If you aren’t working, you’ll be cooking for us said my sisterinlaw the moment she stepped through the doorway.
Andrew, I can’t take this any more! Do you even hear me?
Emma stood in the middle of the living room, cradling baby Emily, who was wailing, and felt the world closing in. Andrew lounged on the sofa, eyes glued to his phone, pretending not to hear either the child’s shriek or my words.
What now? he asked without even looking up.
What now? I haven’t slept a wink! Emily ran a fever, I rocked her until dawn, and you just slept soundly in the spare room, not even stirring!
I have work tomorrow. I need to get some rest.
And I dont? Am I a machine, expected to be on my feet twentyfour hours a day?
Andrew finally set his phone down and glared at me.
Emma, stop having tantrums. Youre at home, you can rest during the day. Im working from sunrise to sunset to provide for us.
A lump rose in my throat. It felt as if I were on holiday, while in reality I was up all night changing dirty nappy after dirty nappy, and never getting a moment to breathe.
You know what, I whispered to Emily, who finally quieted. Go to sleep. I wont disturb you any longer.
Andrew rose and shuffled to the bedroom without glancing at our daughter. I sank onto the sofa, pressing the small, warm body of my baby against my chest. Emily was only eight months old, still unable to sleep through the night and demanding constant attention. I was so exhausted it seemed I had no strength left.
We had married three years ago. Back then everything was different. Andrew courted me, brought flowers, and said sweet things. I worked as an administrator at a medical centre, and he was a project manager for a construction firm. We lived modestly but happily. Then I got pregnant.
At first Andrew was thrilled, talking about wanting a son and a happy family. But once I went on maternity leave everything changed. He helped less at home, spent more time at work or with his mates, and when Emily arrived he practically disappeared.
I knew a newborn would be stressful for everyone sleepless nights, endless crying, fatiguebut I hoped wed face it together. Instead Andrew built an invisible wall between us.
After putting Emily down, I trudged to the kitchen. It was half past eleven and I hadnt had breakfast. The sink was piled with yesterdays dishes, the stove held a burnt pot of porridge. I turned on the kettle on autopilot and began washing.
My phone buzzed. A message from Andrew: Mum and Claire are arriving this evening. Theyll stay a week. Make sure theres dinner ready.
I read it three times. My motherinlaw and my sisterinlaw, a whole week, and he hadnt even asked if that was convenient for me.
I replied: Andrew, I have a baby. How am I supposed to look after them as well?
His instant reply: Dont worry, just be a good host. Theyre family.
Mum, Margaret, had always treated me coolly, thinking she could find a better match for her son. Claire, Andrews sister, was a successful salon owner, proudly single, and openly scoffed at motherhood, calling children a curse on career and freedom. And now they were both set to invade my home for a week.
By evening I had tidied the flat, cooked bangers and mash, and changed Emily into clean clothes. I threw on the first thing I could finda pair of faded jeans and a crumpled tshirt. There was no time for fashion.
The doorbell rang at seven. Andrew answered, having just come home from work thirty minutes earlier, and flopped onto the sofa.
Mum! Claire! Come in!
Margaret swept into the hallway, eyeing everything with a critical stare. Claire followed, highheeled and clutching an expensive handbag.
Hello, I said, drying my hands on a towel.
Well, hello, Margaret said dryly, not even taking off her shoes. Andrew, could you help with the luggage?
Claire stopped at the doorway, staring at me.
Have you been sitting at home all day? At least dress decently when you have guests.
My cheeks flushed.
Im sorry, I was looking after the baby.
Right, Claire shrugged, slipping off her heels. Mum, I told you this place was a mess.
I stood in the hallway, unsure what to do. Andrew bustled around his mother and sister, asking how their journey was, completely indifferent to me.
Will you be having dinner? I asked, peeking into the living room.
What did you cook? Margaret asked, squinting.
Bangers and mash.
Mash? Claire sneered. We were hoping for something light a salad, perhaps some steamed fish.
I didnt know
Fine, bring whatever you have, Margaret waved a hand. Dont waste my time.
I set the table. Margaret and Claire nitpicked everything: the gravy was too salty, the mash was dry, the bread was stale. Andrew ate in silence, never defending me.
Wheres the baby? Margaret demanded when they finished.
Shes sleeping, I began clearing dishes.
Wake her up, I want to see my granddaughter.
She just fell asleep, its better not to disturb her. Shell be cranky later.
