If youre not working, youll be cooking for us, declares my motherinlaw the moment she steps over the threshold.
Andrew, can you hear me? I cant take this any longer!
Emma stands in the middle of the living room, cradling her sobbing baby Mia in her arms, feeling everything boil inside her. Andrew sits on the sofa, glued to his phone, pretending not to hear either the childs cries or her pleas.
What now? he says without even looking up.
How? I havent slept a wink! Mia has a fever, Ive been rocking her all night. And you were asleep in the spare bedroom, never waking up!
I have a shift tomorrow. I need to get some rest.
And I dont? Am I a robot, expected to be on my feet twentyfour seven?
Andrew finally puts his phone down, irritation flashing in his eyes.
Emma, stop making a scene. Youre at home, you can rest during the day. Im working from morning till night to provide for us.
A lump rises in Emmas throat. At home feels like a vacation, not the endless cycle of dirty nappy changes and sleepless nights.
You know what, she says, gently calming Mia, who finally quiets. Go to sleep. I wont bother you any more.
Andrew gets up and heads to the bedroom without a glance at his daughter. Emma collapses onto the sofa, holding her little one close. At eight months, Mia still wakes at every hour, demanding constant attention, and Emma feels drained to the point of emptiness.
They married three years ago. Back then Andrew courted her, brought flowers, tossed compliments. Emma worked as an administrator at a medical centre, Andrew was a project manager at a construction firm. They lived modestly but happily, until Emma fell pregnant.
At first Andrew was thrilled, talking about wanting a son and a happy family. But once Emma went on maternity leave, his involvement at home dwindled. He spent more time at work or out with friends, and when Mia arrived, he withdrew completely.
Emma knew a newborn stressed everyonesleeplessness, constant crying, exhaustionbut she hoped they would get through it together. Instead, Andrew built an invisible wall between them.
After putting Mia down in her crib, Emma walks to the kitchen. Its half past eleven, and she hasnt had breakfast. The sink is piled with yesterdays dishes, a burnt pot of porridge sits on the stove. She turns on the kettle and starts washing.
Her phone buzzes. A message from Andrew: Mum and Claire are arriving this evening for a week. Have something ready for dinner.
Emma rereads it three times. Her motherinlaw and sisterinlaw, staying a whole week, and he didnt even ask if that works for her.
She replies: Andrew, I have a baby. How am I supposed to look after them as well?
He answers immediately: Dont worry, just be a good host. Theyre family.
Emma throws the phone onto the table. Margaret, the motherinlaw, has always been cool to her, thinking she could have found a better match for her son. Claire, Andrews sister, is a successful businesswoman who runs a boutique salon, proud of being single. Shes looked at Emma with thinlyveiled contempt and, after Mias birth, declared children a burden on career and freedom.
Now those two women will occupy her home for a week.
By evening Emma has tidied the flat, cooked shepherds pie and meatballs, changed Mia into clean clothes. She throws on the first thing she findsa pair of old jeans and a wrinkled tee. She cant even think about her appearance now.
The doorbell rings at seven. Andrew answers; hes just come home from work and collapses on the sofa.
Mum! Claire! Come in!
Margaret sweeps into the hallway, eyeing everything critically. Claire follows, wearing an expensive suit, high heels, a large handbag.
Hello, Emma says, drying her hands on a towel.
Well, hello, Margaret replies dryly, stepping into the sitting room without removing her shoes. Andrew, help with the luggage.
Claire pauses at the door, eyes Emmas disheveled look.
Have you been sitting at home all day? At least dress decently when you have guests.
Emma feels her cheeks flush.
Sorry, Ive been with the baby.
I see, Claire says, slipping off her shoes and moving to the sofa where Margaret is already settled. Mum, I told you this place was a mess.
Emma stands in the hallway, unsure what to do. Andrew flits about, asking how the journey was, how tired they are, ignoring her entirely.
Will you be having dinner? she asks, peeking into the room.
Whats on the table? Margaret asks, squinting.
Shepherds pie and meatballs.
Shepherds pie? Claire snorts. We wanted something light, a salad, maybe some steamed fish.
I didnt know
Fine, bring whatever you have, Margaret waves her hand. Dont let the house go to waste.
Emma plates the food. Margaret and Claire pick apart everything: the pie is too salty, the meatballs are dry, the bread is stale. Andrew eats in silence, not defending his wife.
Wheres the baby? Margaret asks once the plates are cleared.
Shes asleep, Emma begins gathering the dishes.
Wake her up; I want to see my granddaughter.
She just fell asleep, better not. Shell be up all night if we disturb her.
