Did we drive her away? Sam asked between hiccups, his eyes brimming. Does Mum not love us any more? Is she leaving because were a bother?
His brother, Arthur, glanced askew at Margaret, who was packing her suitcase with such a mournful sigh that even the walls seemed ready to weep. The woman froze, her shoulders sagging. She could no longer tell whether it was conscience or sheer exhaustion that weighed her down.
It had all started with a harmless joke from her husband. The night before, Margaret had announced she intended to spend International Womens Day on her own, away from the family. What a commotion that caused, thought Anthony, who couldnt quite stop himself from voicing his thoughts, then decided to rib the kidsfiveyearold Sam and sevenyearold Arthur.
Did you hear, lads? Mums packing up and heading off. Weve worn her out, havent we? Anthony said in a breezy, almost cheerful tone, though a thin edge of sarcasm slipped through.
The children went pale. Arthur furrowed his brow, Sams eyes went round.
Shes really going forever? the younger asked, bewildered.
Well, I dont know. Not yet. But who knows? She might get used to the idea and actually walk out on us, Anthony shrugged.
To him it was all banter. To Sam and Arthur it was a crisis. Sam burst into tears, and Emilyyes, the one who always seemed to have a calming wordspent the whole evening soothing him. She hoped Anthony had learned his lesson, but the next day the same routine began.
Come on, Sam, dry your eyes. Dad still loves you. Im not going anywhere, just off to work, Anthony replied nonchalantly.
Emily nearly lost it herself, halted only by the sight of Sams teary face. She sat beside him and brushed his cheek.
Sammy, its not what you think. I just need one day to be alone, she began, echoing yesterdays explanation. See, Dad spends every Sunday with Uncle Peter and his mates. Mum needs a break too.
Emily couldnt have imagined a time when shed feel drained by the people she loved. Once, she and Anthony were the pictureperfect couple: cycling together, cinema trips, long talks about books. They had a little Sunday tradition of trying a new tea room or pub, tasting whatever the chef dreamed up.
Now Sunday belonged to Anthony. Instead of books, they argued about vaccination schedules and nursery fees. Their outings were limited to school fairs and the odd grocery run.
When Arthur was born, things held together by a thread. Either Anthony or one of the grandmothers would look after him. Emily managed to carve out a few minutes for herself. The second childs arrival, however, tipped the balance. With two youngsters, only Emily seemed to keep the ship afloat.
My dear, I love them both, his motherinlaw would say, but honestly, Im barely coping with one. The two together gave my old rocking horse a proper workoutseven kids survived it, but your little rascals broke it while trying to sit on it together!
Grandmas visits became perfunctory, at best a show of support. She stopped collecting the grandchildren, insisting shed already given enough of herself.
Anthony, for his part, treated time with the kids like a snack with his pint: occasional and only when he felt like it. If he was tired, hed barricade himself in the spare room for the evening.
Whats the problem? Im quietly sitting here, not bothering anyone, hed protest when Emily raised an issue. Its not me, its you. You cant just relax. Youre always wiping and scrubbing. Calm down, have a rest. Youre too tense.
It was easy for him to talk, harder for him to act. Emily knew that if she ever let herself down, shed grow moss on the ceiling. She felt emotionally burnt out. Over time she began to shout more, to snap. The childrens relentless complaintslike the fifth time in two minutes that they didnt want tomatoesirritated her. Her husband, slamming the front door after work, drove her up the wall. Basically, everything around her was a trigger. Yet she held on.
Until Sams birthday.
The three days before, Emily spent her time cleaning and cooking. Sam wanted to invite his nursery friends, which meant also dealing with the parents. She gave the whole flat a militarystyle overhaul, baked two cakes, prepared salads, marinated the meat, and plotted a schedule that would finally let her snooze a bit.
But fate had other plans.
Sam woke first, tried to rouse his mum.
Sleep! Emily barked. Or sit quietly until Im up. Let Mum get some rest!
Sam whined that he was bored and hungry.
Patience, she snapped, voice tight.