I said wake her up, Margarets tone hardened. Or Ill do it myself.
I walked to the nursery. Emily lay asleep, tiny hands outstretched, serene. It pained me to wake her, but I had no choice.
What a child, Claire muttered as I carried the halfawake infant back. Shes always crying.
Shes only eight months, I tried to soothe her. She got scared when we woke her.
Thats why I dont want kids, Claire snapped. Just trouble.
Margaret took Emily, turning her this way and that, inspecting her.
She looks thin. Are you feeding her properly?
Of course I am!
You must be spending all your time on yourself. Look at this flat, its not spotless.
My fists clenched. Id spent all day cleaning, cooking, and caring for a baby, and it still wasnt enough.
Mum, Claire, perhaps youd like to rest? Andrew suggested. You must be tired from the journey.
Yes, perhaps, Margaret said, handing Emily back. Andrew, show us where well be sleeping.
Ive set up a sofa bed in the lounge, I replied. Thats all we have; the flat has only two rooms, one for the baby.
A sofa bed? Claire raised an eyebrow. Seriously?
Claire, the nursery is yours, Andrew said. Well move Emily to our room for the night.
I wanted to argue, but stayed silent. It was useless.
When the guests finally settled, I moved Emilys cot into the bedroom. The baby began to whine after being woken, and could not settle. I rocked her, sang lullabies, but she kept crying.
Emma, do something! Andrew turned over in bed. I have work tomorrow!
Im trying!
Its not enough!
I slipped out of the kitchen with Emily, closed the door, and sat on a stool, holding my daughter tightly, letting the tears fall together.
The next morning a knock sounded at the bedroom door.
Emma, get up! Its nine oclock!
Emily slept beside her cot, Andrew was nowhere to be seen. I quickly dressed, headed to the kitchen where Margaret and Claire were waiting, looking disgruntled.
Weve been up for an hour and theres still no breakfast, Claire complained. At least you managed to turn the kettle on.
Sorry, I didnt hear you get up, I said, moving to the stove. What would you like?
An omelette, but not in butterdry in the pan, no oil. I cant have fat, Margaret demanded.
Ill have porridge, water only, no sugar, and a proper coffee, not instant, Claire added.
I didnt have ground coffee, only instant, but I kept quiet and began cooking.
Listen, Claire said, leaning back. Since youre home all day and not working, youll cook for us. Well give you a list of what to buy and how to make it.
I froze, whisk in hand.
What?
Nothing special, Claire shrugged. Youre just sitting at home all day, you might as well be useful.
Im looking after a baby!
The baby sleeps half the day, you have plenty of time.
I looked at Margaret, hoping for an ally, but she simply nodded.
Claires right. Were family, Emma. You should help your husbands relatives. Itll also improve your cooking.
Wheres Andrew? I asked, feeling a hot knot form.
Hes at work, left early, Margaret said, taking a sip of tea. By the way, your sugar is cheap; get the proper kind next time.
I finished the breakfast in oppressive silence, hands trembling. When I served the omelette, Claire pushed it away.
Its terrible, she said. The porridge is lumpy. Fix it.
I wont, I said firmly.
What? Claire stared.
I wont redo it. Eat whats there or make it yourself.
How dare you speak to us like that? Margaret slammed her cup on the saucer. Were guests in this house!
Guests dont behave like this, I replied, taking off my apron. Im not your servant. I have a jobraising our child.
Claire laughed.
A job? Sitting at home with a baby isnt a job, love. Its nothing. Youre just leeching off my brother.
Enough, I said, turning toward the door.
Where are you going? Margaret called after me. The dishes arent done!
I didnt answer. I went to my bedroom, closed the door, and typed a message to Andrew: Your mother and sister are being rude. Either sort it out or Im leaving to my parents.
He replied half an hour later: Dont make a fuss. Theyre just trying to help. Bear it for a week.
I threw my phone onto the bed. Emily woke, began to cry. I lifted her, changed her, fed her, while the muffled voices of Margaret and Claire floated from the kitchen: haughty, Andrew spoiled her, should have found someone else.
I took Emily for a walk, leaving the flat without warning. I strolled through the park, pushing the pram, watching the autumn leaves. I needed to think.
When I returned, the flat smelled of something cooking. Margaret was frying potatoes with mushrooms.
Ah, youre back, she said without turning. Where have you been?
Out for a walk.
Right. Since you dont want to cook, I made it myself. Andrew loves mushrooms. You have almost nothing in the fridge, barely any supplies.