I said wake her, Margarets tone hardens. Or Ill do it myself.
Emma walks to the nursery. Mia sleeps, tiny arms outstretched, peaceful. It hurts to wake her, but theres no choice.
Claire mutters, What a baby, always crying.
Shes eight months, Emma coos, trying to soothe. She got startled when we woke her.
Thats why I dont want children, Claire says, turning away. Just problems.
Margaret cradles Mia, turning her this way and that.
Shes so skinny. Are you feeding her enough?
Of course I am!
You must have time only for yourself. Look, the flat isnt spotless.
Emmas fists clench. Shes been cleaning, cooking, caring for a baby all day, and it still isnt enough.
Mum, Claire, why dont you go rest? Andrew suggests. You must be tired from the journey.
Yes, perhaps, Margaret says, handing Mia back to Emma. Andrew, show us where well be sleeping.
Ive set up a sofa bed in the lounge, Emma replies. Thats all the space we have; one bedroom for the baby.
A sofa bed? Claire raises an eyebrow. Seriously?
Claire, you can have the nursery, Andrew offers. Well move Mia to our room at night.
Emma wants to argue but stays silent; its pointless.
When the guests finally settle, Emma moves Mias crib into the bedroom. The baby whines after being woken, unable to fall back asleep. Emma rocks her, hums, but Mia continues to sob.
Emma, do something! Andrew rolls over. I have work tomorrow!
Im trying!
Its not enough!
Emma slips out with Mia, closes the kitchen door, sits on a stool, presses the baby against her chest and weeps silently together.
In the morning a knock on the bedroom door wakes her.
Emma, get up! Its nine oclock!
She opens her eyes. Mia is still sleeping in the crib, Andrews not in the bed. Emma throws on a dressing gown and heads downstairs.
Margaret and Claire sit at the kitchen table, clearly annoyed.
Weve been up for an hour and theres no breakfast, Claire declares. At least we managed to turn the kettle on.
Sorry, I didnt hear you get up, Emma says, moving to the stove. What would you like?
An omelette, Margaret says. But no butter, just a dry pan. I cant have fat.
Ill have porridge, Claire adds, with water, no sugar. And a proper coffee, not instant.
Emma only has instant coffee, but she says nothing and starts cooking.
Listen, Claire leans back, looking at Emma, since youre not working, youll be cooking for us. Normal meals, not your shepherds pie. Well give you a shopping list.
Emma freezes, whisk in hand.
What?
Nothing fancy, Claire shrugs. You spend the whole day at home doing nothing, so at least youre useful.
Im with a baby!
The baby sleeps half the day. Youve got plenty of time.
Emma looks to Margaret for support, but Margaret just nods.
Claires right. Were family, Emma. You should help your husbands relatives. Itll improve your cooking too.
Wheres Andrew? Emma asks, feeling a swell of anger.
Hes at work, left early, Margaret says, sipping tea. By the way, your sugars cheap. Next time buy the good stuff.
Emma finishes breakfast in a strained silence, hands shaking. Claire pushes her plate away.
This is terrible, she says. The porridge is lumpy. Fix it.
I wont, Emma says quietly but firmly.
What? Claire asks, eyes narrowed.
I said I wont. Eat whats there or cook yourself.
How dare you speak to us like that? Margaret slams her cup on the saucer. Were guests!
Guests dont behave like this, Emma replies, removing her apron. Im not your servant. I have a job too. Im a mother.
Claire laughs.
A job? Sitting with a baby isnt a job, love. Its nothing. Youre just hanging off my brother.
Enough, Emma says, turning to leave the kitchen.
Where are you going? Margaret calls after her. The dishes arent done!
Emma doesnt answer. She retreats to the bedroom, closes the door, pulls out her phone and texts Andrew: Your mum and sister are being rude. Either you talk to them or Im leaving to my parents.
He replies half an hour later: Dont make things up. Theyre just trying to help. Hang on for a week.
Hang on becomes a mantra. Emma slams the phone onto the bed.
Mia wakes, starts crying. Emma lifts her, changes her, feeds her, while Margaret and Claire argue in the kitchen, their words drifting: shameless, Andrew has spoiled her, should have found someone else.
Emma takes Mia for a walk, leaving the house without warning. She strolls through the park, pushing the pram, watching the autumn leaves. She needs to think about what comes next.
Returning home, the flat smells of frying mushrooms and potatoes. Margaret, not turning around, says, Oh, youre back. Where have you been?
I was out, Emma replies.
Right, you didnt want to cook, so I did. Andy loves mushrooms. Theres barely anything left in the fridge.
