You Said You Married Me Because I Was ‘Convenient’—Is That Supposed to Be a Compliment?” He Just Shrugged.

**Diary Entry**

*July 12th, 2024*

“You said you married me because I was *convenient*!”
“So what?” He shrugged. “Is that bad?”

“Are you wearing that old dressing gown *again*?” Edward sneered, glancing at Emily as he fastened his cufflinks like armour before battle.

She froze, coffee cup in hand. Steam curled thinly upwards, scalding her fingers, but she didnt pull away.

“Hes convenient.”

“Yeah, convenient,” he huffed, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “Like everything else about you.”

Emily lowered her gaze. The coffee had stopped steaming. The surface turned black, reflecting the ceiling like a shattered mirror.

“Ed, you”

“What?” He jangled his keys against his wedding ring.

“Nothing.”

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

***

Theyd met at work. She was the quiet accountant who tied her hair in a messy bun; he was the brash manager whose laughter echoed through corridors. Edward wooed her properlyroses with dewdrops, 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,” Emily smiled, ignoring the warning bells.

“Good. My ex was always making scenes…”

She dismissed it. Then came the wedding, the children, the houseeverything *normal*.

Only sometimes, when she tried on an off-shoulder dress, hed say, “Stick to something simpler. Thats not *you*.”

Or when she touched up her lipstick, hed mutter, “Why bother? Youre just at home.”

Once, when she bought floral perfume, he wrinkled his nose: “Smells like a cheap shop. Trying to copy Linda from accounting?”

She stopped wearing it.

For her birthday, he gifted her a vacuum.

“The old one squeaks,” he said, watching her unbox it. “Youre always sighing while cleaning.”

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

But she stayed quiet. He was a *good* husband, wasnt he? Didnt drink, didnt hit her, brought home money.

Wasnt that enough?

***

“Did you ever love me?”

Same evening. Same conversation. Edward avoided her eyes, as if checking the latch on the window.

“Of course Youre the perfect wife.”

“Thats not an answer.”

He sighed, as if explaining basic arithmetic. “Emily, why the drama? Were *fine*.”

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

“So?” He shrugged. “Whats wrong with that?”

She studied him like a stranger: that tan from tennis with colleagues, never with her. That furrowed brownot from worry, but annoyance at having to justify himself.

“What about Claire?”

Edwards face twitched, as if tugged by an invisible thread.

“Whats she got to do with this?”

“You loved her.”

“Yeah,” he admitted sharplymore feeling in that one word than in all their years. “But she wasnt *wife* material.”

Something inside Emily snapped softly, like a broken heel: you could still walk, but not the same way.

“So Im the obedient replacement.”

“Dont be dramatic,” he waved, swatting a fly. “Weve kids. A home. What more do you want?”

***

She hesitated.

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

And Edward Edward carried on as if nothing had changed.

A week later, seeing her quiet again, he dropped the act entirely.

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

“You said you hate spice,” she replied, her voice hollow, as if someone else spoke.

“So? Claire always”

Emily stood abruptly. The chair screeched, leaving a scratchanother invisible crack in their home.

“Go to Claire, then!”

“Dont be daft.” His laugh cut deeper than a shout. “Where would I go? Youre *convenient*.”

Then she understood.

He wasnt trying to keep her. Not because he trusted her love, but her obedience.

She noticed it everywhere now.

How he no longer “corrected” her outfitsjust walked past, unseeing. How his gaze slid over her, as if she were part of the furniture. How his “calm” stretches lasted weeksno fights, 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. He was just waiting for her to submitlike she had with the vacuum, the perfume, the “dont fuss” mantra.

Then something inside her *shifted*.

Not pain. Not rage. *Freedom*.

Because if theyre angry, you still exist.

But when even the anger stops?

Youre already gone.

***

A month later, she filed for divorce.

Edward didnt believe it at first. He found her in the kitchen, packing the childrens clothes, and frozeas if facing a stranger.

“Youre serious?” His voice wavered for the first time in years.

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

“Over *nothing*?”

“Its not nothing.” Her voice was quiet. “Im not furniture.”

He laughedsharp, nervous.

“Always so dramatic!”

Emily finally met his eyes. His face was painfully familiar, yet different now: tight lips, narrowed eyeshe was furious, not at losing *her*, but his *convenience*.

“Im done being convenient.”

He scoffed, grabbing his keys.

“Good luck finding someone better!”

She flinchedan old reflex. Once, his words wouldve made her doubt herself. Now? They rang hollow.

“Maybe not better,” she said. “But someone who *sees* me.”

He left.

She stepped outside, where the air smelled of rain and possibility.

***

Two years passed.

Emily remarrieda man who kissed her shoulder each morning, even when she grumbled about the hour. Who whispered, “Youre beautiful,” when she was in that old dressing gown, hair tangled, eyes tired. Who once, spotting that same vacuum on sale, laughed and bought her peonies insteadbecause they matched her lipstick.

She wore perfume again. Painted her lips. Chose off-shoulder dresses. And every time her husband looked at her with quiet wonder, something thawed inside hersomething long frozen.

As for Edward

She bumped into him once at a café. Alone at a corner table, stirring coffee, staring at his phone. A worn photo of their children lay nearbyedges frayed from handling.

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

And she saw*nothing*.

No anger. No longing. Just emptiness, vast and still, like a window in a room stripped bare.

He nodded. She smiled. They moved on.

Later, curled against her husband, Emily realised shed once feared loneliness. Now she knewthe true fear wasnt being alone.

It was being lonely with someone beside you.

And Edward?

Edward never remarried.

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

The children visited on weekends, but their eyes grew politely distant.

Evenings, he poured whisky and stared at the TV, where silent figures moved.

Because *convenient* women leave.

Loved ones stay.

But to be loved, you must first learn to love.

**Lesson learned too late.**