If youre not working, youll be cooking for us, says my sisterinlaw from the doorway.
Andrew, can you hear me? I cant take this any longer!
Emma stands in the sitting room holding baby Daisy, who whines in her arms, and feels the pressure building inside her. Andrew slouches on the sofa, eyes glued to his phone, pretending not to notice the infants cries or Emmas pleading voice.
What now? he mutters without looking up.
What do you mean what now? Ive been up all night! Daisy has a fever, Ive been rocking her since dusk, and you slept soundly in the spare bedroom without even waking up!
I have a shift tomorrow. I need to get some rest.
And I dont? Im a robot, right? Twentyfourhour days on my feet!
Andrew finally puts the phone down and glances at Emma, irritation clear on his face.
Emma, stop making a scene. Youre at home, you can rest during the day. Im working from dawn till dusk to provide for us.
A lump rises in Emmas throat. Home feels like a holiday resort, not a place of endless dirty nappy changes and sleepless nights.
You know what, she whispers, gently rocking Daisy, who finally quiets. Go to bed. I wont bother you any more.
Andrew stands and heads to the bedroom, not even looking at his daughter. Emma collapses onto the couch, cradling the warm little body. Daisy is only eight months old, still waking constantly and demanding attention, and Emma feels utterly spent, as if she has no strength left.
They married three years ago. Back then Andrew courted Emma, bringing flowers and compliments. Emma worked as an administrator at a medical centre, and Andrew was a project manager for a construction firm. They lived modestly but happily. Then Emma got pregnant.
At first Andrew was thrilled, saying he wanted a son and a happy family. But once Emma went on maternity leave, things changed. He helped less around the house, spent more time at work or with his mates, and after Daisy arrived he became almost absent.
Emma knows a newborn is stressful for everyone sleepless nights, constant crying, exhaustionbut she hoped they would get through it together. Instead, Andrew builds a wall between them.
Putting Daisy down in her cot, Emma walks to the kitchen. Its half past ten, and she hasnt had breakfast yet. The sink is piled with yesterdays dishes, and a burnt pot of porridge sits on the stove. She mechanically turns on the kettle and starts washing plates.
Her phone buzzes. A message from Andrew: Mum and Ingrid are arriving this evening. Theyll stay a week. Have something ready for dinner.
Emma reads it three times. Motherinlaw and sisterinlaw for a whole week, and he never even asked if that works for her.
She replies: Andrew, I have a baby. How am I supposed to look after them too?
He replies instantly: Dont worry, just be nice. Theyre family.
Emma drops the phone. Margaret, the motherinlaw, has always been cool to her, as if shed rather see Andrew with someone better. Ingrid, Andrews sister, is a successful salon owner, proud of her single life, and she has always looked down on Emma, even declaring after Daisys birth that children are a curse for a career.
Now those two women will be in her house for a week.
By evening Emma manages to tidy up, make a pot of stew and some meatballs, and change Daisy into clean clothes. She throws on the first thing she findsa pair of old jeans and a wrinkled tee. Theres no time for vanity.
The doorbell rings at seven. Andrew opens it; hes just got home from work and collapses onto the sofa.
Mum! Ingrid! Come in!
Margaret glides into the hallway, scanning everything with a critical eye. Ingrid follows in a pricey suit, high heels, a large handbag.
Hello, Emma says, wiping her hands on a towel.
Well, hello, Margaret replies dryly, not even taking off her shoes, and heads into the living room. Andrew, help with the luggage.
Ingrid stops at the doorway, eyes Emma up and down.
Have you been sitting at home all day? You could at least dress decently for guests.
Emma feels her cheeks flush.
Sorry, Ive been with the baby, didnt have a chance.
Right, Ingrid sighs, tossing her shoes aside. Mum, I told you this place was a mess.
Emma stands in the hallway, unsure what to do. Andrew flits around, asking how the journey was, never once looking at Emma.
Will you be having dinner? she asks, peeking into the room.
Whats on the menu? Margaret asks, squinting.
Stew and meatballs.
Stew? Ingrid snorts. We were hoping for something light a salad, maybe some poached fish.
I didnt know
Fine, bring whatever you have, Margaret waves a hand. Dont let the kitchen go to waste.
Emma sets the table. Margaret and Ingrid sniff at every detail. The stew is too salty, the meatballs are dry, the bread is stale. Andrew eats in silence, offering no defence.
Wheres the baby? Margaret asks once they finish.
Shes sleeping, Emma begins clearing plates.
Wake her up, I want to see my granddaughter.
She just fell asleep, better not disturb her. Shell be fussy later.
I said wake her, Margarets tone hardens. Or Ill do it myself.
