«Dont you dare contradict your husbandyour place is in the kitchen,» my mother-in-law scolded me in front of the guests.
«Its not just a sponge cake, Mum,» Lina replied gently, watching as her mother-in-law poked at the dessert with a fork. «Theres almond flour and orange zest for flavour. The cream is mascarpone-basedthats why its so light.»
«Light, maybe, but its not sweet enough,» snapped Margaret, pushing her plate away. «In my day, cakes were properrich, sugary, filling. This? Its just air. You cant feed guests with this. Andrew, say something to her.»
Andrew, Linas husband, coughed awkwardly into his fist. He sat at the head of the table in their spacious new flatbought with his parents helpand carefully avoided his wifes gaze.
«Mum, come on, its lovely. Lina worked hard on it,» he mumbled, shoving a large piece into his mouth. «Honestly, darling, its delicious.»
Lina felt something tighten inside her. «Worked hard.» As if this were some childs craft project and not a delicate dessert shed spent weeks perfecting. Before marriage, her baking had been a point of pridefriends ordered birthday cakes from her, and shed dreamed of opening her own little patisserie. Andrew, back when they were dating, had called her his «kitchen fairy,» devouring whole pies in one go and swearing hed never tasted anything better.
But after the wedding, everything changed. Theyd moved closer to his parents, and Margaret became a constant presence. At first, her visits were harmlesshomemade jams, little tips on housekeeping. Lina, whod lost her mother young, had even welcomed it. But soon, the advice turned to commands, the help to control.
Margaret would barge into their bedroom unannounced, inspect the bathroom for dust, rearrange the kitchen to her liking. She lectured Lina on ironing Andrews shirts («inside out, so the collars dont shine»), making roast dinners («only buy meat from the butcher, none of that supermarket rubbish»), and raising their five-year-old son, Jamie («dont coddle himyoull make him soft»).
Lina endured it. She loved Andrew and wanted peace. She told herself Margaret was just old-fashioned, that she meant well. And whenever she complained, Andrew would sigh, «Just humour her, Lin. You know how she is. She doesnt mean harm.»
Tonights dinner was another test. Margaret had arrived unannounced, as usual, and spent the evening watching Lina like a stern examiner. Now, her verdict was delivered before the whole family.
«Im not saying its inedible,» Margaret relented, noting Linas crestfallen face. «Just next time, dont be shy with the sugar. Men need something hearty. Right, son?»
Andrew nodded, polishing off his slice. Lina stood silently and began clearing the table, a lump in her throat. The sting wasnt just from Margarets wordsit was Andrews silence. He hadnt defended her. Hed just agreed to keep the peace.
When Margaret finally left, Andrew hugged Lina from behind.
«Lin, dont take it to heart. Mums just set in her ways. The cake was brilliant, really.»
«Then why didnt you say that to her?» Lina asked quietly, not turning around.
«Whats the point? You cant change her mind. Easier to nod along.»
«Easier for who?» She gave a bitter laugh. «Andrew, I feel like a maid in this house. Like my thoughts dont matter.»
«Here we go again,» he sighed, releasing her. «No one thinks youre a maid. But Mums the head of this familyshes earned respect. Shes been around longer, she knows best.»
Lina turned to him. His eyes held no support, no sympathyjust weariness, a man eager to end an uncomfortable conversation.
«And what about me? Dont I know anything? Are my feelings nothing?»
«Lina, not now. Im knackered from work. Justnext time, add more sugar, yeah?»
He left. Lina stood alone in the kitchen, surrounded by expensive appliances Margaret had chosen. She felt like a stranger in her own home. Her dream of a patisserie seemed silly now. What patisserie? She couldnt even bake a cake to please her own family.
Weeks passed. Lina played the perfect wife and daughter-in-law. She woke early, made breakfast for Andrew and Jamie, cleaned, cookedheavier roasts, sweeter puddings. She ironed shirts inside-out, bought meat from the butcher. She bit her tongue when Margaret lectured her.
Andrew was happy. The flat was peaceful. He praised her cooking, kissed her goodbye, and never noticed the light fading from her eyes.
Then came her father-in-laws 60tha grand party at their country house. Margaret took charge, assigning Lina to the kitchen.
«Right, Lina,» Margaret handed her a long list. «This is the menu. It must be impeccableimportant guests are coming. None of your airy desserts. I want a proper Victoria sponge, treacle tart, roast beef, salads Start preparing now.»
Lina took the list silently. Dozens of dishes. Shed never manage alone.
«Margaret, maybe we could order some dishes? Im not sure I can do it all well.»
«Order?» Margarets eyebrows shot up. «In this family, we cook properly. Guests must see what a capable wife you are. If you cant handle it, Ill call my sister Rose. But youd better try.»
That last line was a challenge. And Lina accepted. She wanted to proveto Margaret, to Andrew, to herselfthat she wasnt just «trying.» She could be the best.
