The dining room fell silent as my mother-in-law scolded me in front of the guests. «Don’t you dare contradict your husband. A womans place is in the kitchen.»
Linano, Mum, its not just a sponge cake. Theres almond flour and orange zest for flavour,» Lina replied softly, watching as her mother-in-law poked at the dessert with a sceptical fork. «The cream is mascarpone-basedthats why its so light.»
«Light, yes, but not sweet enough,» snapped Margaret, pushing the plate away. «In my day, cakes were properrich, sugary, and filling. This? Its just air. You cant feed guests with this. Anthony, tell her.»
Anthony, Linas husband, cleared his throat awkwardly. Seated at the head of the table in their new spacious flatbought with the help of his parentshe avoided his wifes gaze.
«Mum, come on, its lovely. Lina worked hard,» he mumbled, shoving a large forkful into his mouth. «Honestly, darling, its delicious.»
Lina felt something tighten inside her. *Worked hard.* As if shed slapped together a childs craft project, not a delicate dessert shed perfected over weeks. Before marriage, her baking had been her pride. Friends ordered cakes for birthdays, and she dreamed of opening her own little patisserie one day. When they first met, Anthony had raved about her talent, calling her his «kitchen fairy» and «magician.» Hed devour half a cake in one sitting, swearing hed never tasted anything better.
But after the wedding, everything changed. They moved closer to his parents, and Margaret became a constant presence. At first, her visits were harmlesshomemade jams, the odd bit of advice. Lina, whod lost her mother young, had welcomed the attention. But soon, advice turned to commands, and concern became control.
Margaret barged into their bedroom without knocking, inspected the bathroom for dust, rearranged the kitchen to her liking. She lectured Lina on ironing Anthonys shirts («inside out, so the collar doesnt shine»), making proper Sunday roast («only buy meat from the butcher, none of that supermarket rubbish»), and raising their five-year-old son, Alfie («dont let him cryyoure raising a soft lad»).
Lina endured it. She loved Anthony and wanted peace. She told herself Margaret was just old-fashioned, meant well. And Anthonys response to every complaint? *Just bear with her, Lin. You know how she is. She doesnt mean harm.*
Tonights dinner was another test. Margaret had arrived unannounced, as usual, catching Lina mid-bake. All evening, shed watched like a stern examiner, and now, before the whole family, she delivered her verdict.
«Im not saying its inedible,» Margaret relented, noticing Linas expression. «But next time, dont skimp on the sugar. Men need something hearty. Right, son?»
Anthony nodded, finishing his slice. Lina stood silently and began clearing the table, her throat tight. The sting wasnt just from Margarets wordsit was Anthonys silence. He hadnt defended her. Just agreed to keep the peace.
When Margaret finally left, Anthony wrapped his arms around Lina from behind.
«Lin, dont take it to heart. Mums just set in her ways. The cake was brilliant, honestly.»
«Then why didnt you say so?» she asked quietly, not turning.
«Whats the point arguing? She wont budge. Easier to agree and move on.»
«Easier for *you*,» she said bitterly. «Anthony, I feel like a servant in this house. Like my thoughts dont matter.»
«Here we go again,» he sighed, letting go. «No one thinks that. But Mums the head of the family. Shes lived a lifeshe knows best.»
Lina turned to him. His eyes held no support, no empathy. Just weariness, a desire to end the conversation.
«And me? Do I know nothing? Are my feelings irrelevant?»
«Lina, not now. Im knackered. Just add more sugar next time, all right?»
He walked off to the bedroom, leaving her in the kitchen filled with expensive appliances Margaret had chosen. Lina felt like a stranger in her own home. Her dream of a little bakery now seemed childish. What bakery, when she couldnt even bake a cake to please her own family?
Weeks passed. Lina played the perfect wife and daughter-in-law. Up early, breakfast for Anthony and Alfie, school runs, cleaning, cooking. More sugar in pies, more butter in roasts. Ironing shirts inside out, meat only from the butcher. Silent when Margaret lectured her.
Anthony was happy. The house was peaceful. He praised her cooking, kissed her goodbye, oblivious to the emptiness in her eyes.
Then came her father-in-laws 60tha grand celebration at their country house. Guests included relatives, friends, business associates. Margaret took charge, assigning Lina the kitchen.
«Right, Lina,» Margaret handed her a long list. «Menus here. Must be perfectionimportant guests. None of your airy desserts. Make a proper Victoria sponge, treacle tart, beef Wellington, canapés… Start prepping now.»
Lina took the list. Dozens of dishes. Shed never manage alone.
«Margaret, maybe we could order some things? Im not sure I can do it all justice.»
«*Order?*» Margarets eyebrows shot up. «In this family, we cook properly. So guests see what a capable wife Anthony has. Its about pride. If you cant handle it, Ill call Aunt Joan. But youd better prove yourself.»
The last words were a challenge. And Lina accepted. Shed show themMargaret, Anthony, herselfthat she wasnt just *trying*. She could be the best.
