Since youre not working, youll be cooking for us, says my sisterinlaw as she steps over the threshold.
Andrew, can you hear me? I cant take this any longer! I shout.
I stand in the middle of the living room, cradling Harriet, her tiny body sobbing, while a storm of dread churns inside me. Andrew sits on the sofa, eyes glued to his phone, pretending not to hear the babys wail or my pleas.
What now? he asks without even looking up.
What? I havent slept all night! Harriet has a fever, Ive been rocking her until dawn. Meanwhile you lie in the spare bedroom and dont even stir! I snap.
I have work tomorrowactually today. I need to get some sleep.
And I dont? Im a robot, right? Twentyfourhour shifts on my feet! I retort.
Andrew finally pulls his head from the screen, annoyance flashing across his face.
Emily, stop throwing a tantrum. Youre at home, you can rest during the day. Im working from sunrise to sunset to provide for you.
A lump rises in my throat. Sitting at home feels like a holiday, not endless hours of dirty nappy changes and sleepless nights.
Fine, I say, rocking Harriet until she finally quiets. Go to bed. I wont bother you again.
Andrew gets up and retreats to the bedroom, not even glancing at our daughter. I slump onto the sofa, pressing Harriets warm little body against me. Shes only eight months, still unable to sleep through the night, demanding constant attention. My exhaustion feels like it could snap at any moment.
Weve been married three years. At first Andrew courted me, brought flowers, whispered compliments. I worked as an administrator at a health centre, he was a project manager at a construction firm. We lived modestly but happily, until I got pregnant.
Andrew was thrilled at first, talking about a son and a happy family. But when I went on maternity leave, things shifted. He helped less around the house, spent more time at work or with friends. When Harriet arrived, he almost disappeared.
I knew a newborn would be stressful for everyonesleepless nights, constant crying, fatiguebut I hoped wed get through it together. Instead, Andrew built a wall between us.
After putting Harriet down in her cot, I wander into the kitchen. Its half past ten, and I havent eaten breakfast. The sink is piled with yesterdays dishes, a burnt pot of porridge sits on the stove. I turn on the kettle and start washing.
My phone buzzes. A text from Andrew: Mum and Clare are arriving this evening. Theyll stay for a week. Have something ready for dinner.
I read it three times. Motherinlaw and sisterinlaw, a whole week, and he never even asked if that works for me.
I reply: Andrew, I have a baby. How am I supposed to look after them too?
His instant reply: Just be nice. Theyre family.
Margaret, my motherinlaw, has been chilly from the start, always thinking I could have married up. Clare, Andrews sister, is a successful businesswoman who runs a boutique salon, proud of her single status. She looks at me with open contempt, once declaring that children are a cross on a career. Now both of them are set to stay in my flat for a week.
By evening I manage to tidy the flat, make a simple stew and meatballs, change Harriet into fresh clothes, and throw on the first thing I finda pair of old jeans and a crumpled tee. I cant think about appearance right now.
The doorbell rings at exactly seven. Andrew answers; hes just gotten home from work and flops onto the sofa.
Mum! Clare! Come in!
Margaret strides in, eyeing everything critically. Clare follows in an expensive suit, high heels, a large handbag.
Good afternoon, I say, wiping my hands on a towel.
Hello, hello, Margaret replies dryly, stepping into the lounge without even taking off her shoes. Andrew, help with the luggage.
Clare pauses at the doorway, eyes sweeping me. Did you spend the whole day at home? At least dress decently when you have guests.
My cheeks flush. Sorry, Ive been looking after the baby all day.
Right, Clare says, slipping off her shoes. Mum, I told you this place was a mess.
I stand in the hallway, unsure what to do. Andrew busies himself between his mother and sister, asking how their journey went, completely indifferent to me.
Will you be having dinner? I ask, peeking into the sitting room.
Whats on the table? Margaret asks, squinting.
Stew and meatballs.
Stew? Clare snorts. We were hoping for something lightsalad, poached fish.
I didnt know
Fine, bring what you have, Margaret waves her hand. Dont let it go to waste.
I set the table. Margaret and Clare nitpick every detail: the stew is too salty, the meatballs are dry, the bread is stale. Andrew eats silently, not defending me.
Wheres the baby? Margaret asks after they finish.
Shes asleep, I reply, gathering the dirty plates.
Wake her up; I want to see my granddaughter, Margaret demands.
She just fell asleep. Itd be better not to disturb her; shell be up all night again, I protest.
I said wake her, her tone hardens. Or shall I do it myself?
I walk to the nursery. Harriet lies there, arms outstretched, peaceful. It hurts to wake her, but I have no choice.
