We decide to visit my parents nearly six months after our wedding.
Its been almost half a year since our wedding, and at last we make the choice to go and see my parents. I know its going to be difficult, but I have no idea just how hard it will truly be. The moment we step through the door, my mum welcomes us with a frosty glare and words so biting they make my heart race: This isnt a holiday home. Theres work to be done. Theres a warning in her voice, as if weve walked into a punishment rather than my own childhood home.
My Emily, with her gentle touch and city grace, suddenly seems as fragile as a stillborn blossom on the village green. I feel her grip my hand tightly when my mother tells her to gut the fish. William, shes your wife, not a servant! I want to shout, but I bite my tongue. I stay silent because each word of protest would only fan the flames.
Those few days in the countryside are a waking nightmare. Emily works until the small hours, her hands are trembling from the cold as she scrubs dishes under the icy water from the garden tap. I see her biting her lip to keep from crying each time my mother scolds her for being lazy. Youll never be good enough for my son! The words echo in my mind like a curse. And I stand there, rooted to the spot, bound in invisible chains to the land where I grew up.
Our evening meals are plain boiled potatoes and fish, both prepared by Emily, but my mother refuses to sit down with us. She watches from the shadows of the kitchen, poised for any mistake. And when at last we lie down at night, I hear Emily weep quietly into her pillow. Im sorry Im so sorry I whisper, but the words vanish into the darkness.
Back at our flat, I resolve to confront my mother: Dont you ever speak to my wife like that again. But she laughs coldly. Have you forgotten who raised you? Who fed you when you cried from hunger? Her words cut deep, lingering in my chest.
The next time we make the trip to the village, I am ready to stand my ground. My father has injured his leg, so I need to take the cows to pasture. Emily is given old wellington boots that rub her heels bloody. The rain floods the fields into a sea of mud. She trails behind me, stumbling, and I stay quiet, knowing any spark of tenderness from me will just bring more mockery from my mother.
And then, the lamb. Emily cannot even stand its smell, but my mother cooks it deliberately every day. Eat it, if you want to be one of us! she yells when Emily pushes her plate away. I grab my fork, tear off a chunk of meat and toss it onto the floor. Never again, I mutter, though it feels like just the start of the battle.
Now that Emily is expecting our daughter, I cant risk it anymore. Go on your own if you must, I tell my mother over the phone. But shes staying here. In her silence, I hear a tidal wave of unspoken insults, but for the first time, my heart feels at peace. I hold Emily close, and her warm hands remind me: sometimes, you must protect your familyeven from those who gave you life.
P.S. Next time my mum calls, I switch off my mobile. It hurts both of us. But sometimes, pain is the only way to finally wake up.
