Fine, he said, his tone flat as a courtroom verdict, if the house is empty, its time you get your hands dirty. Floors wont clean themselves. He smiled as though he were awarding me a knighthood for managing to grip a mop again.
I stood amid the wreckage of our flat. It wasnt an exaggerationdirty dishes piled up, the fridge yawning empty, a sticky floor that seemed to cling to my shoes. In the corner, on the balcony, a broken tumble dryer still held the hospital gown Id worn when I was rushed to the maternity ward a month and a half ago.
No flowers. No notes. No drop of respect.
Just his indifferent stare, as if I were a neighbour whod knocked without warning.
They say women are extra sensitive after giving birth. But it isnt the hormones, is it? Its how were met, the words we hear, the embraces we receive or the cold shoulder were given.
Are you kidding me? I whispered, eyes locked on him. I just got back with the triplets. After the operation
What then? he snapped, irritated. A Csection, like you called it. All under anaesthetic. You didnt birth anything, you just lay there. Stop pretending. Milk? If you want to milk, go ahead. It doesnt stop the house from being a mess.
At first I thought he was joking. Then I wondered if hed lost his mind. And then I thought maybe it was me. I had loved him once, hadnt I?
My mind roared, my heart froze. I clutched the duffel bag that held nightgowns, pads and two pairs of soft booties Id knitted while pregnant. He talked to me as if I were a lazy housewife whod just returned from a holiday.
You didnt even take us from the hospital, I breathed out. I had to ask the nurse to call a taxi myself
You wanted to be independent, didnt you? he shouted. All the time you were pregnant you ran away from me. Everything on your own now keep going on your own.
Bearing a child isnt about weakness. Its about beliefthat someone will support you, that you wont be left alone, that the person you love will stand by you. And if they dont?
If you cant handle it, Ill call my mum, he growled, heading for the bathroom. Shell turn you into a proper housewife.
Ah, sweet simplicityhis mother. Margaret Clarke, a woman whose stare could scald an egg. Even the alley cats gave her a wide berth. Always in a grey coat, short hair, voice like steel. No one argued with her, not even the boss.
I braced for her to storm in like a magistrateshouting, brandishing a broom. But she entered silently.
There was something in her eyes. Something different.
She surveyed the room, my ragged appearance, my silence.
Are you cleaning? she asked suddenly.
I hadnt spoken a word.
After giving birth? Get down on your knees right now!
I froze. She hung up her coat, slipped on an apron, grabbed a cloth and a bucket, and began scrubbing the floor.
Sometimes kindness arrives in the most unexpected form, even as a stern woman with a razorsharp voice.
Within half an hour the kitchen smelled of roast beef and carrots. I lay on the sofa, pillows piled around me, while Margaret rinsed towels, murmuring, Triplets, my word
When my husband returned, phone in hand, grin plastered on his face, she lunged at him like a thunderclap.
Youve gone mad? Youve brought three babies into this worldsurgery, pain, recovery! And you think its okay to make her mop the floor?
Mother, but you said
Its you who promised you could cope. That you loved us. That everything was under control. I believed you!
She sighed, looked at me, and whispered, Monster. Youre a monster in a humans skin.
When a mother sides with another woman, it feels like a victorybitter, but necessary.
Who the hell put that in your head?
He shrugged. A colleague Paul. Said a Csection isnt real birth, that milk is nonsense, that women make everything up
Silence! she roared.
He fell silent.
That very day trouble started at his office. Colleagues heard his remarks. And Tanya, the midwife who had held my hand through the pregnancy, had had enough.
Youve seen a woman after a Csection, seen her lie awake for weeks, feeling pain every hour!? she demanded. Your boss called you in and put you on leaveno return until its sorted.
Paul, the same inspirer, was put under investigationfor harassment, abuse of power.
Karma doesnt rush, but it hits precisely.
Margaret took our son to stay with her. Two weeks later he returned a different man: quiet, clutching a book on parenting, a pot of stew simmering on the stove.
Im sorry, he knelt, eyes pleading. I was a fool, selfish. Give me a chance. One.
I stared at him long, then said, One. But if you try again
There wont be a second chance, he cut in. I swore to your mother. And swearing to her is scarier than swearing to you. Forgive me.
Sometimes a fall is needed to see the error, but not everyone climbs back up. Luck spared me; he earned his redemption.
From that point everything shifted. Not instantly, but it moved.
He learned to change diapers, make porridge, wake for night feeds. He apologized, every single day, for every ache.
Margaret visited every Saturday with freshly baked scones and the words, Youre not alone now. Remember that.
And I wasnt alone. I had children, support, a family, and a husband who now flips pancakes and shouts at noisy neighbours while the little ones nap.
A line that became my talisman: Youre not alone now.