The week before the party, she barely slept. Days with Alfie, nights baking, marinating, chopping. The kitchen became her battleground.
Anthony, seeing her exhaustion, tried to helpclumsily.
«Lin, maybe rest? You look pale.»
«No time,» shed say. «Your dad deserves the best.»
On the day, the house buzzed. Guests arrived, toasts were made. Lina darted between kitchen and dining room, serving, refilling glasses, stretched thin.
The table groaned with food. Guests praised it, especially the men.
«Margaret, James, your daughter-in-laws a marvel!» boomed one of Jamess business partners, devouring the beef. «A wife like thats a treasure!»
Margaret beamed, taking credit.
«Shes learning,» she said smugly.
Lina heard it all, and it ached. No one saw her sleepless nights. Her labour was Margarets triumph.
Later, as guests relaxed, talk turned to businessan investment idea about agritourism. Lina, serving tea, listened. It interested her. Before marriage, shed read widely, followed economics.
«Risky,» James said. «Investing in the countrysidewhod go?»
«I think its a good idea,» Lina spoke up, placing down a fruit bowl. The room turned. «People crave country escapes now. If you offer qualityfarm experiences, workshops, fresh produceit could work. I read about a successful project in the Cotswolds.»
She spoke passionately, forgetting her role as the learning girl. For a moment, she was herself againsmart, informed.
Silence fell. The men stared; women glanced curiously. Anthony flushed, shifting uncomfortably. He shot her a *stop* look.
Then Margarets voice cut like ice.
«Know your place!» she snapped, loud enough for all to hear. «Your job is minding cakes, not mens business. Go check the pudding.»
The words slapped. Humiliation burned. Linas face flushed. She lowered her eyes, unable to bear the stares. Someone coughed awkwardly. James muttered at Margaret. But the damage was done.
She turned and left without a word. Praised for cakes, but put down for speaking.
In the kitchen, she leaned against the wall, eyes closed, fighting tears.
The door opened. Anthony stormed in.
«Lina, *why?*» he hissed. «You know Mum! You embarrassed me!»
She opened her eyes. For the first time, she saw him clearlynot her husband, but a boy afraid of his mother.
«*You?* Embarrassed?» Her voice was steel. «Your mother humiliated me in front of everyone, and you sat silent. *Again.*»
«Stop it! Shes my mother! And shes rightbusiness isnt womens work. Was it so hard to keep quiet?»
She said nothing. Just looked at him, cold.
«Go back to your guests, Anthony. Dont embarrass yourself further.»
He hesitated, then left.
Alone, Lina stared out at the dark garden. Beyond this house was a life where she could be herself. That night, she decided.
The party ended late. Guests left. Lina cleaned silently. Margaret strutted, victorious.
Back in their flat, Lina went to Alfies room. He slept, arms flung wide. She kissed his cheek. «Sorry, love. Mummy wont be weak anymore.»
The next day, while Anthony was at work and Alfie at school, Lina pulled a dusty box from the cupboard. Inside: old recipe notebooks, patisserie books, her culinary diplomaearned before Anthony. She blew off the dust and hung it in the kitchen, replacing Margarets cross-stitch.
Then she opened her laptop and created a page: *Sweet Stories by Lina*. She photographed the last slice of that airy almond-orange cake, wrote a post about her passion, and hit *publish*.
That evening, Anthony returned grumpy. He ate dinner, oblivious to the diploma or the fire in Linas eyes.
«Im seeing Mum tomorrow. She needs help in the garden.»
«Fine,» Lina said calmly.
For a week, she lived two lives. By day, the dutiful wife. By night, a budding entrepreneur. She baked what *she* loveddelicate entremets, elegant petits fours.
Then came her first ordera birthday cake. She baked all night. The customer gasped.
«Its even lovelier than the photo! Thank you!»
Lina pocketed her first earnings. Modest, but priceless. Money for freedom.
That evening, Margaret called.
«Lina, whats this? Aunt Joan saw you across town with a box! Where were you?»
Lina inhaled.
«Working, Margaret.»
«*Working?* Your job is home and family! Is Anthony not providing? You shame us!»
«Im not shaming anyone. Im doing what I love.»
Margaret spluttered.
«Im calling Anthony! Hell put a stop to this!»
«Call him,» Lina said, hanging up.
Half an hour later, Anthony burst in.
«Whats this madness? Mums furious!»
Lina handed him her phone. The screen showed glowing feedback: *»The cake was magic! Mum cried happy tears! Youre an artist!»*
Anthony read it, then looked at her. Her eyes held no fear now. Only certainty.
«I wont stop, Anthony. My place isnt just your kitchen. Its where Im happy. If you dont like that…» She paused, letting it sink in. «…thats your choice. Ive made mine.»
She turned to the window, where a new dayher ownwas beginning. For the first time in years, she breathed freely. She didnt know what would become of her marriage. But she knew one thing: no one would ever tell her where her place was again.
