I still recall those long evenings in the old terraced house on the outskirts of Manchester, when the kitchen hummed with the clatter of pots and the weight of unspoken expectations. Ian would come home from his shift at the factory, hoping for a quiet dinner and a moment of peace with me, only to find himself thrust into the role of makeshift babysitter for my sisterinlaws little boy.
Who did she even have the nerve to give birth for? Ian would mutter, loosening his jacket and flinging it onto the chair. For herself or for us? Im exhausted, I just want a bite to eat and a few minutes to unwind, not to look after someone elses child.
Olivia, my sister, would shiver and sigh. He isnt exactly a stranger, shed whisper. Honestly, I dont love it either, but I needed to get my nails done. You cant go to the salon with a squirming toddler.
Ian unbuttoned his coat with a nervous flick, deciding it was best to feed the boy in his own clothes rather than risk a rash of babyfood stains on his work shirt. The odds of a clean apron were fiftyfifty, he thought.
I get it, love, but you cant have spotless nails without a little sacrifice, can you? I would say, stirring the spaghetti. Are you the only one she can rely on? Why does our family feel like a perpetual crèche?
Mothers still around, but she cant be on call every day, Olivia had begun, reaching for the pantry.
You, on the other hand, Ian interjected, you can do everything for everyone except for yourself and me.
At first his brow furrowed in irritation, then he sighed and softened. He knew my wife was not his enemy; she was simply dependablea relentless, everready hand.
Olivia, if you dont get her off your shoulders, shell keep riding you like a horse, and youll be the one blamed, Ian warned. The one who drives is the one who suffers the journey.
I pretended to be engrossed in the dinner preparation, though I knew Ian was right. I was torn between becoming a second mother to my nephew and sparring with the family.
It all started innocently enough.
Nadine, Im feeling poorly and Sams in my arms. I need to pop to the chemist, but I cant leave him alone. Could you help? Olivia would plead.
Without a second thought, Id rush to the front line, never considering that a delivery service might exist. My sister was ill, perhaps seriously, and I felt I had to rescue her.
Soon the rescues became routine. Whenever Olivias phone rang for a forgotten phone charger, a grocery run, or a parcel pickup, I was there, sprinting like a personal courier.
I could afford it, working remotely with a flexible schedule, but it was hardly convenient. Olivias flat was a fifteenminute walk away; roundtrip, plus the time spent in queues and waiting, stretched to at least an hour.
My work shifted to evenings and sometimes nights, when the house was quiet. Ian, understandably, wasnt thrilled, and neither was I. I tried to talk to Olivia.
Olivia, what about Peter? Doesnt he help at all? I asked, handing over a Yodel parcel.
He does, she replied brightly. Hes tired after work. God willing he can sit with Sam while I dash to the shower, the rest is on me.
Olivia guarded her own husband but never thought of anyone elses. I blinked, then fell silent.
What about his mother? Isnt she living nearby? I ventured.
Dont even mention her! Olivia rolled her eyes. I want nothing to do with that nag. When she shows up, its an endless barrage of unwanted advice. Id rather starve than ask her a thing.
Is there really nobody else? I pressed. Maybe we could team upone watches, the other runs errands. Or ask Christina; she doesnt work.
It feels wrong to burden strangers, Olivia confessed. Theyre not obliged to help.
Its easier to lean on your own, I sighed.
Thats when I decided to push back. Even without Ians prompting, I knew it wasnt right.
The opportunity came the next day. Olivia called, bright as ever, saying shed booked a nail appointment.
Nadine, come over and mind Sam for an hour, she commanded, her tone dictating.
Her demand felt like an order, not a request. It rattled mewhy should I upend my whole day for her salon visit?
No, Olivia. I cant today. Im sorry, I replied.
What do you mean you cant?
I cant solve all your problems. I have a life too, I said.
I get it, but what am I to do? Youre the only one I have. Ive already booked, I cant let a client down. She sounded desperate.
You never consulted me before booking. Im not your errand girl or a mother figure. Sort it out yourself, I snapped.
She huffed, Its easy for you to say. You have no children. You dont know how hard it is.
She understood, for Sam was becoming my son in all but name. Yet I kept silent, a nonconfrontational soul; even this refusal felt like a small triumph.
Olivia didnt give up. She rallied Mom.
Mum, how can you be so selfish? Shes your sister, with a little one, and you turn her down! Shes alone! Who will help her if not us?
Mum, when she asked for medicine I went, because she was truly ill. But now she calls every other day for petty things today she even wants me to babysit while she gets her nails done! Is it that urgent? I demanded.
Shes a woman. She wants to look pretty. Put yourself in her shoes, Mom argued.
I raised an eyebrow. No one had ever stepped into my shoes.
Then help her, if youre so wise, I urged.
Me? I can barely move my legs! Youre the young one; its easier for you, she muttered.
Young, childless, still at homethe same refrain Id heard all my life. I was fed up. That day I stood my ground and refused.
In retaliation, Olivia and Mom gave me the silent treatment for a whole week, acting as if I didnt exist. Others might have taken it in stride, but I felt adrift, wondering how to mend the family rift.
A week later Olivia called again, pleading for me to watch Sam while she did her nails. I said yes, hating myself for it, but surrendering to the role of unpaid nanny. It seemed there were only two choices: become an outcast in my own family or endure.
Youre too soft, Nadine, then too harsh, Ian warned after hearing the story. You must tread carefully, or shell never let go.
That night I lay awake, planning a refusal that wouldnt earn me any scorn.
The next morning, as expected, Olivias phone rang.
Nadine, I cant cope any longer. The little one has a fever, hes wailing, and Im running like a hamster on a wheel! I cant even get to the loo. Come, well manage together, she begged.
I cant. I have work. Our computers now run monitoring software, even lunch breaks are timed, I lied. Its as strict as an office.
A heavy silence lingered. Olivia was searching for a weak spot.
Please, just once, the last time! Ask someone to cover you, or take a day off.
Olivia didnt understand that I had no choice. I pretended to concede.
Fine Ill think of something.
I hung up and messaged Peter for his motherinlaws number, suggesting his wife needed urgent help. Peter didnt refuse, and the motherinlawMargaretagreed, showing up at Olivias flat within minutes, flooding my phone with confirmations.
Youve gone mad! Olivia texted. Why have you set her on me?
I just did what was needed. I cant be there myself, you know that, I replied calmly.
She read the messages and stayed quiet. In that moment I felt a small victory. Not a war, but a win in this tiny battle. Yes, Olivia would sulk. Yes, Mom might be disgruntled again. But now my sister would have to fend for herself or learn to rely on those willing to help.
Looking back, those relentless evenings taught me the price of endless accommodation and the quiet strength found in setting boundaries, even when the world around you insists on bending.
