Silent struggles

Suzanne adjusted her black gown, carefully pulling it down to cover every inch of her bruised skin. The fabric hugged her form, but it felt like a suffocating reminder of her helplessness. She had made sure to wear long sleeves and a high neckline to hide the marks Charles had left, praying no one would notice. Her reflection in the mirror seemed distant, like she was looking at a woman she barely recognized anymore. Her face, though made up, still betrayed the exhaustion in her eyes. She could feel the weight of the day pressing down on her, the exhaustion from last night, the humiliation from this morning, and now the looming dread of the event.

"Get down here, Suzanne!" Beatrice's voice sliced through the air, demanding, harsh. Suzanne could already feel her mother-in-law's eyes boring into her, judging her every move.

Suzanne grabbed her handbag, clutching it tightly as if it might give her the strength she so desperately needed. She hurried down the stairs, her mind racing. But as soon as she stepped into the foyer, she was met with the sight of the maids bustling around, preparing everything. They had already finished their tasks, yet here she was, late and unprepared. She hadn’t even had time to finish her makeup properly.

Beatrice’s voice thundered from behind her. “Late again! You couldn’t even manage your own appearance, could you? You are nothing but a disgrace. You can’t even give Charles a child, and now you’re wasting everyone’s time with your laziness.”

Suzanne winced, biting her lip to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill. She felt so small, so insignificant under her mother-in-law’s cruel gaze. But Beatrice wasn’t done.

“Make yourself useful for once. Finish your makeup and don’t embarrass me tonight.” Her words cut deep, each one a reminder of everything Suzanne couldn’t do.

Suzanne nodded, her heart heavy, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. There was no point in arguing. Beatrice didn’t want to hear it. She turned quickly, heading back to the mirror, doing her best to mask the red flush on her cheeks. The pain of the lashes still lingered, but she focused on applying the makeup, trying to perfect the mask she had to wear tonight.

When Suzanne finally made it down to the car, Beatrice was already sitting in the back, tapping her fingers impatiently against her handbag. Suzanne climbed into the car beside her, feeling the silence stretch between them like a tangible thing.

As the car rolled toward the venue, Suzanne couldn’t help but think about how everything had changed. What happened to the love she once thought she had with Charles? Why couldn’t they walk into events like Sarah and Charles always does, hand in hand, showing the world how happy they were? Sarah had always been her husband's closest friend. They had been inseparable back in high school, sharing everything together. 

When they arrived at the venue, Suzanne stepped out of the car and followed Beatrice inside. The grand ballroom was alive with chatter, laughter, and the soft clinking of glasses. Suzanne’s stomach churned as she stepped into the space, surrounded by familiar faces. It was almost too much to take in. But then, amidst the crowd, she saw Sarah.

“Sarah!” Suzanne managed to force a smile as she walked toward her, trying to act normal, trying to pretend the night wasn’t filled with a thousand painful reminders. But Sarah’s eyes immediately locked onto Suzanne’s face, narrowing in concern.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked quietly, her voice filled with worry.

Suzanne could feel the heat in her cheeks flare, the flush spreading across her face even more under Sarah’s sharp gaze. She quickly turned her head to the side, hoping the makeup she’d applied would mask the signs of her pain. But Sarah wasn’t fooled.

“You’ve been hurt, haven’t you?” Sarah pressed, her voice just above a whisper.

Suzanne’s heart sank, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t want to admit it, not here, not in front of everyone. But Sarah knew her too well.

Before Suzanne could say anything, she felt a presence beside her. Charles. He was standing there with Sarah, holding her hand, looking so comfortable, so familiar. Suzanne blinked, her mind scrambling to understand the scene before her. Her best friend, her husband, together in a way that seemed so natural, so effortless. Why couldn’t things be that way between her and Charles?

“Is everything alright, Suzanne?” Charles asked, his voice laced with a hint of indifference. He didn’t look at her the way he used to. There was no warmth in his eyes, no affection. Just coldness.

Sarah smiled warmly at him, but it was clear there was something between them—something Suzanne wasn’t privy to anymore. Suzanne looked away, her heart sinking lower with each passing second.

Beatrice’s voice cut through the moment, her sharp tone drawing attention to herself. “You look lovely tonight, Sarah,” she said, her eyes gleaming with a mix of admiration and something else, something colder. “Such a perfect woman. Always so poised, so well-behaved. You truly know how to make an impression.” Beatrice’s words were meant to praise, but Suzanne could feel the underlying jab, the insinuation that Suzanne had failed to meet those same expectations.

Sarah’s smile faltered, but she was quick to recover. Suzanne could feel the tension building, the subtle competition between her and Sarah. It was always there, but tonight it felt more pronounced than ever. Sarah was everything Suzanne wasn’t—perfect, composed, and, at least from what Suzanne could see, loved by everyone, including Charles.

“Thank you, Beatrice,” Sarah replied, her smile smooth and polite. “It’s always a pleasure to attend these events with you.”

Suzanne couldn’t stand it anymore. The suffocating tension, the pitying glances, the constant reminder of everything she wasn’t. She felt her stomach turn, the sharp pang of nausea creeping up her throat.

“I’m not feeling well,” Suzanne muttered, her voice shaky as she turned away from the group, covering her mouth with her hand. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t pretend.

She felt her stomach churn again, and before she could stop herself, she turned and bolted for the exit.

She rushed toward the bathroom, hoping no one would notice, hoping for just a moment of peace. She slammed the door behind her, her breathing shallow and panicked. The room felt too small, too confining. She stumbled toward the sink, barely making it in time as her stomach lurched, and she emptied its contents into the basin.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she leaned against the cold porcelain. She felt utterly alone, her world falling apart around her. Everything she had tried to hold together—her marriage, her dignity, her strength—was unraveling. And all she could do was stand there, broken, in the midst of it all.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, feeling the tears now freely falling down her cheeks. The humiliation was unbearable, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t face the crowd, couldn’t face her mother-in-law’s disappointed stare, couldn’t even face Sarah without feeling like a failure.

The door to the bathroom creaked open, and Suzanne’s breath caught in her throat.

Beatrice’s voice followed her in, harsh and sharp. “What on earth is wrong with you now?” She didn’t even bother to mask the irritation in her tone. “What do you think people are going to say?”

Suzanne couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even look at her mother-in-law. The sight of Beatrice’s cold eyes, the way she always belittled her, made it impossible for Suzanne to form a single word.

“Answer me!” Beatrice’s voice rose with impatience.

Suzanne closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. She wanted to scream, to lash out, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. Beatrice would never understand. She would never care.

The door opened behind Beatrice, and Sarah stepped in, concern still etched on her face. "Suzanne, are you okay?" she asked, her voice softer this time. Suzanne couldn’t bring herself to meet her gaze.

Beatrice shot Sarah a glare before turning back to Suzanne. “She’s just being dramatic. Always with the theatrics.”

Suzanne stood there, trapped between them, feeling like a child caught in the middle of a battle she couldn’t win. She couldn’t take it anymore. She pushed past both women, her hands trembling as she reached for the door.

Beatrice’s voice followed her, cutting through the silence. “Where do you think you’re going, Suzanne?”

“I can’t… I can’t do this anymore,” Suzanne whispered, her voice breaking as she stepped out of the bathroom, her body trembling with exhaustion and frustration.

But she didn't walk too far when her legs gave way, and before she could stop herself, she collapsed to the floor. The room spun around her, her breath shallow and unsteady. She tried to speak, but no words came. Her head swam, and the darkness closed in as everything went black.