Ashley was a restless, rebellious soul. To spite her parents, she decided to get married the moment she turned eighteen. Her chosen groom, Mark, was ten years her senior. Her parents were vehemently against such a premature marriage and tried everything to talk her out of the reckless move, but Ashley was unyielding. She packed her bags and walked out the door.
Mark and Ashley got married and started their life together. Ashley's college courses were grueling; she was determined to get her degree, which often meant she had no time for household chores like cooking or cleaning.
"Empty fridge again," Mark grumbled, slamming the freezer door loud enough to make a point.
"I ordered takeout," Ashley replied without looking up. She was hunched over a child psychology textbook, trying to memorize a mountain of terminology for a midterm the next morning.
"I asked you," Mark began, his voice strained with forced patience. "Please, have dinner ready when I get home. Is that really too much to ask?"
"I'm studying," she said, finally glancing at him. "I was gone all week. Couldn't you have studied then?"
"I was studying then, too. And I'm studying now."
"Ashley, I don't want to pick a fight over nothing, but I can't live on Chinese takeout forever!" He slammed his palm onto the table where she was working. "I'm sorry, it's been a long week. I didn't mean to snap."
"It's okay," Ashley answered uncertainty. "I get it. By the way, if it makes you feel better, I didn't order Chinese. I got beef stew and some pot roast."
"Great," Mark sighed.
"I'll cook something tomorrow. After my exam."
"Fine, deal." He kissed the top of her head and headed for the shower.
***
Ashley stayed up all night with her books. Mark had to be at the office by eight to report to his boss. Glancing at the clock, she decided it was time to wake him; he had an hour-long commute and needed at least a coffee before hitting the road.
Feeling a pang of guilt for neglecting his request to cook, she hurried to make four slices of toast, brewed some coffee, and fried a few eggs. Proud of her effort, she headed toward the bedroom to wake her sleeping husband.
"I told her," she heard a muffled voice from behind the door.
Ashley froze and listened. He was clearly talking about a woman, and unless Mark was having an affair, that woman was her.
"No, Mom, listen, I know she has school and exams, but is it really that hard to boil some pasta or grill some chicken? I'm not asking for a miracle. And there's dust on the shelves, the floors are a mess... Look, Mom, I'll call you back later. I've got to get to the office."
Ashley backed away quickly and retreated to the kitchen. He was complaining to his mother about her being a bad housewife. A lump of resentment formed in her throat, but she forced herself to keep it together. She couldn't afford to be a mess right before her exam; the last thing she needed was her marriage sabotaging her grades.
Mark opened the bedroom door and headed straight for the exit, bypassing the kitchen. Ashley turned at the sound of his footsteps and decided to offer him breakfast anyway.
"Are you leaving already?" she asked.
"Yeah, I told you yesterday," Mark said, tying the laces of his impeccably polished shoes.
Pedantic jerk, Ashley thought with a sudden flash of heat.
"Don't you want breakfast? I made eggs and toast, and the coffee's ready." Mark looked up at her, surprised.
"Um, wow, look at you when you actually try," he chuckled. "No, I'm good, but thanks. I'm in a real rush."
"Fine," Ashley shrugged. "See you tonight then?"
"Tonight," Mark said, grabbing his leather briefcase and stepping out the door.
Ashley watched him with a fake smile, then stood at the window as he got into his car and drove away. Still wearing that smile, she walked back to the kitchen and looked at the breakfast she'd made, now growing cold. Then, she let out a scream and swept every plate and mug off the table with both hands.
The crash of shattering ceramic punctuated a cry of despair that dissolved into ragged sobbing. She pressed her back against the wall and slid slowly to the floor, clutching her pounding head. Her face burned from the outburst, and tears wouldn't stop streaming down her cheeks.
After a while, she calmed down. She stared blankly at the puddle of coffee and the mangled eggs on the floor. I should clean that up, she thought distantly.
Getting to her feet, she picked up the shards and cleared away the remains of the breakfast. Then, as if nothing had happened, she headed to campus. She couldn't afford these emotional swings. She was training to be a teacher, after all; this behavior was unacceptable.
The era of teenage rebellion was over; it was time for adult life. She had a husband, she'd be graduating soon, she'd get a job, and maybe she and Mark would have kids. Everything would be fine. Just like everyone else.
