14May2025
Today the house felt like a pressure cooker and I could hear the cracks before they even appeared. When Sam, my fiveyearold, burst into the kitchen between sobs, he managed to choke out, Did we drive Mum away? Does she hate us now? His little face was turned toward Margaret, who was stuffing the last of the suitcases into the boot of the car. She stood there, frozen, as though the weight of conscience and exhaustion were battling for the upper hand.
It all began with a halfjoking comment from Andrew. The night before, Margaret had announced shed be spending International Womens Day on her own, away from the family. I could hear the clatter in the house already. Andrew, ever the blunt one, decided to lighten the mood by saying, Heard the news, kids? Mums packing her bags. Weve finally driven her off the premises. He tossed the line out with a grin that hid a sharp edge.
The children froze. Arthur, my sevenyearold, furrowed his brow, while Sams eyes widened. Is she really leaving forever? Sam asked, voice trembling. I dont know yet, Andrew replied, shrugging. Maybe itll become a habit, maybe not. To him it was just banter; to Sam and Arthur it was a crisis. Sam threw a fullblown tantrum, and Emilyyes, the same Emily who had soothed him the night beforespent the evening trying to calm him down.
I thought the episode would be a oneoff, but today the same old script replayed. Dont cry, Sam, Andrew said nonchalantly, Dad still loves you. Im not going anywhere, just off to work. Emilys composure cracked for the first time, and she sat beside Sam, gently rubbing his cheek. Sam, love, I just need one day to be alone, she whispered, echoing yesterdays words. Dad spends every Sunday with his mate Paul and the lads. Mum needs a break too.
Emily used to think she could never tire of the people she loved. Once, Andrew and she were the picture of a perfect couplecycling around the Lake District, catching the latest film, debating novels over tea. Their Sunday ritual was trying a new café or a bistro, sampling unfamiliar dishes. Those days are now gone. Sundays belong to Andrew, and the conversation has shifted from books to vaccination schedules and nursery fees. Their outings are limited to childrens fairs and trips to the local supermarket.
When Arthur arrived, everything was still hanging by a thread. Either Andrew or one of the grandmothers would sit with the baby, and Emily managed to carve out a few moments for herself. But the birth of the second child turned the balance upside down. Emily suddenly found herself handling both at once, while the motherinlaw, Eleanor, would pop in only to offer moral support, refusing to take the grandchildren home, claiming shed already had her fill of family duties.
Andrew treated time with the kids like a side dish to his pintonly when he felt like it. If he was tired, he would retreat to the spare room and lock the door, spending the evening there. Whats the problem? hed ask when Emily complained. Im just sitting quietly, not bothering anyone. He blamed her for being unable to relax, insisting she was the one who needed to let go and stop constantly wiping everything down. He never lifted a finger around the house. Emily joked that if she ever laid her hands down, theyd grow moss.
She felt burnt out, her nerves frayed. She began to shout more, to snap at the kids for the fifth time in two minutes when they refused the tomatoes, to glare at Andrew when he slammed the front door after work. Everything seemed to push her over the edgeuntil Sams birthday arrived.
The three days before the party were a blur of cleaning, cooking, and endless preparations. Emily baked two cakes, whipped up salads, marinated a roast, and tried to schedule everything so she could finally get some sleep. But the morning of the party, Sam stirred first. He tried to rouse his mother. Sleep! Emily barked. Or sit quietly until Im awakelet me get some rest! Sam whined that he was bored and hungry. Hold your tongue, she snapped.
Emily was so exhausted she could barely stand, and Sams cries prevented her from drifting off. Arthur soon followed, taking Sams hand and dragging him to the kitchen, hopeful that a bit of order would finally settle the house. The clatter of dishes rang out, and Emily sprang up as if the kids had shattered not merely a plate but her last nerve. The boys were frantically sweeping up crumbs, a box of cereal and a bottle of milk lying nearby, a stray chair from the cupboardclearly theyd attempted to make their own breakfast and misjudged the effort.
I told you to wait! Emily shrieked, her voice cracking. Can you not manage five minutes without me? When will you ever appreciate what I do for you? She wailed for what felt like three minutes, words tumbling out in a frantic, incoherent torrent. Sam pressed his head against her shoulder, Arthur crossed his arms and stared at the floor. Emily finally fell silent only when the younger boy began to sob, rubbing his eyes with his fists.
Alright, calm down, she whispered, trying to steady herself. Ill tidy up, then well head out for a walk and pick up some toys. The panic that had seized her was genuine; she felt as though the children had demolished not just a plate but the whole house.
The next day she confided in Lucy, a friend with three children who still managed to keep her sanity. Youre carrying everything on your own, Lucy said. International Womens Day is coming up, and youll have to juggle both the motherinlaw and your own mum again. Another twoday cooking marathon? Emily sighed. Exactly. What else can I do?
Lucy nudged her. Remember why that day existsso women dont end up working themselves to death for everyone else. My brothers let me off for a day in the country. Come with me; Ive booked a cottage with extra space.
Emily thought it over and agreed. She finally ordered two novels shed been meaning to read, packed a shopping basket, and let the family know her plans had changed. Her own mother took it well, saying it was proper to rest. Eleanor was surprised but didnt protest. Andrew, however, shot back, So youre fleeing from us? People spend the day with their families, not abandon them.
Emily explained it wasnt betrayal, just a need for a breath. Andrew didnt accept it, but he didnt try to stop her either. Off you go, then, he muttered, Even if you fly to the moon. She retorted sharply, Ill be back next time, then. After that, Andrew tried to tease the boys again, which finally broke Emilys patience. When Sam and Arthur finally slept, she approached Andrew.
Stop with the jokes, she said quietly. Because of you the kids think I dont love them. Did you see Sams eyes this morning? Andrew shrugged it off. Its nothing, just lifes little stuff. Theyll forget by tomorrow. Besides, arent you supposed to be home today, not off gallivanting? Emily exhaled slowly. He brushed off her concerns again, as usual.
She finally laid it out plainly. All your evenings are quiet because Dads tired, and Sunday is your day. Ive been on the front line for seven years, no weekends. Im not running away; I just need a moment to collect myself so I dont lash out at the children. The fault lies with you, not them. Ive told you a thousand times you dont listen. She paused, eyes narrowing. Sundays yours, fine. But Saturdays are mine. Spend at least one day a week with the kids. Theyre yours too, after all.
He resisted, but eventually relentedbecause the alternative would be each of us taking a child, and Emily could not handle two at once.
International Womens Day passed quietly. They arrived at the cottage the night before, so Emily woke not to childrens shrieks but to the soft rustle of the countryside. She lingered in bed with a book, laughing later with Lucy about university antics and planning a little trek for the girls without any internet. By evening, Margaret was perched on the veranda, breathing in fresh air, watching ants cart away a crumb of bread. Her mind was empty, yet bright, like a freshly cleaned room with windows flung wide open. For the first time in seven years, no one tugged at her, no one called, no one demanded, no one criticised.
Lucy raised her glass, clinking it against Emilys. Happy International Womens Day, love. At last youre not just mum, she smiled.
Emily returned the smile. It was only for a day, but she finally remembered what it felt like to be herselfneither just a mother nor a wife, but a person with her own wishes and a right to a breather.
Lesson learned: even the most devoted caretaker must carve out time for herself, or else risk losing the very love she strives to give.
