The wedding photos were perfect: Ophelia in her lovely white gown, looking small and feminine beside her giant husband. At least Mpho had agreed to wear a suit and tie.

She put them up on social media and everyone she knew posted back their congratulations. Tendai and Ilana wrote: “Wonderful news, Ophelia! We knew you’d find your soul-mate. Hope you’ll be as happy as we are!”

Even Jethro left a post. No words, just a sad-face emoji.

Ophelia made a blow-up poster of her favourite photo and put it up behind their bed: the two of them standing beside a large tree, facing each other, holding hands.

But Mpho made her take it down.

“What were you thinking, wearing high heels for the wedding? You should know better, a great big lump like you. When you are already so over-grown, why would you make yourself look taller?”

Over the months that followed, Ophelia noticed more and more how Mpho’s eyes slid away from her when they were out. He was always looking over her shoulder. Her right shoulder, her left shoulder. And when she turned, she’d see what he was looking at. Usually some woman off in the distance. Always a smaller woman, a tiny petite feminine woman.

Mpho didn’t seem ashamed at being caught out.

“Isn’t she a doll?” he’d say. “What a cute little package! Imagine unwrapping that!” As if Ophelia was one of his guy-friends and not his wife at all.

But there were good times. Whenever they walked down the street together, with Mpho towering over her. Whenever he hugged her and made her feel small and delicate and protected. Those were still lovely moments.

She tried to explain that to Thandeka. But Thandeka was not impressed.

“You should leave him, Ophelia. He’s no good for you. You’ve changed so much. You hardly ever smile now. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

And that was when Ophelia said aloud: “Beggars can’t be choosers. When you are an elephant like me, you have to be grateful that anyone wants you!”

That made Thandeka furious. “See? See what he has done to you? Ophelia, I can’t bear to watch this any longer.”

After that, Thandeka stayed away. And stopped calling.

And then came the incident with the orange soufflés.

It was a Saturday afternoon. And Ophelia decided: she was going to finally, finally bake orange soufflés that rose as high as Mrs Pitlo’s did. Yes, she was determined!

Mpho was in the lounge watching some boxing match. She could hear him yelling at the TV. But at least that would keep him out of the kitchen.

Ophelia gathered all the ingredients together. Gently, slowly, she mixed the milk and the orange juice and the sugar and flour. She whisked the egg-whites and then folded them, gently, slowly, into the mixture. Then poured the mixture into the orange skins waiting there on the baking tray.

The oven was just the right temperature, so she slid the baking tray in and gently, slowly, closed the oven door. She stayed right there beside the oven, not daring to walk across to the kitchen table. And yes, the soufflés were rising. Every minute that ticked by, they rose a little higher. And their tops were slowly turning golden brown.

Just a few more minutes and they’d be done! Ophelia was so proud of herself.

And that was when the boxing match stopped for an ad break. Mpho appeared at the door, wanting a beer from the fridge.

“Wait! Just wait a few minutes,” she begged.

Instead he stomped into the kitchen. “Don’t tell me what to do in my own house!” he said, and roughly he pushed her against the oven.

***

Tell us what you think: Will this be the final straw for Ophelia?