***
Ashley aced her exam. After class, she decided to treat her husband to a nice dinner to make amends. A year ago, the idea of "making amends" for something she hadn't done wouldn't have crossed her mind; she would have packed a bag and left, probably after a screaming match.
But that was the past. Now, she had to make her marriage work. She picked out all the ingredients at the grocery store and brought them home. She was exhausted and desperate for a nap, but she was determined to make a great meal for Mark.
She'd sleep for a couple of hours before he got back, but first—the kitchen. Ashley worked hard, and when she finally lay down, she only caught a few minutes of sleep. She'd forgotten to lock the door, but Mark couldn't get into the apartment without the doorbell waking her. She sat up and went to greet him with a smile.
"Are you asleep already?" Mark asked, surprised.
"No, I just lay down for a bit. I was up all night," she said, rubbing her eyes.
"Oh, go back to bed then. I'll shower and join you," he said dismissively.
"Aren't you hungry?"
"I already grabbed dinner at a café. Did you eat?" Ashley realized she hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day; her stomach gave a loud, traitorous growl.
"To be honest, I skipped breakfast and lunch," Ashley smiled. "But I made a surprise for you. I forgot to tell you not to eat out. Come look."
"What's the occasion?" Mark raised a suspicious eyebrow, but Ashley just beckoned him into the kitchen.
He followed her and stared with genuine shock at the array of pots and pans filled with food.
"Wow. You made all this yourself?"
"Of course," she smiled again. "I'm sorry I wasn't more of a 'wife' lately. I hope it's not too late to make it up to you?"
"Are you kidding? The pancakes at that café were terrible. Let's eat like normal people. I love you, honey." He pulled her close and kissed her forehead.
Dinner was filled with awkward silences. Mark asked about her schoolwork, she asked about his office, and then they ran out of things to say. Ashley felt uncomfortable and stiff. She knew it wasn't supposed to be like this. Even her parents, whom she didn't particularly get along with, always found things to talk about over a meal.
"Is it good?" she asked, her tired brain unable to come up with anything better.
"Yeah, you did a good job. Just, please, next time don't be so heavy-handed with the salt, and maybe use a little less oil." Ashley's eye twitched.
Even now, he found something to criticize. She was too exhausted from twenty-four hours without sleep; it only took a single spark to set her off.
"Fine," she said slowly. She stood up and walked over to the kitchen island where a bottle of wine sat.
"Something wrong, honey?" Mark asked.
"Oh, yeah, something's wrong... Everything is wrong!" She threw the wine cork across the room, not caring where it landed. "I'm what's wrong!"
"What are you talking about? What did I say this time?!"
"If it's so important to you that I cook that you have to call your mother to complain about me, then the least you can do is not dictate how much oil I use!" Tears started falling. Again. Ashley wiped them away with her sleeve and took a long swig directly from the bottle.
"And this is how you solve problems? Closet drinking?" Mark clenched his jaw, trying to maintain his composure.
"It's for my nerves," she snapped.
"Right. And you were eavesdropping, by the way."
"You were complaining loud enough that I thought you were talking to a mistress!"
"Enough!" Mark slammed his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle. "Put the bottle down."
"And if I don't? What are you going to do? Show me how you solve problems!" Ashley was hysterical, but she never expected Mark to bolt upright, close the distance in a second, wrench the bottle from her hand, and deliver a sharp slap across her face.
A gasp of shock died in her throat. Her tears dried instantly. She couldn't believe what had just happened.
"You forced my hand," Mark sighed. "I'm sorry, but it was for your own good. From now on, you aren't making any more decisions in this family. Not until you grow up and learn to control yourself. Maybe some anger management classes or a therapist would help..."
"Are you crazy?" Ashley whispered. He hadn't hit her hard—she hadn't even bitten her cheek—but the fact remained. "You hit me... You're the one who needs anger management!"
"That's enough," Mark cut her off. "Go take a shower and go to bed. You need sleep."
"Psycho..." she hissed, but she knew he was right about the sleep. Mark acted as though he hadn't heard the insult.
***
Time passed. Mark's constant nitpicking drove Ashley to the brink of madness, and he always found something. She'd cook wrong, she wouldn't call after class, she'd stay out too late with friends. She realized her husband was trying to control every single aspect of her life.