What a baby, Clare mutters as I bring the sleepy Harriet, who begins to whimper. She cries all the time.
Shes only eight months, I say, trying to soothe her. She was scared when we woke her.
Thats why I dont want kids, Clare says, turning away. Just problems.
Margaret lifts Harriet, turning her over. Shes so thin. Are you feeding her properly?
Of course I am! I snap. You think I only have time for myself?
My fists clench. Ive spent the whole day cleaning, cooking, caring for a baby, and it never seems enough.
Maybe you should go and rest? Andrew suggests. You both look tired.
Yes, thank you, Margaret says, handing Harriet back to me. Andrew, show us where well be sleeping.
Weve set up a sofa bed in the lounge, I tell them. Thats all the space we havetwo rooms, one nursery.
A sofa bed? Clare arches an eyebrow. Seriously?
Clare, stay in the nursery, Andrew says. Well move Harriet to our bed for the night.
I want to argue but stay silent; its pointless.
When the guests finally settle, I move Harriets cot into my bedroom. The baby whines again after being woken, unable to settle. I rock her, hum a lullaby, but she keeps crying.
Emily, do something! Andrew groans from his own bed. I have work tomorrow!
Im trying! I shout back.
Its not enough! he snaps.
I slip into the kitchen with Harriet, shut the door, sit on a stool, press the baby to my chest, and quietly weep together.
In the morning a knock on the bedroom door wakes me.
Emily, get up! Its nine oclock! Harriet is still sleeping in her cot, Andrews not there. I throw on a robe and head downstairs.
Margaret and Clare sit at the kitchen table, looking disgruntled.
Weve been up an hour and theres no breakfast, Clare complains. At least we could turn the kettle on ourselves.
Im sorry, I didnt hear you get up, I say, moving to the stove. What would you like?
An omelette, but not in butterdry, please. I cant have fat. Margaret adds.
Plain porridge, water only, no sugar, Clare says, and a proper coffee, not instant.
I dont have ground beans, only instant, but I stay silent and start cooking.
Clare leans back, eyes me. Since youre home all day and not working, youll be cooking for us. Well give you a list of what to buy and how to make it.
I freeze, whisk in hand.
What? I ask.
Nothing special, Clare shrugs. Youre not doing anything all day anyway. At least you could be useful.
Im with the baby! I protest.
The baby sleeps half the day. You have plenty of time.
I look to Margaret for support, but she only nods.
Clares right. Were family. You should help your husbands relatives. Itll also give you practice, because your cooking isnt great.
Wheres Andrew? I ask, feeling the heat rise.
Hes at work already, Margaret says, taking a sip of tea. By the way, your sugar is cheap. Next time buy better.
I finish the silent breakfast, hands shaking with anger, but I place the plates on the table. Clare pushes her plate away. The porridge is lumpy. Fix it.
I wont fix it, I say quietly but firmly.
What? Clare asks, glaring.
I said I wont. Eat whats there or make it yourself.
How can you speak to us like that? Margaret thumps her cup. Were guests in this house!
Im not your maid, I snap, removing my apron. I have a job too. Im a mother, I look after our child.
Clare laughs. A job? Sitting with a baby isnt a job, love. Its nothing. Youre just leeching off my brother.
Enough, I say, turning toward the door.
Where are you going? Margaret calls after me. You havent even washed the dishes!
I dont answer. I retreat to the bedroom, close the door, and pull out my phone. I text Andrew: Your mum and sister are being rude. Either talk to them or Im leaving to my parents.
He replies half an hour later: Dont make it worse. Theyre only trying to help. Hang in there for a week.
I slam the phone onto the bed. Harriet wakes and cries. I pick her up, change her, feed her while Margaret and Clare continue their whispered tirade from the kitchen: shameless, Andrew spoiled her, should have found someone else.
I take Harriet for a walk in the park, stroller creaking over autumn leaves, trying to think what to do next.
I return to a flat smelling of fried potatoes and mushroomsMargarets latest creation.
Oh, youre back, she says without turning. Where have you been?
Out for a walk.
Right. Since you dont want to cook, Ill do it myself. Andrew loves mushrooms. You hardly have anything in the fridge.
I tiptoe past, put Harriet down to sleep, and sit on the bedroom floor, staring at the wall, wondering how I got here.
I used to be confident, lively, with friends, a job, hobbies. Now I feel like a cornered mouse, terrified to speak up in my own home.
In the evening Andrew returns in a good mood.
How was your day? he asks, kissing Margaret on the cheek.
Fine, I made you those mushrooms you like, I reply.
Thanks, love! he says, sitting down. Wheres Emily?
