“No, darling, Im not a carer!” Anastasia hissed through clenched teeth. “With all due respect to Mrs. Thompson, shes not my mothershe has her own children! Three of them!”
Anastasia listened uneasily to her husband Geralds phone conversation with his sister. She stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a salad, while he paced the living room, phone pressed to his ear. Something in his tone unsettled heror was she just overthinking it?
No, her instincts were rarely wrong. Moments later, Gerald appeared in the kitchen doorway, his face pale, hands trembling.
“Whats happened, love?” she cried, rushing to him.
“Mums taken a turn,” he said grimly. “She had an attacktheyve rushed her to hospital. Might need surgery. Thats what Emily said, anyway. Shes hysterical, barely making sense.”
Anastasia nodded sympathetically, remembering her own panic last year when her mother had heart trouble. Bed rest had been prescribed, and she and her sister had taken turns caring for her.
She offered to drive Gerald to the hospital, but he refused, insisting his sister would pick him up the next day.
A week passed with Mrs. Thompson under medical supervision. Gerald visited daily, as did his older sister Emily and his brother Thomas with his wife, Claire.
Anastasia cooked for her mother-in-lawhospital food didnt sit well with her. Mrs. Thompson requested clear broth, steamed chicken cutlets, and fresh salads. After work, Anastasia stopped at the market for ripe tomatoes, determined to make her meal just right.
She accompanied Gerald to the hospital but stayed out of the wardno need to crowd the other patients.
“Theyre discharging Mum soon,” Gerald announced one evening. “We can breathe easy now.”
“Yes, the worst is over,” Anastasia agreed, “but shell need long-term care. Someone has to look after her.”
“No problem,” Gerald shrugged. “Ive told Emily youll cook in advance, pop round before work, and spend a couple of hours after. Bathing, feeding, medsyoull manage.”
His casual tone made Anastasia pause. It took her a moment to realise hed just assigned her full responsibility for his mothers care.
“Gerald,” she said carefully, “I work full-time. Caring for your mother means daily visits, multiple times a daynot just the odd favour.”
“Of course I understand!” he said brightly, as if pleased with his own cleverness.
Anastasia shot up from her chair and paced. She hated conflict but refused to be walked over.
“Last year, when my mother was ill,” she reminded him, “your sister and I took turns cooking, bathing her, even doing massages. It was exhausting!”
“I know, darling,” Gerald said warmly, “thats why Im sure youll handle it. I told Emily and Thomasmy wifes a treasure, practically a professional carer!”
The “compliment” infuriated her. So that was how he saw her? And his siblings had happily agreed?
“No, my love, I am not a carer!” she seethed. “While I respect your mother, she has three childrenyou, Emily, and Thomas! And Thomas has a wife!”
“Anastasia, really,” Gerald scoffed, “we wont get Mum better if we nitpick. The doctor said this depends on us.”
“On you,” she corrected. “Not me.”
Gerald shook his head. “I never expected such selfishness from my own wife! Emilys got a ten-year-oldhomework, meals, her job. Thomas and Claire have kids too.”
“So do I,” Anastasia said pointedly. “Or have you forgotten about our son, Eugene?”
“Dont twist my words,” he grumbled.
He argued that his mothers stomach condition meant no instant mealswho else would cook her fresh chicken soup? Whod make her porridge?
“Im sure Emily and Claire can manage soup and porridge,” Anastasia said. “Ill even print you recipes.”
Gerald was outraged. “Emily wont follow this! Shes got a seaside trip planned!”
“Then shell have to cancel,” Anastasia replied coolly. “This isnt a weekend favourits a month of care.”
She created a colour-coded rota, printed it, and handed it to Gerald.
“Whats this?” he scowled.
“Your mothers care schedule. Morning and evening visits, bathing slotseverything.”
“My names on here!” he spluttered. “Thomas too! And Claire!”
Anastasia nodded. “Her children come first. Why should I exempt you?”
“Claires not her daughter!”
Anastasia stared. “Neither am I. Yet you expected me to do everything.”
Gerald stormed off, but the truth gnawed at him. The rota was fairbrutally so.
She shared it in a family group chat. Chaos erupted.
“I wont dance to your tune!” Emily snapped. “Ive got a child, a job, plans!”
“Dance to your own, then,” Anastasia replied. “But this is the only way to share responsibility fairly.”
The family turned on her. Gerald even threatened divorce.
“Fine,” she said quietly.
The next day, Mrs. Thompson was discharged. Suddenly, someone had to cook that broth. Gerald fell silent, no longer pressing for divorce.
The familys refusal to cooperate only hurt themselves. Anastasia longed to help but held firmgive them an inch, and theyd take a mile.
In the end, fairness spoke louder than excuses. Sometimes, setting boundaries is the only way to teach others their worthand yours.
