28March
Ive spent twentysix years watching Emily turn the kitchen into a battlefield of soups, stews and endless cleaning, all while she was treated as the familys unpaid housekeeper. On the eve of her 50th birthday, a business opportunity whisked her away to a foreign land, and everything changed.
This morning Stephen, my son, swaggered into the kitchen, phone glued to his ear, and tossed a glossy invitation onto the counter.
Your school reunion, he said, not looking up. Saturday.
The card was a flash of gold lettering, marking thirty years since graduation. I glanced at it, feeling the weight of time.
Are you really going? I asked, wiping my hands on my apron.
Of course. Just make yourself presentable, love. Dont turn up looking like a sloven; were not here to embarrass the family.
His words cut deep. I stood there with the ladle in my hand, uncertain, as the door opened to reveal our boys, Max and Daniel.
Mum, whats that? Max asked, holding up the card.
Its a reunion, I replied quietly.
Daniel snorted. Cool! Are you really going to show up in that same old dressing gown?
Before I could answer, Margaret, my motherinlaw, entered with the air of someone ready to dispense sage advice. Youll need to freshen up a bitdye the hair, buy a decent dress. Appear respectable, she tutted.
I nodded silently, returning to the stove. The pain in my chest was real, but Id learned over the years to swallow resentment whole.
Half an hour later I announced, Dinners ready.
The family gathered around the table. The borscht was perfecttangy, with tender beef and fragrant herbsaccompanied by fresh crusty bread and cabbage pastries.
Its delicious, Stephen murmured between spoonfuls.
Always, Margaret added. You do know how to cook, after all.
I ate a few spoonfuls, then slipped away to wash the dishes. In the mirror above the sink I saw a weary woman in her late forties: silver strands at the temples, fine lines around the eyes, a dulled gaze. When had I become so old?
Saturday dawned at five a.m. I set about preparing dishes for the reunionsolyanka, herring under a fur coat, meat and cabbage pies, and for dessert, a delicate birds milk confection. My hands moved on autopilot: chopping, mixing, baking, decorating. In the kitchen I was a master, beyond criticism.
Max appeared at eleven, eyes wide. Wow, youve cooked so much, he said.
For the reunion, I answered briefly.
Did you buy anything new for yourself? he pressed.
I glanced at the only respectable black dress hanging on a chair. That will do.
By two oclock everything was ready. I changed into the dress, applied a modest amount of makeup, and even slipped on the earrings Stephen had given me for our tenth wedding anniversary.
You look fine, Stephen said. Lets go.
We drove to the sprawling countryside estate of Sarah Whitmore, a former classmate whod married a businessman and now entertained guests in a mansion with a pool and tennis courts.
Lena! Sarah cried, pulling me into a hug. You havent changed a bit! What did you bring?
A few dishes, I said, setting the containers on the buffet.
Old friends mingled, some richer, some older, all recognizing each other. I lingered at the edge, watching classmates chat about their successes.
Who made that solyanka? shouted Victor, the former class monitor. Its a masterpiece!
Its Lena, Sarah pointed out.
A short man with kind eyes approached. Lena! Remember me? Paul Miller, we sat together at the third desk.
Paul! Of course I do, I replied, smiling.
Did you make the solyanka? Its brilliant! Those piesnever tasted anything better.
Thanks, I said, a little embarrassed.
No joke, Paul continued. Ive lived in Belgrade for ten years; they love Russian food, but Ive never seen anything like this. Are you a professional chef?
Just a housewife, I answered.
Just? Paul shook his head. You have genuine talent.
Throughout the evening, people kept coming to me for recipes and compliments. For the first time in years I felt important, needed, and, oddly, proud.
Stephen spent the night talking about his garage business, stealing glances at me, baffled by the sudden attention I received.
Monday began as usualbreakfast, cleaning, laundry. I was ironing the boys shirts when the phone rang.
Hello?
Lena? Its Paul. We met on Saturday.
Hey, Paul, I said.
Ive got a business proposal. Want to meet? Talk?
What about?
A job in Serbia. Im opening a Russian restaurant and need a coordinatorsomeone with good taste, who can train chefs and design the menu. The salarys generous, plus a share of the venture.
My heart hammered.
Paul, I I dont know what to say.
Think about it. Call me tomorrow, okay?
The rest of the day I drifted like in a fog. A restaurant in Serbia? Me, a simple housewife?
At dinner I tried to explain to the family.
Guys, Ive been offered a job
What kind of job? Daniel sneered. You cant do anything but cook.
Exactlycooking. In Belgrade, at a restaurant.
Belgrade? Stephen repeated, incredulous. Thats nonsense.
