Did you drive her away?
Does Mum not love us any more? Is she leaving because were in her way? Sam whispered, his voice trembling.
His brother glared sideways at Margaret, who was packing boxes with such a plaintive sigh that she could have burst into tears herself. The woman hunched over, frozen, unsure whether it was her conscience or sheer exhaustion that pressed harder upon her.
It had all begun with a harmless joke from the husband. The night before, Margaret had announced she intended to spend International Womens Day alone, away from the family. The house had erupted in noise Andrew couldnt forbid it, but he blurted out everything on his mind and then started teasing the children: fiveyearold Sam and sevenyearold Arthur.
Did you hear, kids? Mums packing her bags and heading off. Weve worn her out, weve driven her away, he said in a tone that tried to sound casual, even cheerful, but hid a thin accusation.
The children froze with terror. Arthurs brow furrowed, Sams eyes widened.
Is she really going forever? the youngest asked, bewildered.
Hard to say. Not yet, but who knows? She might make a habit of it, Andrew shrugged, as if it were all a game. The kids, however, took it seriously. Sam dissolved into a tantrum, and Ruth, yes Ruth, spent the whole evening trying to calm him. She hoped Andrew had learned a lesson, but the next day the pattern repeated.
Come on, Sam, dont cry. Dad still loves you. Im not going anywhere, just off to work, Andrew replied breezily to his son.
Ruths restraint snapped only because the childs tears held her back. She sat beside the little boy and brushed his cheek.
Sammy, its not what you think. I just need one day alone, she began, echoing yesterdays words. Look, Dad spends every Sunday out with Uncle Paul and his mates. Mum needs a break too.
Once, Ruth could never have imagined growing weary of the people she loved. She and Andrew had seemed the perfect pair: cycling together, catching the latest film, debating books over tea. They kept a modest tradition of exploring a new café or restaurant each Sunday, tasting fresh dishes.
Now Sunday belonged entirely to Andrew; the books were replaced by vaccination schedules and nursery fees. Their outings were limited to childrens fairs and grocery trips.
When Arthur was born, the household barely held together. Either Andrew or a grandmother would watch the baby, and Ruth managed to steal occasional moments for herself. The arrival of a second child changed everything. Only Ruth could juggle two toddlers.
My dear, I love them both, his motherinlaw would sigh, but try to understandIm barely coping with one. The last time they both went wild, they broke the rocking horse by the telly. It survived seven kids before, but these two demolished it while trying to sit on it together.
Their own mother increasingly offered only perfunctory visits, at best coming over for moral support, refusing to take the grandchildren, claiming shed already given enough of herself.
Andrew treated time with the kids like a snack with a pint: occasional and mooddependent. When tired, he barricaded himself in a spare room and spent the evening there.
Whats the problem? he would ask, when Ruth complained. Im just sitting quietly, not bothering anyone. Its not me, its you. You cant relax. Youre always wiping and cleaning. Calm down, take a breath. Youre too tense.
He spoke easily, while doing nothing around the house. Ruth knew that if she let her hands go limp, they would sprout moss.
She felt emotionally burnt out. Over time, Ruth began shouting more, snapping. The children irritated her by announcing for the fifth time in two minutes that they didnt want tomatoes. Her husband grated her nerves by coming home from work and slamming the door. Everything around her seemed to press a button. Yet she held on.
Until Sams birthday arrived.
The previous three days Ruth spent cleaning and cooking. Sam wanted to invite his nursery friends, which meant also inviting their parents. Ruth blitzed the flat: two cakes baked, salads prepped, meat marinated, everything scheduled so she could finally sleep.
But sleep eluded her. The first to wake was Sam, who tried to rouse his mother.
Get up! Ruth barked. Or sit quietly until Im awake. Let Mum have a rest!
Sam whined that he was bored and hungry.
Patience, his mother snapped.
