“No, my love, I am not a carer!” Natasha hissed through gritted teeth. “With all due respect to Margaret, she is not my motherand she has her own children! Three of them!”
“Natasha, whats gotten into you?” Gerald replied, baffled. “We wont get Mum back on her feet if we take this attitude. The doctor said recovery depends on us now.”
“Precisely*you*,” Natasha shot back. “Not me.”
Natasha listened uneasily to Geralds voice as he spoke on the phone with his sister. She stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a salad while he paced the living room. She didnt like the tone of his conversationor was she just imagining things?
No, her instincts were sharp. A minute later, Gerald appeared in the doorway, his face ashen, hands trembling.
“Whats wrong, darling?” Natasha gasped, rushing to him.
“Its Mum,” Gerald murmured. “Shes had another episodetaken to hospital. Might need surgery. Lucys beside herself, barely making sense.”
“I understand,” Natasha nodded, remembering her own panic last year when her mother had a heart scare. Bed rest was ordered, and she and her sister took shifts caring for her.
Natasha offered to drive Gerald to the hospital, but he refused. His sister would pick him up tomorrow, he said, and theyd go together.
Margaret remained hospitalised for a week under observation. Gerald and his older sister Lucy visited daily, while his brother Thomas and his wife Claire dropped by occasionally.
Natasha cooked for her mother-in-lawhospital food didnt sit well with Margaret, who requested homemade chicken broth, steamed cutlets, and fresh salads.
After work, Natasha stopped at the market, selecting the ripest tomatoes. Sometimes, she accompanied Gerald to the hospital but never entered the wardno need to crowd the other patients.
“Mums being discharged soon,” Gerald announced one evening. “We can finally breathe.”
“Yes, the worst is over,” Natasha sighed. “But Margaret needs long-term care. Someone must look after her.”
“That wont be a problem,” Gerald shrugged. “Ive already told Lucy you can cook in advance, pop by before work, and spend a couple of hours after. Bathe her, feed her, manage her medsyoull figure it out.”
His casual tone made Natasha pause. It took her a moment to realise hed just handed her the burden of his mothers care without discussion.
“Gerald,” she said quietly, “I *work*. Caring for her isnt a weekly taskits daily. At least twice.”
“Of course I know that!” Gerald replied cheerfully, as if pleased with his brilliant solution.
Natasha shot up from her chair, pacing the room. Conflict made her uneasy, but she wouldnt let herself be trampled. She knew exactly what Gerald was trying to dump on her.
“Darling, last year when *my* mother was ill,” she reminded him, “we took turnscooking, bathing, massages. It was exhausting!”
“I know, love,” Gerald said warmly. “Thats why Im sure youll manage. I told Lucy and Thomasmy wife is a treasure, practically a professional carer!”
The “compliment” infuriated her. So this was how her husband saw her? And his siblings had happily endorsed this *honourable title* for her?
“No, Gerald, I am *not* a carer!” she snapped. “Margaret isnt my mothershe has three children! *You*, Lucy, and Thomas. And Thomas has a wife!”
“Natasha, whats wrong with you?” Gerald frowned. “We wont help Mum recover with this attitude. The doctor said its up to *us* now.”
“Exactly*you*,” Natasha said coldly. “Not me.”
Gerald shook his head. “I never expected such indifference from my own wife! Lucys son is tenshe has his schoolwork, cooking, *and* a job. Thomas and Claire have kids too.”
“So do I,” Natasha pointed out. “Or have you forgotten about *our* son, Ethan?”
Gerald scowled. He didnt like her arguments, fair as they were. But it wouldve been so convenient if Natasha took over.
To shame her, he added that his mother had stomach issuesno instant noodles, no shared meals. Who else would cook her fresh chicken soup? Make her porridge?
“Lucy and Claire can manage soup and porridge,” Natasha said evenly. “Ill print recipes for you and Thomas. Youll manage.”
Fury burned in her chest. When *her* mother had been ill, she and her sister hadnt arguedtheyd simply cared for her. What was wrong with Geralds family?
“Listen, darling,” Gerald said when he tired of arguing, “weve already discussed this. No objections were raiseduntil *you* ruined our plans!”
“Sorry to disrupt,” Natasha said coolly, “but you never discussed them *with me*.”
Gerald scoffed. “Whats there to discuss? They have jobs and kidsthey *cant*. Besides, youve got leave next month.”
Natashas heart sank. Shed planned that two-week break for Ethana trip to the Lake District, maybe her mothers cottage.
“The Lakes? Mums cottage?” Gerald said dismissively. “This is about *someones life*, and youre fussing over *holidays*?”
Natashas breath caught. His disregard for her time, her wishesit stung. He cared for his siblings convenience, but hers? Sacrificed for the *greater good*.
“Talk to Lucy and Thomas yourself,” Gerald muttered, burying himself in his phone.
Natasha longed to refuse outrightlet Margarets *own children* care for her. But she couldnt. She cared for Margaret too.
Still
In one decisive move, Natasha crafted a schedulecolour-coded, fair, accounting for everyones work and commitments. She printed copies, handing one to Gerald.
“Whats this?” he grumbled.
“Margarets care rota,” she said. “Visits, meals, bathing*all* covered.”
“My names on here!” he protested. “And Thomas! And *Claire*!”
Natasha nodded. “Her *children* should care for her first. Why should I exempt you?”
“But Claires not her daughter!”
Natasha stared. Was he truly this obliviousor just pretending?
“If youve forgotten, *Im* not her daughter either. Yet you dumped full responsibility on me!”
“Lucy wont follow this,” Gerald muttered. “Shes got plansa seaside trip soon.”
“Then shell have to cancel,” Natasha said flatly. “This isnt a weekits a *month*.”
Gerald paled. Under this rota, *hed* have daily duties. No more Mums pies, no cosy chats in Dads old armchair.
He wanted to rage, but couldnt. The schedule *was* fair. Natasha hadnt exempted herselfcooking, visitsbut it wasnt *enough* for him.
His last hope was Lucy. Surely *shed* fix this.
Natasha created a family group chat, sharing the rota. Chaos eruptedoutrage, protests.
“Like a bloody PTA meeting,” Natasha thought wryly.
No one liked it. Pityit accounted for *all* their schedules.
“I wont dance to your tune!” Lucy snapped. “Ive got a child, a job, *plans*! Why am I even on this list?”
“Dance to your own, then,” Natasha replied calmly. “But this rota is the only way to share the load. Dont like it? Handle it yourselves. Ill email the recipes.”
Geralds family turned on her. He even threatened divorce, accusing her of cruelty.
Natasha didnt argue. “Fine,” she sighed.
The next day, Margaret came home. Someone *had* to cook that broth. Gerald fell silent.
The family rejected Natashas rota, cursing her. But their refusal only hurt *them*.
Natashas hands itched to helpbut she held firm. Give an inch, and theyd take a mile.
Was she right? Whos the villain here? Share your thoughts below.