Talking didn't help. Ashley didn't know what to do; she began to slowly submit to his will just to avoid the conflict.
Then, Mark had a company holiday party. Spouses were invited, which meant Ashley had to endure a long lecture on how to act, how to speak, and how to dress, because Mark was terrified she would "embarrass" him.
"If you're so worried I'll mess up, maybe I shouldn't go at all?" Ashley remarked casually.
"Oh, come on, don't be like that. You won't embarrass me," Mark smiled and hugged her. "We've talked through everything."
A strange shiver ran through her. It was in that moment she realized for the first time that something was deeply wrong with her marriage—and she wasn't the cause.
The party was a success; the guests were happy, and the conversation was pleasant. Ashley was so afraid of saying the wrong thing or drinking too much that she stayed on the periphery and barely spoke to anyone.
Mark, however, decided to live it up. He drank so much that his colleagues had to help him into a taxi. Ashley thanked them, making excuses that this never happened and he must have had an empty stomach. She said her goodbyes and headed home.
He fell asleep on the way, and it took every ounce of her strength to haul him into the house. She was physically spent, so she left her dead weight of a husband on the sofa and went to the bedroom.
She felt sick. Sick because Mark didn't take her seriously. They were adults, they were married, and yet he manipulated her, controlled her every move, while completely failing to hold himself to any standard.
Ashley paced, unable to sleep. For the first time in two years, she decided to call her parents' house and ask her mother for advice. But not tonight; it was too late. She'd call this weekend. With that thought, she finally fell into a fitful sleep.
***
The next morning, she was woken by Mark's irritable groaning. He had a massive hangover and was rummaging through the medicine cabinet.
"Do you need aspirin?" Ashley asked.
"Yeah, that would help. I really overdid it yesterday... though I don't need to ask. Clearly, I did." He sighed heavily and left her to find the pills. "How did we get home?"
"You don't remember anything?" she chuckled. "We called an Uber, your coworkers helped you to the car, and then I helped you to the sofa."
"Wait, what?" His eyes flashed with something dark.
Ashley put the first aid kit back and tried to stay calm as she reached for a glass of water so he could take the medicine.
"What?" she repeated.
"My coworkers had to carry me? And then you just dumped me on the couch?" His nostrils flared with rage.
"Mark, you were wasted, and I was exhausted! I'm sorry I couldn't carry a grown man to the bedroom!"
"Ashley, that was unacceptable," he sighed, stepping toward her in a way that felt like a threat.
She didn't wait to see what he would do. she splashed the glass of water right in his face, darted around the table, and bolted out of the apartment, grabbing nothing but her phone.
The situation had turned critical. Ashley ran for several blocks, turning randomly into alleys just to get away from their apartment.
Truthfully, it was his apartment, a fact he never let her forget when she "misbehaved." The pieces of a terrifying puzzle were coming together in her head. Her husband hadn't "saved" her from her parents' rules; he had put her on an even shorter leash. If her parents were strict, it was for her own good, but Mark was just a tyrant. How had she not seen it before?
She wanted to cry, but she cut herself off. She had to get away from this man; who knew what he was capable of. She checked her banking app. Mark didn't let her spend much, so there were only about fifty dollars in there—enough for a cab and some lunch. It would have to be enough to get to her parents.
She was glad she'd been smart enough not to have a joint account; otherwise, Mark would see the cab fare in real-time and could have frozen the card with one call.
She called a car and headed to her parents' house; she had nowhere else to go. The most terrifying part was that Mark knew that, too, and could be waiting for her there. But luck was on her side; she didn't see his car or him anywhere near the house.
The thought of facing her mother and father made her heart race. They had fought so bitterly when she left. But she had no choice. She couldn't call the police; there was no physical evidence of abuse. But she felt the danger in her soul, and that gave her the courage to ring the doorbell.
Her mother opened the door. She looked stunned to see her daughter after two years, especially dressed like that. Ashley hadn't even had time to change out of her pajamas or swap her slippers for real shoes.
"Ashley?.."
"Mom..." Ashley's lips trembled. She shifted from foot to foot, not daring to step inside.
Her mother understood instantly. Without a word, she stepped over the threshold and pulled her daughter into a hug. Ashley broke down. She had caused this woman so much grief, but when trouble came, she was welcomed back.