She was so exhausted she could barely lift a foot. Sleep eluded her; Sams wailing didnt help.
Soon Arthur got up. Acting the responsible older brother, he grabbed Sams hand and ushered him to the kitchen. Emily exhaled, hoping she could finally relax, when the clatter of dishes rang out.
She sprang up as if the children had shattered not a plate but her last nerve. The boys scrambled, sweeping up shards. On the counter lay a box of cereal and a bottle of milk; next to the cupboard, a chair. Apparently theyd tried to make breakfast themselves and miscalculated the effort.
I told you what I wanted! Emilys voice boiled over. How many times do I have to say you cant survive five minutes without me? When will you learn to appreciate what I do?
She screamed for three minutes, words spilling out in a frantic torrent. Sam pressed his head into his shoulders. Arthur crossed his arms, eyes downcast. Emily finally stopped when the youngest began to sob, rubbing his eyes with clenched fists.
Alright, alright, settle down Mum will clean up, then well go out for a walk and maybe pop into the toy shop.
She was genuinely frightened. Yes, theyd broken a plate, but shed exploded as if the whole house had collapsed. It wasnt normal.
The next morning, Emily called her friend Linda, a mother of three who, despite juggling a chaotic brood, still had a reputation for keeping her own sanity.
Honestly, dear, youre carrying the whole lot yourself. Let me guessInternational Womens Day is looming, and youll be expected to host both the motherinlaw and your own mum, turning the day into a twoday cooking marathon?
Exactly. What else can I do? Emily sighed.
Wake up, love! Womens Day isnt a cue for you to slave away for the entire family. My sister let me off to the country for a day. Come with metheres a cosy cottage with room to spare.
Emily thought it over and agreed. It sounded sensible. She ordered two novels shed been meaning to read, packed a grocery basket, and told the family her plans had changed.
Her own mother took it in stride, saying, Good on you, get a break. The motherinlaw was surprised but didnt protest. Anthony, however
So youre ditching us? People spend that day with family, not running away.
Emily explained at length that it wasnt a betrayal, just a need for a breather. Anthony didnt agree, but he didnt try to stop her either.
Fine, go wherever you like, even to the moon, he muttered as a parting shot.
Maybe Ill fly there next time, she shot back.
Later, Anthony resumed teasing the kids, which finally snapped Emilys patience. When Sam and Arthur finally fell asleep, she slipped into the living room and confronted her husband.
Listen, cut the jokes. Because of you the kids now think I dont love them. Did you see Sams eyes this morning?
Its nothing, just little things. Kids forget by sunrise. And whats wrong with you staying home on that day? Its your Sunday, after all.
Emily exhaled slowly. He brushed her off again, as if she were invisible. She was fed up.
You know what, love? All your evenings end in quiet because dads tired. Sunday is your day, but Ive been on the front line for seven years without a real day off. Im not running away; I just need a moment to catch my breath so I dont snap at the kids. Its not themits you. Ive shouted at you a thousand times, yet you hear nothing. Lets try this: Sunday stays yours, but Saturdays are mine. Spend at least one day a week with the children. Theyre yours too, after all.
He dug his heels in, but eventually relented. The alternative was a ridiculous split where each of them would look after one child alonesomething Emily simply couldnt manage.
International Womens Day passed in an unusually quiet way. Theyd arrived at the cottage the night before, so Emily woke not to childrens cries but to the soft rustle of countryside. She lingered in bed with a book, later laughing with Linda about their university antics and brainstorming how to lure the other girls into a techfree hike.
By evening, Margaret was perched on the veranda, breathing in fresh air, watching ants carry away a crumb shed dropped. Her mind was empty yet bright, like a freshly cleaned room with windows flung wide. For the first time in seven years, no one nagged, no one summoned, no one judged her.
Linda raised her glass and clinked it with Emilys.
Heres to you, Margaret. Finally not just a mum, she smiled.
Emily returned the grin. It was only for a day, but she finally remembered what it felt like to be herselfneither mother nor wife, but a person with her own wishes and a right to a breather.