Emma slips into the nursery. Daisy lies asleep, arms outstretched, looking peaceful. It hurts to wake her, but theres no choice.
What a child, Ingrid mutters as Emma carries the halfawake Daisy. Always crying.
Shes only eight months, Emma coos, trying to soothe her. She got scared when we woke her.
Thats why I dont want kids, Ingrid says, turning away. Just trouble.
Margaret peers at Daisy, turning her over.
Shes so skinny. Are you feeding her properly?
Of course I am!
You must have time only for yourself. Look at this place, its not spotless.
Emmas fists clench. Shes spent the whole day cleaning, cooking, chasing a baby, and it still isnt enough.
Mum, Ingrid, would you like to rest? Andrew offers. You must be tired from the journey.
Yes, perhaps, Margaret says, handing Daisy back to Emma. Andrew, show us where well be sleeping.
Ive set up a sofa bed in the lounge, Emma says. Thats all we have; two rooms, one is the nursery.
A sofa bed? Ingrid arches an eyebrow. Seriously?
Ingrid, why dont you use the nursery, Andrew suggests. Well move Daisy to our bedroom for the night.
Emma wants to argue but says nothing. Its pointless.
When the guests finally settle, Emma moves Daisys cot into the master bedroom. The baby whines after being woken, unable to fall back asleep. Emma rocks her, humming lullabies, but Daisy continues to cry.
Emma, do something! Andrew thumps on the mattress. I have work tomorrow!
Im trying!
Not trying hard enough!
Emma takes Daisy to the kitchen, shuts the door, sits on a stool, presses Daisy to her chest and quietly weeps with her.
Morning finds Emma being roused by a knock on the bedroom door.
Emma, get up! Its nine oclock!
She opens her eyes. Daisy sleeps beside her in the cot, Andrew is nowhere to be seen. Emma throws on a dressing gown and heads out.
In the kitchen, Margaret and Ingrid sit with sour faces.
Weve been up an hour and theres no breakfast, Ingrid declares. At least we managed to turn the kettle on.
Sorry, I didnt hear you get up, Emma says, moving to the stove. What would you like?
An omelette, Margaret says. No butter, just a dry pan. I cant have anything greasy.
Ill have porridge, Ingrid adds, with water, no sugar. And a proper coffee, not instant.
Emma only has instant coffee, but she says nothing and starts cooking.
Listen, Ingrid leans back, eyeing Emma. Since youre not working youll be cooking for us. Well give you a list of what to buy and how to make it.
Emma freezes, whisk in hand.
What?
Nothing special, Ingrid shrugs. You do nothing all day anyway, might as well be useful.
Im with the baby!
The baby sleeps half the day. You have plenty of time.
Emma looks at Margaret, hoping for support, but Margaret merely nods.
Ingrids right. Were family, you should help your husbands relatives. Itll also improve your cooking.
Wheres Andrew? Emma asks, feeling heat rise.
He left early for work, Margaret says, sipping tea. By the way, your sugar is cheap. Next time buy proper quality.
Emma finishes the silent breakfast. Her hands shake with anger, but she keeps it together, serving the bland omelette and lumpy porridge.
This is terrible, Ingrid says, pushing the plate away. The porridge is clumpy. Fix it.
I wont redo it, Emma says quietly but firmly.
What? Ingrid eyes her sharply.
I said I wont. Eat whats there or cook yourself.
How dare you speak to us like that? Margaret taps her cup against the saucer. Were guests in this house!
Guests dont behave like this, Emma replies, removing her apron. Im not your maid. I have a job too. Im a mother, Im looking after our child.
A job? Ingrid laughs. Sitting at home with a baby isnt a job, love. Its nothing. Youre just hanging on my brothers backside.
Enough, Emma says, turning toward the door.
Where are you going? Margaret calls after her. The dishes arent done!
Emma doesnt answer. She goes to the bedroom, closes the door, and pulls out her phone. She texts Andrew: Your mum and sister are being rude. Either speak to them or Im leaving to my parents.
He replies half an hour later: Dont make a fuss. Theyre just trying to help. Hang on for a week.
She tosses the phone onto the bed. Daisy wakes and cries. Emma picks her up, changes her, feeds her, while the muffled voices of Margaret and Ingrid drift from the kitchen: shameless, Andrew spoiled her, shouldve found someone else.
Emma walks Daisy outside for a walk, leaving the house without warning. She strolls through the park, pushing the pram, watching the autumn leaves, trying to decide what to do next.
She returns to find the flat smelling of something cooking. Margaret is frying potatoes with mushrooms.
Ah, youre back, Margaret says without turning. Where have you been?
Out.
