Mum doesnt love us any more? Shes leaving because were in the way? Sam sniffed, his voice cracking.
His brother gave a sideways glance at Margaret, who was packing her things with such a mournful sigh that she might have burst into tears herself. The woman froze, unsure whether it was guilt or sheer exhaustion pressing harder on her chest.
It all began with a harmless joke from her husband. The day before, Margaret had announced she intended to spend International Womens Day on her own, away from the family. The house went quiet Anthony couldnt stop it, but he blurted out everything he thought and then started teasing the kids: fiveyearold Sam and sevenyearold Arthur.
Heard the news, lads? Mums packing her bags and heading off. Weve driven her to it, he said in a breezy, almost cheerful tone, though a hint of accusation lurked underneath.
The children jumped at the words. Arthur frowned, Sams eyes widened.
Shes really going away? the younger one asked, bewildered.
Im not sure. Not yet, at least. But who knows, maybe shell make a habit of it, decide to leave us for good, Anthony shrugged.
To him it was all banter. To the kids it was a genuine crisis. Sam threw a tantrum, and Mollyyes, thats Margarets new namespent the whole evening soothing him. She hoped the husband had learned his lesson, but today the same pattern replayed.
Come on, Sam, dont cry. Dad still loves you. Im not going anywhere, just off to work, Anthony replied, nonchalantly.
Molly almost burst. Only the tears in Sams eyes held her back. She sat beside the youngest, smoothing his cheek.
Sam, love, its not what you think. I just want a single day to be alone, she began, just as she had yesterday. Look, Dad spends every Sunday with Uncle Pete and his mates. Mum needs a break sometimes too.
Molly never imagined shed ever feel weary of the people she loved. Once, she and Anthony had seemed the perfect pair: cycling together, catching the latest film, arguing about the books theyd read. They had a tiny family ritual: every Sunday theyd try a new café or restaurant, sampling fresh dishes.
Now Sunday belonged entirely to Anthony, and instead of books they talked about immunisation schedules and nursery fees. Their outings were limited to childrens fairs and the occasional grocery run.
When Arthur was born, life held together by a thread. Sometimes Anthony would sit with the boy, sometimes one of the grandmothers. Molly still managed a few minutes for herself. With the arrival of the second child, everything shifted. Suddenly it was just Molly handling both.
Molly, I love them both, her motherinlaw would say, trying to rationalise. But understand, I can barely cope with one. The two of them caused such a ruckus the last time! Remember that rocking horse by the TV? It survived seven kids, but these two broke it while trying to sit on it together.
Grandmas help became rare; at best shed pop over for moral support, never taking the grandchildren, insisting shed had enough of her own little ones.
And Anthony for him, spending time with the kids was like a side dish to a pint: occasional and only when the mood struck. When he was tired, hed barricade himself in the spare room for the evening.
Whats the problem? Im sitting quietly, not bothering anyone, hed marvel when Molly complained. Its not me, its you. You just cant relax. Youre always wiping, cleaning, polishing. Calm down, have a rest. Youre far too tense.
He found it easy to talk, yet he never lifted a finger at home. Molly knew that if she ever let herself relax, the house would grow moss.
She felt emotionally burnt out. Over time Molly started shouting more, snapping at the slightest provocation. The children irked her by announcing for the fifth time in two minutes that they didnt want tomatoes. Her husband annoyed her by coming home, closing the front door with a slam. Everything seemed to get under her skin, but she held on.
Until Sams birthday arrived.
The previous three days Molly spent cleaning and cooking. Sam wanted to invite his nursery friends, which meant also dealing with their parents. Molly gave the whole house a onceover, baked two cakes, prepared salads, marinated the meat in advance. She even plotted her schedule so she could finally get some sleep.
But things went awry.
Sam was the first to wake, attempting to rouse his mother.
Wake up! Molly barked. Or sit quietly until Im up. Let Mum get her rest!
Sam whined that he was bored and hungry.
Hold on, his mother snapped.
Molly was in such a state she could barely get out of bed. Sleep eluded her; Sams cries didnt help.