Emma slips by, puts Mia down to sleep, and sits on the bedroom floor, staring at the wall. How did she end up here?
She used to be confident, cheerful, with friends, a job, hobbies. Now she feels like a trapped mouse, terrified to open her mouth at home.
That evening Andrew returns in a good mood.
How was your day? he asks, kissing his mother on the cheek.
Fine, Andy. I cooked you some mushroom potatoes, your favourite.
Thanks, Mum! he says, sitting down. Wheres Emma?
Shes in the bedroom, feeling a bit down, Claire says, painting her nails on the sofa. We told her to help with breakfast and she got angry.
Emma! Andrew calls. Come here!
Emma steps out of the bedroom.
Whats happening?
Mum says you were rude this morning.
Me? Rude?
Yes, Margaret says, setting plates on the table. We asked you to make breakfast and you shouted and left.
Thats not true! You said Id be cooking for you because I do nothing!
Andrew frowns.
Emma, seriously? Cant you just endure a week? Theyre not strangers.
Andrew, do you hear what theyre saying?
I hear. Its normal. Youre at home, you can help.
Im not just at home! I have a child!
The baby sleeps half the day, Claire interjects. Stop using that as an excuse.
Emma looks at her husbands indifferent face, at how calmly he eats his potatoes. She realises hes never on her side.
I get it, she says, turning away. Im leaving the room.
Emma, wait! Wont you stay for dinner?
She shuts the door, leans against it, tears welling but she doesnt cry. She needs to think.
The next morning Emma gets up before everyone else, packs a bag for herself and Miaclothes, documents, a bit of cash shed set aside. When Mia wakes, Emma feeds and dresses her, then calls a taxi.
Margaret and Claire are still asleep as Emma, baby in arms and bag on her shoulder, walks out of the flat. Andrew is also asleep. No one sees her off.
Her parents live on the other side of town in a modest terraced house. Her mother opens the door in a dressing gown, halfasleep.
Emma? Whats wrong?
Mum, can we stay with you for a while?
Her mother lets her in without a word. Her father appears, looks at them, and instantly understands.
That bloke again? he says, meaning Andrew.
Dad, please, Emma sits on the sofa. I just need somewhere to be. To think.
Her mother takes Mia, cuddling her.
Of course, love. Stay as long as you need.
Andrew calls an hour later.
Emma, where are you? Mum says youre not home!
Im at my parents.
How come youre not home? Come back now!
No.
What do you mean no? Youre his wife, your place is at home!
Andrew, Im exhausted. Tired of you, of your mum, of your sister. I need time to think.
Think about what? Emma, stop making a drama! They asked you to cook, thats all.
They didnt ask, they demanded, like a servant. And you took their side.
I didnt take anyones side! I just want peace at home!
At my expense. I have to stay silent, endure, cook, clean. And they can do whatever.
Andrew is silent.
When will you come back?
I dont know. Maybe never.
Youre serious?
Very serious. Ive had enough of being nobody in my own family.
She hangs up, hands shaking, heart pounding, but for the first time feels shes done the right thing.
Her mother brings tea and sits beside her.
Tell me everything.
Emma recounts the months of Andrews distance after the baby arrived, the constant exhaustion, the arrival of her motherinlaw and sisterinlaw, their rudeness.
Why didnt you speak up earlier?
I thought I could manage, that it would pass.
It wont pass on its own. You have to act.
Ive decided. Im leaving.
Her father, reading the newspaper, looks up.
What do you want me to say?
Nothing. Just know youre on my side, whatever happens.
She feels a warmth inside, genuine support without blame.
Andrew texts her a few times during the day, but she doesnt answer. He later sends a message: Mum and Claire are upset, they want to leave early, are you happy?
Emma deletes it.
That night her mothers tea sits on the table.
He came to make peace? she asks.
Yes.
And what did you decide?
Nothing yet.
Her mother nods.
Right. Dont rush. Let him realise what hes lost.
Emma picks an apple from a vase.
Mum, does he love me or just get used to me?
Do you love him?
Emma hesitates. Does she still love Andrew, or is she just trying to keep the family together for Mia?
I used to. Now Im just tired.
Love doesnt die from tiredness, her mother says, squeezing her hand. It dies from disrespect. When someone stops valuing you, love fades.
She thinks about it.
Later that day her old school friend, Lucy, calls.
Emma, I heard you left Andrew.
How did you know?
This town is tiny, news spreads fast. WhatEmma realized that choosing herself over endless sacrifice was the bravest act of love she could ever give.