Right. Since you dont want to cook, Ill do it myself. Andrew loves mushrooms. You barely have anything in the fridge.
Emma tiptoes past, sets Daisy down to sleep, and sits on the bed, staring at the wall. How did she end up here?
She used to be confident, cheerful, with friends, a job, hobbies. Now she feels like a trapped mouse, afraid to open her mouth in her own home.
That evening Andrew returns in a good mood.
How was your day? he asks, kissing his mother on the cheek.
Fine, Andrew. I made you those mushroom potatoes you love, Emma says.
Thanks, mum! he grins, sitting down. Wheres Emma?
Shes in the bedroom, sulking, Ingrid says, painting her nails on the sofa. We told her to cook, and she got angry and left.
Emma! Andrew calls. Come here!
Emma comes out of the bedroom.
What happened?
Mum says you were rude this morning.
Me? Rude?
Yes, Margaret says, placing plates on the table. We asked you to make breakfast and you snapped and ran off.
Thats not true! You said Id be cooking for you because I do nothing!
Andrew frowns.
Emma, whats really going on? Cant you last a week? Theyre family, not strangers.
Andrew, do you hear what theyre saying?
I hear. Its normal, youre at home, you can help.
Im not just at home for nothing! I have a baby!
The baby sleeps half the day, Ingrid interjects. Stop using that as an excuse.
Emma looks at her husbands indifferent face as he calmly takes his potatoes. She realises hes not on her side. He never was.
I see, she says, turning away. Goodnight.
She closes the door, leans against it, tears threatening, but she doesnt cry. She needs to think.
The next morning Emma rises before anyone else. She packs a bag for herself and Daisy: a few clothes, documents, some cash she saved. When Daisy wakes, she feeds and dresses her, then calls a taxi.
Margaret and Ingrid are still asleep when Emma, cradling Daisy and a bag, walks out of the flat. Andrew is still in bed. No one sees her off.
Emmas parents live on the other side of town in a modest threebedroom house. Her mother opens the door in a dressing gown, halfasleep.
Emma? Whats wrong?
Mum, can we stay with you for a while?
Her mother steps aside, letting Emma in. Her father appears, looks at them, and instantly knows.
That bloke again? he asks, meaning Andrew.
Dad, please, Emma sits on the sofa. I just need somewhere to be. To think.
Her mother takes Daisy onto her lap.
Of course, love. Stay as long as you need.
Andrew calls an hour later.
Emma, where are you? Mum says youre not home!
Im at my parents, she replies.
What? Come back right now!
No.
What do you mean no? Youre a wife, your place is at home!
Andrew, Im exhausted. Im exhausted of you, your mum, your sister. I need time to think.
Think about what? Emma, stop making a scene! They asked you to cook, thats all.
They didnt ask, they demanded. Treated me like staff. And you took their side.
Andrew is silent.
When will you be back?
I dont know. Maybe never.
Youre serious?
Very serious. Im fed up with being nobody in my own family.
She hangs up. Her hands shake, her heart pounds, but for the first time in months she feels shes doing the right thing.
Her mother brings tea and sits beside her.
Tell me everything.
Emma recounts the months of Andrews distance after the baby arrived, the endless exhaustion, the arrival of Margaret and Ingrid, their rudeness.
Why did you stay silent?
I thought I could manage, that it would pass.
It wont pass on its own. You have to decide.
Ive decided. Im leaving.
Her father, reading the newspaper, looks up.
What do you want me to say? he asks. Youre an adult, you decide. Were on your side, whatever happens.
Emma feels a warmth inside. Thats the real support no blame, no judgment, just backing.
Andrew keeps calling throughout the day. Emma doesnt answer. He texts: Mum and Ingrid are upset, They want to leave early, Are you happy?
She ignores them. Later Margaret sends a message: Emma, Im disappointed. I thought youd be a proper wife and mother. Poor Andrew.
Emma deletes it, puts the phone down.
Daisy wakes and cries. Emma picks her up, changes her, feeds her while Margaret and Ingrid argue in the kitchen, their words cutting: shameless, Andrew spoiled her, should have found someone else.
Emma takes Daisy for a walk, leaving the house without warning. She wanders through the park, pushing the pram, watching the autumn leaves, trying to decide what to do next.
She returns to find the flat smelling of something cooking. Margaret is frying potatoes with mushrooms.
Ah, youre back, Margaret says without turning. Where have you been?
Out.
Right. Since you dont want to cook, Ill do it myself. Andrew loves mushrooms. You barely have anything in the fridge.
Emma tiptoes past, sets Daisy downShe closed the door behind her, breathed in the crisp evening air, and walked away, certain that her own peace was more valuable than any households expectations.