I slipped past quietly, put Emily down to sleep, and sat on the bed, staring at the wall. How had I ended up here?
I used to be confident, cheerful, with friends, a job, hobbies. Now I felt like a trapped mouse, scared to open my mouth in my own home.
That evening Andrew returned, looking cheerful.
How was your day? he asked, kissing Margaret on the cheek.
Fine, Andrew. I made you some mushrooms and potatoes, your favourite.
Thanks, Mum! he said, sitting down. Wheres Emma?
Shes in the bedroom, sulking, Claire said, painting her nails on the sofa. We told her to help with breakfast, and she got offended.
Emma! Andrew called. Come here!
She emerged from the bedroom.
Whats wrong?
Mum says you were rude this morning.
Me? Rude?
Yes, Margaret said, 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 frowned.
Emma, whats really going on? Cant you stay for a week?
Im at home with a baby!
The baby sleeps half the day, Claire interjected. Stop using that as an excuse.
I looked at my husbands indifferent face, at him calmly taking his potatoes. I realised he was not on my side. He never had been.
I get it, I said, turning away. Im done.
He tried to stop me, but I walked out of the bedroom and shut the door, leaning against it, tears burning but not falling. I needed to think.
The next morning I rose before anyone else, packed a bag for myself and Emily: a few changes of clothes, my documents, some money I had saved. When Emily woke, I fed and dressed her, then called a taxi.
Margaret and Claire were still asleep when I slipped out, my son still in bed. No one saw me leave.
My parents lived on the other side of town in a modest terraced house. My mother opened the door in her nightgown, half asleep.
Emma? Whats happened?
Mum, can we stay with you for a while?
She let me in without a word. My father appeared, looked at me, and instantly understood.
That bloke again? he asked, meaning Andrew.
Dad, please, I sank onto the sofa. I just need somewhere to be, to think.
My mother took Emily into her arms, holding her close.
Of course, love. Stay as long as you need.
Andrew called an hour later.
Emma, where are you? Mum says youre not home!
Im at my parents, I replied.
What? Come back right now!
No.
What do you mean no? Youre my wife, your place is home!
Andrew, Im exhausted. Exhausted of you, of your mother, of your sister. I need time to think.
He shouted, What about the baby? but I hung up.
My mother brewed tea and sat beside me.
Tell me everything.
I recounted the months of isolation, Andrews withdrawal after the birth, the constant humiliation from Margaret and Claire.
Why didnt you speak up earlier?
I thought I could manage, that it would pass.
It never passes on its own. You have to act.
Ive decided. Im leaving.
My father, who had been reading the paper, looked up.
Youre an adult, you decide yourself. Were here for you, whatever you choose.
The phone kept buzzing with messages from Andrew: Your mum and Claire are upset, They want to leave early, Are you happy?.
Later, a message from Margaret arrived: Emma, Im disappointed. I thought youd be a proper wife and mother. Youve turned out selfish. Poor Andrew.
I didnt reply, deleted it, and set the phone aside.
At dinner my parents were quiet, not prying. My mother fed Emily, bathed her, put her to sleep. I sat in the kitchen, drinking tea, feeling the tension ease.
You know, my mother said, refilling her cup, when I married your father, his mother also disapproved. She thought I wasnt good enough for her son.
What did you do?
At first I tried to please them, cooking, cleaning, smiling. Then I realised you cant please everyone. Some people will never be satisfied. So I stopped trying and just be myself. And guess what? His mother eventually respected me because I showed I had a backbone.
Did your father stand by you?
Always. He understood one simple truth: family is you and me; parents are separate. If he had to choose, hed choose us.
I nodded. Andrew had never become my true family. For him, family meant his mother and sister. I finally understood that I deserved respect, not silent endurance.
That night Emily slept peacefully. My mother had set up a spare room with my old childhood bed and some faded posters from my university days. I lay in the dark, pondering the future.
Could I go back to Andrew? Would he change? Or would this pattern repeat?
A few days later Claire called unexpectedly.
Emma, this is ridiculous. Return home.
No.
Weve already left the flat, staying elsewhere for the rest of the week. Happy?
Its not about that.
What then? Upset?
Im not upset. I just realised I dont want to live like a servant, a nobody, hearing every day that I do nothing while Im the one raising our child.
She was silent.
Fine, maybe we went too far. ButIn the end, Emma chose her own path, realizing that true partnership is built on mutual respect, not on silent sacrifice.
