You said you married me because I’m ‘convenient’—what’s that supposed to mean?” He shrugged. “Is that such a bad thing?

“You said you married me because I was ‘convenient’ today!” Sophie stood in the kitchen, clutching her coffee cup as the steam curled up, burning her fingertips. She didnt flinch.

Max adjusted his tie in the hallway mirror, barely glancing at her. “So? Whats wrong with that?”

She exhaled, staring at the black surface of her coffeeno longer steaming, just a sad little puddle reflecting the ceiling.

“Max, I”

“What?” He jingled his car keys against his wedding ring.

“Never mind.”

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the china cabinet.

***

Theyd met at work. She, a quiet accountant who tucked her hair into a messy bun. He, a loud sales manager whose laughter echoed down corridors. Max courted her with roses still dewy from the florist, candlelit dinners where he ordered her medium-rare steak without asking what she liked.

“Youre not the type to fuss over little things, are you?” hed asked on their third date, smoothing a napkin over her lap.

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

“Good. My ex was always making scenes”

She brushed it off. Then came the wedding, the kids, the house. Everything as it should be.

Except when she tried on an off-the-shoulder dress, hed say, “Bit much, isnt it? Stick to what suits you.” Or when she swiped on lipstick, hed murmur, “Why bother? Youre just at home.” And when she bought a new perfumelight, floralhe wrinkled his nose. “Smells like a discount shop. What, are you channeling Linda from Finance now?”

She stopped wearing it.

For her birthday, he gifted her a vacuum.

“The old one squeaks,” he explained as she unwrapped it. “Youre always sighing when you clean.”

She thanked him. Then stared out the window until the kids called her to cut the cake.

But she stayed quiet. Because he was a good husband, really. Didnt drink, didnt hit her, paid the bills.

Wasnt that enough?

***

“Did you ever love me?”

That same evening. That same conversation. Max looked 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, why are you making this a thing? Were fine.”

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

Max shrugged. “And? Is that so bad?”

She studied himthe tennis tan from weekends with colleagues, the frown line from irritation, not worry.

“What about Kate?”

His face twitched, like a puppet string had been yanked.

“Whats she got to do with this?”

“You loved her.”

“Yeah,” he admitted sharplymore feeling in that one word than in all their years. “I did. But you couldnt build a proper life with her.”

Something inside Sophie snapped, quiet as a broken heel. You could keep walking, but not the same way.

“So Im the obedient, practical replacement.”

“Dont be dramatic,” he waved her off. “Weve got kids. A home. What more do you want?”

***

She wavered.

Maybe he was right. Maybe love was a luxury, and family came first? Sophie stood by the window, watching raindrops blur the glass. Her fingerprints smudged the paneshed stood here so often lately, as if the world outside might whisper an answer.

Max carried on like nothing had changed.

A week later, seeing her silence as surrender, he stopped pretending entirely.

“Pasta again?” He prodded his fork like it was evidence. “Couldve at least seasoned it.”

“You said you hated spicy,” she replied, her voice hollow.

“So you gave up trying?” He pushed the plate away. “Kate always”

Sophie stood abruptly, chair screeching. Another scratch on the floor. Another crack in the marriage.

“If you want Kate, go to her!”

“Dont be ridiculous,” he laugheda sound sharper 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 love, but because he trusted her obedience.

She saw it everywhere now.

In how he no longer “corrected” her outfitsjust walked past, unseeing. In how his gaze slid over her, like she was part of the furniture. In how his “calm” stretched for weeksno fights, no complaints. Just nothing.

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

One evening, gripping the kitchen counter, she realized: he wasnt even angry. Just waiting for her to accept it. Like shed accepted the vacuum. The unscented days. The idea that she wasnt “the fussy type.”

Then something flipped inside her.

Not pain. Not rage. Freedom.

Because if someone stops loving you but still gets madyou still exist to them.

But if they stop even that?

Youre already gone.

***

A month later, she filed for divorce.

Max didnt believe it at first. He found her in the kitchen, sorting the kids clothes into boxes, and frozeas if she were a stranger.

“Youre serious?”

She folded a tiny jumper without looking up. “Yes.”

“Over nothing?”

“Its not nothing.” Her voice was soft, steady. “Im not furniture.”

He laughedsharp, nervy. “Christ, the drama! You always overreact.”

Sophie finally met his eyes. His face was familiar, but she saw it differently now: the tight lips, the narrowed gaze. He was angrynot at losing her, but at his convenient world cracking.

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

Max grabbed his keys. “Fine! You think Ill struggle? You cant even cook properly.”

The old sting. Once, it wouldve made her doubt herself. Now? It just sounded empty.

“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But someone else disagrees.”

His face twisted. “Oh, I see! Theres someone else, is there?” A sneer. “Look at youwhod even want you?”

The old ache flared. She almost replied, “Youre right, Im sorry”like she had a hundred times before.

But suddenly, she didnt want to.

“Me,” she said. “I want me.”

Max blinked.

“Youve lost it,” he hissed. “What about the kids? Dont you care?”

She closed her eyes briefly. The kids Yes, she thought of them every moment.

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

“Selfish,” he spat. “Weve got a house, moneyand youll throw it away over nothing?”

Sophie looked at him and realized: he truly didnt understand. To him, it was nothing.

“To you,” she said. “Not to me.”

He turned away, keys clinking.

“Fine. Youll regret this.”

On the day she collected the last of her things, Max suddenly asked, “You really think youll find better?”

She paused at the door, the breeze brushing her face.

“Better? I dont know. But someone who sees me, at least.”

He said nothing.

She stepped outside, into air that smelled like rain and possibility.

***

Two years later.

Sophie married a man who kissed her shoulder each morning, even when she grumbled it was too early. Who whispered, “Youre gorgeous,” when she was in a ratty dressing gown, hair a mess. Who once spotted that very vacuum on sale, laughed, and bought her peonies insteadjust because their pink matched her lips.

She wore perfume again. Painted her lips. Chose off-the-shoulder dresses. And every time she caught her husbands admiring glance, warmth bloomed in her chestlike ice melting after years.

As for Max?

She ran into him once at a café. Alone at a corner table, nursing coffee, scrolling his phone. A worn photo of their kids beside him.

She meant to walk past, but he looked up. Their eyes met.

And she sawnothing.

No anger. No longing. Not even irritation. Just emptiness, vast and quiet, like a room stripped bare.

He nodded. She smiled. They moved on.

Later, curled against her husband, Sophie realized shed once feared being alone. Now she knew the real fear: being lonely beside someone.

Max never remarried.

Kate, when he called her six months post-divorce, laughed and said shed moved on.

The kids visited on weekends, but their eyes held polite detachment.

Evenings, he drank whisky, staring at the TV where silent people moved.

Because “convenient”