learn to love you too.”
Ten years flew by. Henry proved his love dailyno empty gestures, no grovelling. Just steady care. We never had children. Perhaps I *was* barren. But Henry never blamed me. “We have each other. Thats enough,” hed say when I grieved.
His daughter gave us a granddaughter, Sophieour joy.
As for Benedict? He drank himself to death before fifty. His mother glares at me in the market, but her hatred dissolves harmlessly. Pitiful, really.
Henry and I? Lifes in order. Its beautiful.
**Lesson:** Fear and love shouldnt share the same bed. Real love doesnt bruiseit heals.