The week before the party, she barely slept. Days were for Jamie and chores; nights were for bakinglayering sponges, simmering custards, marinating meats. The kitchen became her battleground.
Andrew, seeing her exhaustion, tried to help but only got in the way.
«Lin, maybe rest? You look pale.»
«No time,» she waved him off. «Your dad deserves the best.»
On the day, the house buzzed. Guests arrived, toasts were made. Lina darted between kitchen and dining room, serving food, refilling glasses. She was a live wire.
The table groaned under the spread. Guests praised the food, especially the men.
«Margaret, your daughter-in-laws a marvel!» boomed one of Andrews dads associates. «A wife like thats worth her weight in gold!»
Margaret basked in the praise as if it were hers.
«She learns,» she said smugly.
Lina heard it all, her heart sinking. No one saw her sleepless nights. Her efforts were Margarets doing.
Later, as drinks flowed, talk turned to businesssome new rural tourism venture. Lina, bringing tea, listened. It interested her. Before marriage, shed read widely, followed economics.
«Risky, investing in the countryside,» her father-in-law said. «Wholl go there?»
«I think its a good idea,» Lina spoke up, setting down a fruit platter. Eyes turned to her. «City folk crave nature breaks now. If you offer qualityfarm tours, cheesemaking classesit could work. Theres a successful model in the Cotswolds.»
She spoke passionately, forgetting her role as the «learning» girl. For a moment, she was herself againsmart, opinionated.
Silence fell. The men looked surprised; the women curious. Andrew flushed, shooting her a pleading look.
But Lina didnt see. She was watching her father-in-lawuntil Margarets voice cut in, icy and loud.
«Dont contradict your husband and elders! Your place is in the kitchen, not meddling in mens talk. Go check the cake.»
The words slapped her. Humiliation burned her cheeks. She looked down, unable to meet the guests stares. Someone coughed awkwardly. Her father-in-law muttered to Margaret. But the damage was done.
She turned and left without a word. Praised for her cakes, silenced for her thoughts.
In the kitchen, she leaned against the wall, eyes closed, fighting tears. The door openedAndrew.
«Lina, whyd you do that?» he hissed. «You embarrassed me in front of everyone!»
She looked at himnot her husband, but a boy scared of Mummys wrath.
«Embarrassed you? And your mother humiliating me is fine?»
«Stop it! Shes rightbusiness isnt womens work. Why couldnt you just stay quiet?»
«Because I cant anymore.» Her voice was steel. «Go back to your guests, Andrew.»
He left. She stood at the window, staring into the dark garden. Beyond it was a life where she could be herself. That night, she decided.
After the party, back in their flat, Lina kissed Jamies sleeping face. «Mummy wont be weak anymore,» she whispered.
The next day, while Andrew was at work and Jamie at nursery, she dug out an old boxher recipe notebooks, cookbooks, her patisserie diploma from before shed met Andrew. She dusted it off and hung it in the kitchen, replacing Margarets cross-stitch.
Then she opened her laptop and created a page: «Linas Sweet Stories.» She photographed the last slice of that «airy» almond cake Margaret had hated. The photo was stunning. She wrote about her love for bakinghow every dessert told a storyand clicked «Post.»
That evening, Andrew returned grumpy. He ate dinner, oblivious to the diploma or the fire in Linas eyes.
«Im helping Mum with the greenhouse tomorrow,» he muttered.
«Fine,» she said calmly.
For days, she lived two livesdutiful wife by day, budding entrepreneur by night. She photographed desserts, wrote posts, learned marketing. She baked what she lovedlight mousses, delicate pastries.
Soon, her first order camea birthday cake. She baked all night, delivering it the next morning. The customer gasped.
«Its even prettier than the photo! Thank you!»
Lina pocketed her first self-earned moneysmall, but priceless. It was freedom.
That evening, Margaret called.
«Lina, whats this nonsense? Rose saw you in town with a box! Where were you loitering while Jamies at nursery?»
Lina took a deep breath. «I was working, Margaret.»
«Working? Your job is this family! Is Andrew not providing? Youre shaming us!»
«Im not shaming anyone. Im doing what I love.»
Margaret spluttered. «Im calling Andrew! Hell put a stop to this!»
«Call him,» Lina said, hanging up.
Andrew stormed in half an hour later.
«Whats this about work? Have you lost it? Mums furious!»
Silently, Lina handed him her phonea glowing review: «The cake was magic! Mum cried happy tears! Youre an artist!»
Andrew read it, then looked at her. Her eyes held no fear nowjust quiet certainty.
«I wont give up what I love, Andrew. My place isnt just your kitchen. Its where Im happy. If you cant accept that…» She paused. «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 their marriage. But she knew one thing: no one would ever tell her where her place was again.
