You Married Me Because I’m ‘Convenient’! So What? — He Shrugged. — Is That Such a Bad Thing?

“You said today you married me because I was ‘convenient’!” Sophie clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white.

Mark shrugged, barely looking up from his newspaper. “Whats wrong with that?”

“For Gods sake, are you wearing that old dressing gown again?” He grimaced as he straightened his cufflinks, as if preparing for battle.

She froze, the steaming mug of tea in her hands burning her fingertips, but she didnt pull away.

“Its comfortable.”

“Exactly,” he snorted, adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. “Like everything else about you.”

Sophie lowered her gaze. The tea had stopped steaming. The dark surface reflected the ceiling like a broken mirror.

“Mark, you”

“What?” He jangled his keys impatiently, the metal clinking against his wedding ring.

“Never mind.”

The front door slammed shut so hard the porcelain on the shelf trembled.

***

Theyd met at work. She was a quiet, unassuming accountant who always tucked her hair into a messy bun. He was the confident manager whose laughter echoed down the corridors. Mark had courted her with grand gesturesroses with dewdrops on the petals, candlelit dinners where he ordered her steak medium-rare without asking her preference.

“Youre not one of those women who fuss over small things, are you?” hed asked on their third date, smoothing a napkin over her lap.

“No,” shed smiled, ignoring the warning bells.

“Good. My ex was always making a scene”

She hadnt thought much of it. Then came the wedding, the children, the house. Everything was as it should be.

Except when she tried on a dress with bare shoulders, hed say, “Thats not really your style.” When she applied lipstick, hed scoff, “Whats the point? Youre just staying home.” And when she bought a new perfumelight, floralhe wrinkled his nose. “Smells cheap. Like something your mum would wear.”

She stopped wearing it.

For her birthday, he bought her a vacuum.

“The old ones knackered,” hed said, watching her unwrap it. “Youre always sighing when you clean.”

She thanked him. Then stared out the window a long time before the kids called her to cut the cake.

But she stayed silent. Because he was a good man, wasnt he? Didnt drink, didnt hit her, brought home a decent salary.

Wasnt that enough?

***

“Did you ever love me?”

The same evening. The same conversation. Mark glanced away as if checking the window latch.

“Of course I did. Youre the perfect wife.”

“Thats not an answer.”

He sighed, as if explaining basic arithmetic to a child. “Sophie, whats got into you? Were fine.”

“Fine?” Her voice shooknot with tears, but fury finally breaking free. “You said you married me because I was ‘convenient’!”

“So?” Another shrug. “Whats bad about that?”

She studied him as if seeing him for the first timethe tan on his neck from golf weekends without her. The frown line between his brows, not from worry, but irritation at having to justify himself.

“What about Emily?”

Marks face twitched, like a puppet string had been tugged.

“Whats she got to do with this?”

“You loved her.”

“Yes,” he admitted sharply, and in that one word was more feeling than in all their years together. “But she wasnt wife material.”

Something inside Sophie snapped, quiet as a broken heel. You could keep walking, but never the same way again.

“So Im the obedient, practical replacement.”

“Dont be dramatic.” He waved a hand like swatting a fly. “Weve got kids. A home. What more do you want?”

***

She wavered.

Maybe he was right. Maybe love was a luxury, and family mattered more? Sophie stood by the window, watching raindrops smear the glass. Her reflection showed smudged fingerprintsshed stood there so often lately, as if waiting for the world outside to give her an answer.

And Mark? Mark carried on as if nothing had changed.

A week later, seeing shed swallowed her words again, he stopped pretending entirely.

“Pasta again?” He poked his fork disdainfully. “Couldve at least seasoned it.”

“You always said you hated spicy food,” she replied, but the voice wasnt hers anymore.

“So? Emily always cooked proper meals”

Sophie stood abruptly. The chair screeched, leaving another scratch on the flooranother invisible crack in their marriage.

“Go to Emily, then!”

“Oh, give over,” he laughed, and it cut deeper than a shout. “Where would I go? You know Im comfortable with you.”

Thats when she understood.

He wasnt trying to keep her. Not because he trusted her lovebut because he trusted her obedience.

She noticed it everywhere now.

How he no longer corrected her outfitsjust walked past without looking. How his gaze slid over her like she was part of the furniture. How his “calm” days stretched into weeksno arguments, no complaints. Just nothing.

And the worst part? That nothing was louder than any scream.

Clutching the kitchen counter, she realised: he wasnt even angry. Just waiting for her to accept it. Like shed accepted the vacuum instead of a gift. Like shed stopped wearing perfume. Like shed learned not to “fuss over small things.”

Then something inside her turned over.

Not pain. Not rage. Freedom.

Because if someones angry with you, at least you still exist to them.

But when even that stops?

Youre already gone.

***

A month later, she filed for divorce.

Mark didnt believe it at first. He found her in the kitchen, packing the childrens things into boxes, and froze in the doorway as if facing a stranger.

“Youre serious?” Uncertainty crept into his voice for the first time in years.

Sophie didnt look up, carefully folding tiny jumpers.

“Yes.”

“Over nothing?” He stepped forward, and her shoulders tensed.

“Its not nothing,” she said quietly. “Im not a piece of furniture.”

He laughedsharp, nervous.

“Christ, always so dramatic. You exaggerate everything.”

Sophie finally met his eyes. His face was painfully familiar, yet different nowtight lips, narrowed eyes. He was furious, but not because he was losing her. Because his convenient world was cracking.

“Im not exaggerating,” she said. “Im just tired of being convenient.”

Mark hesitated, then snatched his keys off the table.

“Fine! You think Ill struggle?” He glanced at the boxes. “You cant even cook properly.”

She flinchedan old, familiar sting. Once, those words wouldve made her doubt herself. Now? They rang hollow.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “But someone else thinks differently.”

His face twisted.

“Ah, so thats it! Youve got someone lined up?” A bitter smirk. “Look at yourselfwhod want you?”

The old pain clenched inside her. She almost opened her mouth to say, “Youre right, Im sorry,” like she had a hundred times before.

But then she realised: she didnt want to.

“I do,” she said firmly. “I want me.”

Mark stilled. He hadnt expected that.

“Youve lost the plot,” he hissed. “What about the kids? Dont they matter?”

She closed her eyes briefly. The childrenshe thought of them every second.

“Theyll learn what self-respect looks like,” she replied.

“Bollocks!” He waved a hand. “Youre selfish. Weve got a house, stabilityand youll throw it away over nothing?”

Sophie looked at him and realised: he genuinely didnt understand. To him, it really was “nothing.”

“For you, maybe,” she said. “Not for me.”

He turned away, jingling his keys impatiently.

“Suit yourself. Youll regret it.”

On the day she collected her last things, Mark suddenly asked,

“You really think youll find better?”

She paused at the door, feeling the breeze brush her face.

“Better?” She smiled. “I dont know. But at least someone wholl see menot just an empty space.”

He said nothing.

And she stepped outside, where the air smelled of rain and freedom.

***

Two years passed.

Sophie married a man who kissed her shoulder every morning, even when she grumbled it was too early. Who whispered, “Youre beautiful,” when she was in her old dressing gown, hair tangled and shadows under her eyes. Who once saw that same vacuum on sale and laughed, buying her peonies insteadjust because their pink matched her lips.

She wore perfume again. Painted her lips. Chose dresses with bare shoulders. And every time she caught her husband