Soon Arthur stirred. As the responsible older brother, he tried to fix the situation, grabbing Sams hand and leading him to the kitchen. Molly exhaled, hoping for a brief respite, when the clatter of dishes rang out.
She sprang up as though the children had smashed not just a plate but her last nerve. The boys fussed around the kitchen, hurriedly sweeping up shards. A box of cereal and a bottle of milk lay on the counter; a chair leaned against the cupboard. Apparently theyd decided to make breakfast themselves, but had overestimated their strength.
I told you! Molly roared. How many times do I have to say it? Can you not manage five minutes without me? If you ever think my mums not there, maybe youll start appreciating what I do!
She shouted for what felt like three minutes, words tumbling out in a frantic, incoherent torrent. Sam pressed his forehead into his shoulders, Arthur crossed his arms and stared at the floor. Molly finally stopped when the youngest started sobbing, rubbing his eyes with his fists.
Alright, alright, settle down Mum will tidy up, then well go out for a walk and pick up some toys.
In that moment Molly was genuinely frightened. Yes, theyd broken a plate, but shed exploded as if theyd demolished the whole house. It was absurd.
The next day she turned to her friend Lydia for advice. Lydia, mother of three, still managed to keep a sense of humor, and was practically a guru of family logistics.
Of course! Youre carrying the whole world on your shoulders. Let me guessInternational Womens Day is coming up, and youll have to host both your motherinlaw and yours. Another marathon of cooking for two days, right?
Exactly. What else can I do?
Wake up, love! International Womens Day wasnt invented for women to be ground into the kitchen for the whole family. My brother let me off for a day in the country. Fancy a weekend away? Ive got a cosy cottage with an extra bedroom.
Molly thought it over and agreed. It sounded sensible. She ordered the two novels shed been meaning to read for ages, packed a grocery basket, and told the family her plans had changed.
Her own mother took it well, saying, Right, you deserve a break. The motherinlaw was surprised but didnt protest. As for Anthony
So youre running off from us? People spend the day with family, not abandon it, you know.
Molly explained at length that it wasnt a betrayal, just a need for rest. Anthony didnt agree, but he didnt stop her either.
Fine, go wherever you like, he muttered, halfheartedly. Even to the moon if you wish.
Ill be flying to the moon next time, Molly shot back.
Later, though, he started teasing the kids again, and that was the last straw for Molly. When Sam and Arthur finally fell asleep, she slipped into the hallway to talk to him.
Listen, cut the jokes. Because of you the kids think I dont love them. Did you see Sams eyes this morning?
Oh, come off it. Its just little things. Theyll forget it by sunrise. And whats wrong with you? You should be home today, not off gallivanting.
Molly sighed slowly. He brushed her off again, as if she were invisible. She was fed up.
You know what, love? All your evenings are quiet because Dads tired, and Sunday is practically your day off. Ive been on the front line for seven years, no days off. Im not running away; I just need a breath so I dont snap at the kids. Its not them, its you. Im shouting at you, not them, she said, narrowing her eyes. Ive explained a thousand times, but you never hear me. Lets try this: Sunday is yours? Fine. But Saturdays are mine now. Spend at least one day a week with the children. Theyre your kids, after all.
He resisted, but eventually gave in. The alternative was each of them taking a child alone, and Molly couldnt manage two.
International Womens Day passed unusually quiet. Theyd arrived at the cottage the night before, so Molly woke up not to the kids screams but to the gentle hush of the countryside. She lingered in bed with a book, then laughed with Lydia over old university anecdotes, scheming how to coax the other girls into a techfree hike.
By evening, Margaret (Molly) was simply perched on the veranda, breathing in fresh air, watching ants carry away the crumb shed left. Her mind was empty, yet somehow brightlike a room finally cleared of clutter, windows flung wide open. For the first time in seven years, no one pulled her, no one asked, no one criticised.
Lydia raised her glass and clinked it with Mollys.
Heres to you, Margaret, on the eighth. Finally, youre not just a mum, she smiled.
Molly returned the grin. It was only for a day, but she finally remembered what it felt like to be herselfnot a mother, not a wife, but a person with her own wishes and the right to a breather.