She felt a crushing shame for thinking she knew more about life than her parents.
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..."
"It's okay, baby. It's okay. Come inside," her mother said. Ashley's sobs intensified.
She hadn't expected to be forgiven so easily for the late-night calls from the precinct, the rebellion, and everything else.
"How can it be okay?" she sobbed as her mother led her into the kitchen and locked the door behind them.
"You're my daughter. I'm never giving up on you."
"Mom... I'm so sorry!.." Ashley clung to her mother's neck. It took twenty minutes before she calmed down enough to sit at the table.
Her mother poured her some hot tea and put out every snack she could find. They didn't have much money, but they never withheld anything from her.
"What happened?" her mother asked. Ashley sipped the tea and remembered how good it felt to be home.
Finally, she understood the meaning of the word.
"You and Dad were right. About everything," she choked out. "I rushed into it. I should have listened... Oh God, if only I could go back!.."
"Shh, honey," her mother stroked her hand. "We can't go back, but it's never too late to come home."
"Yeah... Thank you for letting me in..."
"Stop that," the woman smiled, refilling the cup.
She felt a mix of emotions. She was overjoyed to see her daughter, but it was clear that things with Mark were even worse than she'd feared.
"We were at a work party last night," Ashley began, knowing her mother wouldn't pry. "Mark got really drunk. I had to ask his coworkers for help. When we got home, I had to leave him on the couch because I couldn't carry him! This morning, he didn't remember anything. When I told him how we got back, he went into this... cold rage."
"Did he hit you?" her mother asked, her face turning to stone.
"No, no! Not exactly," Ashley said. Except for that slap, she added silently.
"Thank God," the woman sighed.
"He just started coming at me... I got scared, threw water in his face, and ran out. That's it."
"Oh, honey..." Her mother shook her head. "You can't live with a man like that."
"I know, Mom! I get it now. I rushed into this stupid marriage. I never should have done it."
"We all make mistakes," her mother shrugged. "The important thing is you're safe."
"Mom... how do I get a divorce?" Ashley looked her mother in the eye. "I don't want to be with him anymore..."
"I think it's best if we handle that from a distance," the woman smiled.
"That's not even all of it," Ashley said, looking down at her cup. Her mother silently poured more tea. "I only realized today that he's a control freak. Everything I did was 'wrong.' The soup was wrong, the floor was dirty, the dust... And he told his mother everything. A thirty-year-old man was complaining to his mother about his eighteen-year-old 'failure' of a wife. And I felt so ashamed... so small. I really thought something was wrong with me."
"I know how hard that is," her mother took her hand. "You are beautiful and smart. I'll teach you everything you need to know. When you find a real man, he won't be able to take his eyes off you."
Ashley managed a small smile. Her mother always knew how to calm her. She was about to thank her again when her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was Mark.
"Is that him?" her mother asked.
"Yeah. I've got this," Ashley said. Her mother had reached for the phone to give him a piece of her mind, but Ashley needed to do this herself. "Hello?"
"Where are you?!" Mark hissed. "Get home right now! I just want to talk, I won't touch you."
"No. I'm filing for divorce," Ashley said quickly, then hung up before he could respond.
Her mother nodded in approval. Mark tried calling several more times, but Ashley turned the phone off. A few minutes later, her mother's phone rang. The woman smirked and answered calmly.
"Hello, Mark?" she said.
"Yes, hi. I'm looking for Ashley, she ran out. Is she with you?"
"She is," her mother replied steadily.
"Good. I'll drive over right now and pick her up."
"You aren't driving anywhere, and you aren't picking up anyone."
"I'm sorry, what?" His voice sounded genuinely shocked.
He clearly thought her parents wouldn't want her back and would be happy to hand her over, regardless of whatever "stories" she told.
"My daughter told me everything. And now I can hear for myself that you think she's a piece of property. Expect the divorce papers. You aren't getting within a mile of her ever again." Her mother hung up and hugged her daughter.
Later, Ashley's father agreed with everything the women had decided; Mark was not the man for her. They divorced through the courts and only saw each other once to sign the final papers, which Ashley didn't regret for a second.
Her only regret was that she had spent so much time cutting out the most important people in her life—her parents. And now, they had a lot of lost time to make up for.
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