Did you drive her away?Does Mum not love us any longer? Is she leaving because were a burden? Samuel sobbed, his voice trembling.
His brother, Arthur, glanced sideways at Margaret, who was folding her things with a helplessness that could have made anyone weep. She stood frozen, unsure whether it was guilt or sheer exhaustion that pressed harder upon her.
It had all begun with a harmless joke from her husband. The night before, Margaret had announced she intended to spend International Womens Day alone, away from the family. The house erupted in clamor. Andrew could not forbid it, but he blurted out every thought that crossed his mind and then began teasing the childrenfiveyearold Samuel and sevenyearold Arthur.
Did you hear, lads? Mums packing her bags for good. Weve driven her up the wall, he said in a tone that tried to sound casual, even jovial, yet hid a thinly veiled accusation.
The boys stared, terrified. Arthurs brow furrowed, Samuels eyes widened.
Is she really going forever? the younger asked, voice quivering.
Dont know yet. Not yet, at least. But who knowsmaybe shell get used to it and really leave us, Andrew shrugged.
For him it was all banter. The children took it seriously. Samuel threw a tantrum, and Emilyyes, the one who always soothed himspent the whole evening trying to calm him down. She hoped Andrew had learned his lesson, but the next day the same pattern replayed.
Come on, Sam, dont weep. Father loves you. Im not going anywhere, just off to work, Andrew replied nonchalantly.
Emilys restraint slipped; she was held back only by the tears in Samuels eyes. She sat beside the little boy and brushed his cheek.
Samuel, love, its not what you think. I just need one day to be alone, she began, echoing yesterdays explanation. Look, Father spends every Sunday with his brother Paul and his mates. Mum needs her breaks too.
Once, Emily could never have imagined feeling weary of the people she loved. She and Andrew had seemed the perfect pair: cycling together, attending the cinema, discussing the books theyd read. They kept a small family tradition of trying a new café or restaurant each Sunday, tasting unfamiliar dishes.
Now Sunday belonged entirely to Andrew. Their conversations had shifted from literature to vaccination schedules and nursery fees. The only outings they managed were childrens fairs and trips to the grocery store.
When Arthur was born, things held together by a thread. Either Andrew or one of the grandmothers would sit with the infant; Emily managed to carve out occasional moments for herself. The birth of the second child changed everythingEmily was now handling both on her own.
My dear, I love them both, his motherinlaw would say, trying to justify herself. But understand, I can barely manage one. The two together caused such a ruckus last timeremember that rocking horse by the telly? It survived seven children, but those two wrecked it while trying to sit together.
Their own mother gradually withdrew her help, offering only occasional visits as moral support, refusing to look after the grandchildren, claiming shed already done her part.
Andrew, for his part, treated time with the children like a side of crisps with a pint: occasional and only when he felt like it. If he was tired, he barricaded himself in a spare room and spent the evening there.
Whats the problem? hed ask when Emily complained. Im just sitting quietly, not bothering you. Its not my fault; you just cant relax. Youre always wiping and scrubbing. Calm down, take a breath. Youre far too tense.
He spoke easily because he never lifted a finger around the house. Emily knew that if she ever let her hands go slack, they would grow moss. She felt emotionally burned out. Over time, she began to shout more, snapping at the children who, for the fifth time in two minutes, declared they didnt want tomatoes. She was infuriated by a husband who closed the front door the moment he came home from work. Everything around her seemed to gnaw at her nerves, yet she held on.
Then Samuels birthday arrived.
The three days before, Emily spent herself cleaning and cooking. Samuel wanted to invite his playgroup friends, which meant also hosting their parents. Emily tidied every room, baked two cakes, prepared salads, marinated the meat in advance, and plotted a schedule that would let her finally get some sleep.
But the morning did not go as planned.
Samuel was the first to stir. He tried to rouse his mother.
Sleep! Emily snapped. Or sit quietly until Im up. Let Mum have her rest!
Samuel whined that he was bored and hungry.
