Anne was frying meatballs when the doorbell rang. She slipped out of the kitchen to answer it.
Mom, its for me, her daughter called from halfway down the hallway. Ill get it.
Alright, I didnt expect anyone, Anne replied.
What are you doing standing there? Keep cooking your meatballs, Emily snapped, turning back toward the doorway.
What do you mean your? I bought the mince myself
Mom, shut the door, Emily rolled her eyes.
Fine, Ill close it, Anne said, returning to the kitchen and pulling the door shut behind her. She turned off the gas beneath the pan, slipped off her apron and left the kitchen.
In the hallway Emily was pulling on her coat. Beside her stood Ian, a friend of Sophies, who couldnt take his eyes off the two of them.
Hello, Ian. Where are you off to? Stay for dinner, Anne called.
Good evening, Ian smiled, looking at Sophie with a questioning glance.
Were in a hurry, Sophie replied, ignoring her mother.
Perhaps youll stay after all? Ive got everything ready, Anne repeated.
Ian hesitated.
No! Emily shouted. Lets go. She took Ians arm and opened the front door. Mom, could you shut it? she asked.
Anne reached for the door but only left a crack, listening to the voices drifting from the garden.
Whats with the tone? It smells delicious, I could use a meatball, a neighbour called.
Lets pop into the cafe. Ive had enough of your meatballs, Emily muttered.
Can they really get boring? I love your mothers meatballs; I could eat them every day, Ian replied.
Sophies answer was lost amid the fading voices on the stairs.
Anne finally closed the door fully and went into the living room, where her husband, Bob, was watching television.
Bob, lets have dinner while its still hot, she said.
Sure, he rose from the sofa, passed her, and sat at the table.
Whats on tonight? he asked demanding.
Rice with meatballs and a salad, Anne announced, lifting the pan.
You know I never eat fried meatballs, Bob grumbled.
I added water to the pan, they turned out almost steamed, Anne said, holding the lid.
Fine, but this is the last time, he warned.
At our age its unwise to try to lose weight, Anne remarked as she placed a plate of rice and meatballs in front of him.
What age? Im only fiftyseven. This is the age of wisdom and prime, Bob retorted, spearing a meatball and taking a bite.
Are you all in on some conspiracy? Sophie ran off, refused to eat, and now youre abandoning me. Ill stop cooking and see how you manage without my meals. Think a café is better? Anne shouted.
Then dont bother cooking. You should lose a few pounds yourself. Youll barely fit through the door soon enough, Bob finished his bite and reached for another meatball.
Excuse me? You think Im fat? Ive sacrificed everything, bought new jeans, a leather jacket, a baseball cap, shaved my head to hide baldness. Who am I doing this for? Not you, Anne snapped, hurt.
Let me eat in peace, Bob said, pushing the rice toward his mouth but stopping. Pass the ketchup, he demanded.
Anne fetched a jar of ketchup, slammed it on the table with force and left the kitchen, leaving her untouched plate behind.
She retreated to Emilys room, sank onto the couch and let tears spill.
Everyone I cook for takes it for granted. I do everything for them, yet I get no gratitude. My husband looks elsewhere, calls me fat, my daughter treats me like staff. If Im retired, will they still step on me? Id work if they didnt cut my hours. Young staff are wanted, but what can they really do?
She thought of the mornings she got up early to make breakfast even though she didnt work. Im to blame, Ive spoiled myself. Now they sit on my neck, dragging their legs. The tears ran down her cheeks. She pressed her palms to her eyes, wiping them away.
She had always believed her family was decentnot perfect, but not worse than anyone else. Emily was doing well at university, Bob didnt drink or smoke, the house was tidy, the food was good. What more could he want?
Anne stood before the mirror on the wardrobe door and examined herself. Yes, Ive put on a few pounds, but Im not that big. The wrinkles are less noticeable on my round cheeks. Ive always loved to eat and to cook. When I worked, I styled hair. Now I pin it back so it doesnt get in the way. Why should I be fussing over heels and hairstyles? I do need to lose weight and maybe colour my hair. She sat on the bed, lost in thought.
The next morning Anne didnt get up early as usual. She stayed in bed, pretending to sleep. Im retired; I can linger a bit longer. Let them make their own breakfast, she thought.
The alarm finally rang. She stirred and turned toward the wall.
Whats wrong? Are you ill? Bob asked, his voice void of sympathy.
Uhhuh, Anne muttered, burying her face in the blanket.
Mom, are you sick? Emily entered the room.
Go have breakfast yourselves, Anne rasped from under the duvet.
Emily huffed and headed to the kitchen. Soon the kettle whistled, the fridge door slammed, and faint voices rose from the kitchen. Anne stayed under the covers, playing the role of the sick woman.
Bob entered, his expensive aftershave still lingering the same one Anne had bought for him. He and Emily left one after the other, and the house fell silent. Anne pulled back the blanket, closed her eyes and fell asleep.
An hour later she awoke, stretched, and walked into the kitchen. Dirty mugs sat in the sink, crumbs littered the table. She considered cleaning but thought, Im not a servant. She slipped into the bathroom for a shower, then called an old school friend.
Ellie! Its been ages! How are you? Still enjoying retirement? the friend chirped.
Anne confessed she missed getting out, hadnt visited her parents graves in years, and wondered if she could stay over.
Of course, come over. When will you be here?
Right now, Ill catch the train.
Great, Ill start the pies.
Anne packed a small bag for a few days, swept the crumbs to the side of the table, and left a note that shed gone to visit a friend, not knowing when shed return.