Shes in the room, feeling a bit cold, Clare says, painting her nails on the sofa. We asked her to help with breakfast and she got angry.
Emily! Andrew calls. Come here!
I step out of the bedroom.
Whats happened?
Mum says you were rude this morning.
Me? Rude?
Yes, Margaret says, setting plates down. We asked you to make breakfast, you snapped and left.
Thats not true! They told me Id be cooking for them because I do nothing all day!
Andrew frowns. Emily, seriously? Cant you hold out a week? Theyre family, not strangers.
Andrew, do you hear what theyre saying?
I hear it. Its normal. Youre home, you can help.
Im not just home! I have a child!
The child sleeps half the day, Clare interjects. Stop using that as an excuse.
I stare at my husbands indifferent face, at his calm way of eating his potatoes, and realise hes not on my side. He never has been.
Fine, I say, turning back to the bedroom.
Later that morning I get up before anyone else, pack a bag for myself and Harrietsome clothes, documents, a modest sum of cash Id saved. When Harriet wakes, I feed and dress her, then call a taxi.
Margaret and Clare are still asleep when I slip out, my husband still in bed, no one sees me off. My parents live on the other side of town in a small terraced house. My mother opens the door in a nightgown, halfasleep.
Emily? Whats wrong? she asks.
Mum, can we stay with you for a while?
She nods, stepping aside. My father appears, looks at me, and says, That bloke again?
No, Dad, please, I whisper, sinking onto the sofa. I just need to be here, think.
My mother scoops Harriet into her arms. Of course, love. Stay as long as you need.
Andrew calls an hour later.
Emily, where are you? Mum says youre not home!
Im at my parents.
What do you mean at my parents? Come back right now!
No.
What does no mean? Youre my wife, your place is here!
Im exhausted, Andrew. Tired of you, your mother, your sister. I need time to think.
What am I supposed to think about? Stop making a drama! They asked you to cook, thats all.
They didnt askthey demanded, like a servant.
…
He falls silent.
When will you be back?
I dont know. Maybe never.
Emily, are you serious?
Very serious. Ive had enough of being nothing in my own family.
I hang up, hands shaking, heart pounding. My mother brings tea and sits beside me.
Tell me everything.
I recount the months of Andrews withdrawal after Harriets birth, the endless fatigue, the arrival of my motherinlaw and sisterinlaw, their abuse. She nods.
Why didnt you speak up earlier?
I thought I could manage, that it would pass.
It never passes on its own. You have to act.
Ive decided. Im leaving.
My father, reading the newspaper, looks up. Youre an adult, you decide. Just know were on your side, whatever happens.
I feel a warmth I havent felt in monthsreal support, no accusation, just acceptance.
Andrew messages several times during the day. I ignore them. He texts: Mum and Clare are upset, they want to leave early, are you happy?
Later I get a message from Margaret: Emily, Im disappointed in you. I thought youd be a proper wife and mother. Youve turned out selfish. Poor Andrew.
I delete it without replying.
The next day my mother prepares breakfast, we eat in silence. She feeds Harriet, washes her, puts her to bed. I sit in the kitchen, sipping tea, feeling the tension ease.
You know, my mum says, pouring another cup, when I married your dad, his mother was also critical. She thought I wasnt good enough for her son.
What did you do?
At first I tried to please hercooking, cleaning, smiling. Then I realised it was pointless. Some people will never be satisfied. I stopped trying to win them over. I stood up for myself, and eventually my motherinlaw respected me because I showed strength.
Did your dad stand by you?
Always. He understood one simple truth: family is you and me. Parents are separate. When a choice comes, he chose me.
Andrew never truly became my family. For him, family was his mother and sister. Ive learned the difference.
Harriet sleeps peacefully that night. My mother sets up a spare room with my old cot and some university posters. I lie in the dark, wondering about the future.
Can I go back to Andrew? Will he change? Or is this the end?
A few days later Clare calls unexpectedly.
Emily, this is stupid. Come back home.
No.
Weve already left, if thats what youre worried about. Weve got a flat for the rest of the week. Happy?
Its not about that.
What? Upset? Youre an adult.
Im not upset. I just realised I dont want to live like a servant, a nobody, hearing every day that I do nothing while my husband lives off me.
Shes silent.
Fine, maybe we overreacted. But youre not a prize either. You could at least look healthier.
Goodbye, Clare.
I hang up, resolved not to listen to any more lectures.
Three days pass. I help my parents with chores, walk Harriet, finally get some sleep. For the first time in months IShe walked out of the house for the last time, clutching Harriet’s tiny hand, and felt, at last, the weight of oppression lift as she stepped toward a future she could shape herself.