Patience, his mother said sharply.
Emily was in such a state she could barely rise from the bed. Sleep eluded her, the sound of Samuels cries only making it worse.
Soon Arthur awoke. Acting as the responsible older brother, he took Samuels hand and led him to the kitchen, hoping to ease the chaos. Emily exhaled, thinking she might finally relax, when the clatter of dishes rang out.
She sprang up as if the children had shattered not just a plate but her last nerve. The boys scrambled, clearing shards, while a box of cereal and a bottle of milk lay on the counter. A chair leaned against the cupboardperhaps they had tried to make breakfast themselves but misjudged their strength.
I told you! Emily erupted. How many times must I ask you to wait five minutes without me? If you cant live without me for a few minutes, then perhaps youll finally appreciate what I do for you!
She shouted for three long minutes, her words pouring out in a frantic, disjointed torrent. Samuel pressed his head against his shoulders. Arthur clasped his hands behind his back, eyes downcast. Emily finally fell silent when the younger boy burst into tears, rubbing his eyes with his fists.
Alright, calm down Ill tidy the house, then well go for a walk and pick up some toys.
In that instant, Emily felt genuinely frightened. Yes, theyd broken a plate, but she had exploded as though the entire house had been demolished. It was not normal.
The next day she sought counsel from her friend Lucy, a mother of three who, though a little frazzled herself, commanded respect in domestic matters.
Youve been holding everything on your own. Let me guessInternational Womens Day is looming, and youll be juggling your motherinlaw and your own mum again. Another marathon of cooking for two days straight?
Yes, Emily sighed. What else can I do?
Wake up, Emily! Womens Day was created for us, not for us to be chained to endless chores for the family. My brother let me off to the countryside for a day. Come with metheres a cottage with spare rooms.
Emily thought it over and agreed. It sounded sensible. She ordered two books shed wanted to read for ages, packed a basket of groceries, and informed the family that her plans had changed.
Her own mother took it calmly, saying, Right, you need a break. Her motherinlaw was surprised but did not object. Andrew, however
So youve decided to run away from us? People spend this day with family, not abandon it, he complained.
Emily explained at length that it was not betrayal, just a need for rest. Andrew disagreed but did not try to stop her.
Fine, go wherever you like, even to the moon, he muttered at the end. Ill see you next time.
Maybe Ill fly off then, Emily retorted.
Later, Andrew resumed teasing the boys, which finally tipped Emily over. When Samuel and Arthur finally fell asleep, she approached her husband.
Listen, stop with the jokes. Because of you the children think I dont love them. Did you see Samuels eyes this morning?
Its nothing, just small stuff. Theyll forget it by dawn. And whats wrong with you? You should be home that day, not wandering off.
Emily sighed slowly. He brushed her off again, as if he hadnt heard. She was weary of his indifference.
You know what, love? All your evenings end in silence because father is 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 want a moment to collect myself so I dont snap at the children. Its you who makes me shout, not them. Ive told you a thousand times, but you never listen. Lets try this differently. Sunday is yours? Fine. From now on, Saturdays are mine. Spend at least one day a week with the kids. Theyre your children, after all.
He stubbornly resisted, but eventually he had to concede. The alternative would be to split the children between them, and Emily could not manage both at once.
Thus International Womens Day passed in an unusually quiet way. They had arrived at the cottage the evening before, so Emily awoke not to the childrens cries but to her own stillness. She lingered in bed with a book, then, later, she and Lucy laughed about their university escapades and plotted how to coax the other girls from their internetobsessed clique into a countryside hike.
By evening, Margaret sat on the veranda, breathing the fresh air, watching ants carry away a crumb shed left. Her mind was empty yet bright, like a freshly cleared room with windows flung wide open. For the first time in seven years, nobody tugged at her, no one called, no one demanded, no one criticised.
Lucy raised her glass and toasted Margaret.
Happy Womens Day, love. At last youre not just a mum, she smiled.
Margaret returned the smile. It was only one day, but she finally 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.