On the way to the station she hesitated. Maybe theyll manage without me. They dont value my work, she thought, but worried she was being too harsh. If I cant get a ticket, Ill go home, she decided. There were tickets at the office, and a line formed at the bus door. She sighed and took a place at the back.
Lucy, her friend, greeted her with a hug. They sipped tea and ate warm pies, chatting endlessly.
Good you came. Tell me everything, Lucy urged.
Anne poured out everything, and Lucy listened patiently.
Right, lets give them a taste of their own medicine. Turn off your phone, Lucy advised.
Isnt that extreme? Anne asked.
Just enough. Tomorrow well go to the salon and give you a new look. Valentina works there remember she was a bit of a troublemaker at school? Now shes booked solid. Well turn you into a knockout. Your husband will be eating his words.
That night Anne tossed and turned, wondering, Are they angry or happy about what happened?
At the salon Valentina greeted them warmly, seated Anne, and began tweaking her hair, shaping her brows, and trimming. Anne nearly fell asleep as Valentina insisted on a full makeover. Though Anne wanted to stop, Lucy persuaded her to see it through.
When the mirror finally revealed her, Anne barely recognized herself a younger, striking woman stared back. Valentina was already arranging a manicure.
No, thats enough for today. I cant take more, Anne pleaded.
Okay, well book you for eight a.m. sharp. Dont be late, Valentina said firmly.
Lucy marveled, Look at you! Who would have guessed? They left the salon heading for the shopping centre.
Ill come another time, Anne suggested.
No, well go now. Beauty demands sacrifice, Lucy replied, pulling her into the store.
Anne emerged in loosefit trousers, a light cardigan, and a sleek coat, looking satisfied despite the fatigue. She carried bags containing a new dress, a jacket, and a box of shoes. She felt rejuvenated, confident, and even a little slimmer. She was grateful Lucy had nudged her toward change.
Outside Lucys house stood a distinguished gentleman with stark white hair and dark moustache.
Hello, ladies, he said, admiring Anne. You look splendid.
Anne stared at Lucy, puzzled.
You dont recognise me? Its Peter Whitfield, Lucy clarified.
Peter? Anne repeated.
Yes, the man confirmed. We were classmates. I was skinny and unremarkable back then.
Lucy suggested, Lets go to my place, celebrate your transformation. Weve got a bottle of wine.
The three sat at Lucys kitchen table, drinking wine and reminiscing about school. Anne blushed, half from the wine, half from Lucys lingering glances.
Hes still in love with you, Lucy whispered when Peter left.
Stop it, its been years, Anne protested.
You look like someone anyone could fall for again, Lucy assured.
Does he still live nearby? Anne asked, changing the subject.
No, hes a retired colonel, left the army two years ago after a serious injury. He limps now, but hes back on his feet. Dont rush into anything, Lucy advised.
Im married, Anne replied, exasperated.
That night she decided to return home, but Lucy wouldnt let her leave.
You just arrived and youre off already? Show some resolve. Nothing will happen to you. Stay a week, enjoy yourself. Peter got theatre tickets. When was the last time you went to the theatre?
At the community play for the Christmas show with Sophie, Anne said.
Lucy teased, The community play, the Christmas show lets parade your new dress.
Three days later Annes phone finally rang.
Mum, where are you? Dads in hospital! Come quickly, Sophie shouted.
Annes heart raced. She rushed to gather her things. Peter drove her to the station.
Anne, if you need anything, Im here. Dont hesitate, he said.
Thanks, Peter, she replied.
On the bus she called Sophie. The daughter explained that their father had been unfaithful, leaving the house after a heated argument. Hed been in a workrelated accident, broke a rib, and suffered a minor brain bleed, but was now stable.
Anne listened, stunned, and realised she couldnt leave. She arrived home by evening; the hospital was closing.
Sophie, youve changed. I hardly recognise you, Anne noted, the tone now respectful.
I was scared youd never come back, that youd find someone else, Sophie admitted.
I havent found anyone. I just wanted to teach you a lesson. You stopped seeing me as a person, Anne said.
Sorry, Mum, but youre to blame. You retired, stopped caring for yourself, turned into an old lady. Do you think Dad will stay jealous? Will you forgive him? Sophie snapped.
Anne looked around the familiar room and felt a warm sense of home.
The next morning she rose early, made chicken broth, and drove to the hospital. Bob, his beard now grey and wiry, wept when he saw her, begging forgiveness. She fed him with a spoon.
Two weeks later Bob was discharged. As they left the taxi, a couple passed by. Bob flinched, turning away. Anne recognised the woman as his former rival a slender, redhaired youngster. He slumped, embarrassed, and slipped inside.
Are you staying? he asked.
Am I not thin enough? I havent lost weight, Anne replied cheerfully.
I asked for forgiveness. I was foolish. Fry the meatballs, will you? I miss your cooking, he pleaded.
Anne fried the meatballs, preparing a hearty dinner.
Smells amazing! Sophie, now back from university, exclaimed.
They all sat together at the table, just as they had years ago, when Emily was still in school and Bob never criticised Annes cooking. Anne felt content, knowing she was still needed.
Life in a family isnt always smooth. Age brings change, bodies weaken, but the spirit can stay young. Accepting this is hard, yet its the only way to keep the love alive.
Each person learned their lesson: the true wealth of a household lies not in perfection but in staying together, supporting one another, and accepting the inevitable passage of time. The secret to a happy old age is simple cherish the people who share your table, and never stop feeding both body and heart.