Ruth was so drained she could not rise, and Sams crying only deepened her fatigue. Soon Arthur awoke, and, feeling responsible, took Sams hand and led him to the kitchen. Ruth exhaled, hoping for a brief respite, when the clatter of dishes shattered the silence.
She sprang up as if the children had smashed not a plate but the last of her nerve fibres. The boys scurried about, gathering shards. On the counter lay a box of cereal and a bottle of milk; a chair sat beside the cupboard. Apparently they had decided to make breakfast themselves, but miscalculated their strength.
I asked you to! Ruth erupted. How many times do I have to say it? Cant you survive five minutes without me? If you dont appreciate what I do, then maybe youll finally notice!
She shouted for minutes, words pouring out like a frantic torrent. Sam pressed his head to his shoulders. Arthur crossed his arms, eyes downcast. Ruth halted only when the youngest began sobbing, rubbing his eyes with clenched fists.
Alright, alright, quiet now Mum will tidy up, then well go out for a walk and fetch some toys.
Ruths heart leapt in genuine fear. Yes, theyd broken a plate, but she reacted as if the whole house had collapsed. It was absurd.
The next day Ruth confided in her friend Lucy, who had three children and still managed to keep her sanity, so her advice carried weight.
Tell me again! Youre holding everything on your own. Let me guessInternational Womens Day is looming, and youll again host your motherinlaw and your own mum, turning the weekend into a twoday marathon, Lucy said. Exactly. And how else?
Right. What else can I do? Ruth sighed.
Wake up! International Womens Day isnt a mandate for women to slave away for the family. My husband gave me a day off in the country. Come with meweve got a cottage, spare space.
Ruth thought it over and agreed. It sounded sensible. She ordered two books shed long wanted to read, collected a basket of groceries, and told the family her plans had changed.
Her own mother took it calmly, saying, Good, have a rest. The motherinlaw was surprised but did not object. Andrew, however
So youre running away from us? People spend this day with family, not abandon them, he retorted.
Ruth explained at length that it wasnt betrayal, just a need for a break. Andrew didnt agree, but he didnt stop her either.
Fine, go wherever you like, even to the moon, he snapped.
Ill be off to the next one then, she shot back.
Later, he resumed teasing the children, and Ruth had had enough. When Sam and Arthur finally fell asleep, she approached Andrew.
Listen, stop the jokes. Because of you the kids think I dont love them. Did you see Sams eyes this morning?
Its nothing, just little things. Kids forget by sunrise. And besides, arent you supposed to be home this day, not off gallivanting?
Ruth exhaled slowly. He brushed her off again, as if she were invisible. She was fed up.
You know what, love? All your evenings end in silence because dads tired, and Sunday is your day. Ive been on the front line for seven years, never a day off. Im not running away, I just need a moment to recover so I dont take it out on the kids. Its you I have to shout at, she said, eyes narrowing.
Myself? What do I have to do with this?
You! Ive explained a thousand times, you never hear me. Lets try another angle. Sunday is yours? Fine. But Saturdays are now mine. Spend at least one day a week with the children. Theyre yours too, after all.
He resisted, but finally relented, because the alternative was each parent taking one childa load Ruth could not bear.
International Womens Day passed unusually quiet. They had arrived at the cottage the evening before, so Ruth awoke not to childrens shrieks but to her own stillness. She lingered in bed with a book, reluctant to rise. Later, she and Lucy laughed over university mischief, plotting how to lure the other girls into a technologyfree hike.
By dusk, Margaret sat on the veranda, breathing in fresh air, watching ants carry away a crumb of bread shed left behind. Her mind was empty, yet bright, like a room that had finally been cleared of clutter and its windows flung open. For the first time in seven years, no one tugged at her, no one demanded, no one criticised.
Lucy raised her glass and clinked it with Ruths.
Well, cheers to you on the eighth, Mum. Finally youre not just a mother, she smiled.
Ruth returned the smile. For just one day, she remembered what it felt like to be herselfnot a mother, not a wife, but a person with desires and a right to a breath of peace.