Mom, are you serious? Max set his fork down. How old are you? Fortyeight?
Besides that, Margaret interjected, who will run the house? Keep it tidy? Cook?
Probably someone was just joking, Stephen waved his hand away.
I fell silent. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was a joke.
The next day, over breakfast, Stephen examined me critically.
Youve changed, havent you? You need to start exercising.
Mom, dont come to my graduation ceremony, Daniel said, spreading butter on his toast. We dont want the other parents to see you looking outofdate.
Dads right, Max added. Dont be offended; we just dont want gossip.
Margaret nodded. People say you must look after yourself. Women should stay beautiful even in old age.
I left the table, retreated to my bedroom, and with trembling hands dialed Paul.
Paul? Its Lena. Im in.
Really? his voice brimmed with joy. Lena, thats wonderful! But I must warn youitll be demanding. Long hours, big responsibilities. Are you ready?
I am, I said firmly. When do I start?
In a month. Well sort the paperwork, the visa. Ill help every step of the way.
The month flew by. I arranged documents, brushed up on Serbian, drafted menus. The family remained skeptical, convinced Id soon realize home was better.
Itll be a month or two, then youll see the house is where you belong, Stephen told his mates.
The important thing is you dont lose money, Margaret echoed.
Our sons treated my plans as a joke; to them I was just part of the décorcooking, washing, cleaning. How could I possibly work abroad?
The day of departure, I rose early, prepared a weeks worth of meals, left detailed cleaning instructions, and headed to the airport aloneeveryone else was occupied.
Well keep in touch, Stephen muttered as I left.
Belgrade greeted me with rain and unfamiliar scents. Paul waited at arrivals with a bouquet and a bright smile.
Welcome to your new life, he said, embracing me.
The following months whizzed by. I recruited staff, refined the menu, and discovered I could lead as well as I could cook. Within three months the restaurant buzzed with patrons; borscht, solyanka, pelmeni, and pancakes vanished from the counters in minutes.
You have golden hands and a sharp mind, Paul praised. Weve created something special.
I watched satisfied faces, heard compliments, and realized I had finally found myself. At fortyeight I was living anew.
Six months later Stephen called.
Lena, hows it going? When are you coming home?
Fine, Im working, I replied.
Come back soon, were barely managing here.
Hire a housekeeper.
What kind of pay?
The same you earned for twentysix years.
What do you mean?
Nothing fancy. I was the familys unpaid housekeeper until my silver jubilee, then I left for a business abroad.
Silence hung on the line.
Lena, can we talk properly? No hard feelings?
Im not upset, Stephen. Im just living. Its the first time I truly live for myself.
Our sons tried to understand a mother who had become independent, successful, and no longer just theirs.
Mum, stop playing businesswoman, Max said. The house falls apart without you.
Learn to manage on your own, I answered. Youre already twentyfive.
Stephen never contested a divorce; it was merely a legal acknowledgment of what had already happened.
A year later, Moscow became one of Belgrades most popular eateries. Investors knocked on my door, TV shows invited me to demonstrate recipes, critics wrote glowing reviews.
The British woman who conquered Belgrade, I read in a local paper.
Paul proposed on the restaurants anniversary. I hesitated, not because I doubted himhe was a good manbut because I valued my independence.
I wont be cooking for you every night or ironing shirts, I warned.
On the second anniversary, Stephen arrived with the boys. Seeing me in a sleek business suit, accepting congratulations from local celebrities, they were stunned.
Mum, you youve changed, Daniel stammered.
Youre beautiful now, Max added.
Im finally myself, I corrected.
Stephen spent the evening quiet, stealing surprised glances at the woman Id become. When the guests left, he approached.
Im sorry, Lena. I never saw you as a person with dreams and talents. I thought you were just part of the home.
I nodded, feeling no angeronly a sadness for the wasted years.
Shall we start over? he asked.
No, Stephen. My life has moved on.
Now, at fifty, I run a chain of restaurants, host a cooking show, and have a bestseller of my recipes. Im married to a man who respects me for who I am, not for the unpaid labour I once gave.
My sons call now and then, proud of their mother, wanting to visit. I enjoy their calls, but I no longer feel guilt for living for myself.
Sometimes I stand in the kitchen of my flagship restaurant, watch the chefs prepare my dishes, and wonder, What if Id never taken that step? What if Id stayed a drudge in a dressing gown? I quickly push the thought away. Life doesnt hand out second chances to everyone; I was lucky, and I made the most of it.
Starting over at fortyeight was terrifying, but it turned out to be the only way to discover who I truly am.
Lesson:Never let yourself be defined by the role others assign; take the risk to rewrite your story, even if it means stepping into the unknown.
