12March2025 Diary
The day started with a sharp knock on the front door. If youre not working, youll be cooking for us, shouted my wifes sister the moment she stepped over the threshold.
Andrew, can you hear me? Laura begged, clutching our little Daisy, who was still sobbing. I was glued to my phone on the sofa, pretending the babys cries and her pleas were background noise.
What now? I asked without looking up.
Do you hear me? she wailed. Ive been up all night with a feverish Daisy. I rocked her until dawn. You were asleep in the spare bedroom and didnt even stir!
My shift starts tomorrow actually this morning. I need my rest.
And what about me? Am I just a robot? Ive been on my feet nonstop!
I finally set my phone down and glared at Laura. Enough with the theatrics, Laura. Youre at home; you can rest during the day. Im working from dawn till dusk to provide for us.
A lump rose in Lauras throat. She felt as if she were on a holiday while I was slogging through dirty nappies and sleepless nights.
Fine, she said, rocking Daisy into silence. Go to bed. I wont bother you anymore.
I retreated to the bedroom without a glance at our daughter. Laura sank onto the couch, cradling the tiny, warm body of Daisy. At eight months she still slept erratically, demanded constant attention, and left Laura utterly exhausted.
We had married three years ago in a modest flat in Manchester. Laura was a receptionist at a local NHS clinic; I was a site manager for a construction firm. Life was simple but happy, until Laura fell pregnant.
At first I was thrilled. I talked about having a son and a happy family. When Laura went on maternity leave, however, I withdrew. I spent more time at work or with my mates, and when Daisy arrived I almost disappeared.
Laura understood that a newborn brings stresssleepless nights, endless crying, fatiguebut she hoped we would face it together. Instead, I built an invisible wall.
After putting Daisy down for a nap, Laura shuffled to the kitchen. It was half past ten, and she hadnt even had breakfast. The sink was piled high with yesterdays dishes, and a burnt pot of porridge sat on the stove. She turned the kettle on and began washing plates.
Her phone buzzed. A text from me: Mum and Isabelle are arriving this evening. Theyll stay a week. Have something ready for dinner.
She read it three times. No question about whether she could manage. She replied: Andrew, I have a baby. How am I supposed to cater to them?
My reply was instant: Dont worry, just be polite. Theyre family.
MumMargaret Harperhad always been cool with me, as if she thought I could have done better. Isabelle, my younger sister, was a successful salon owner, proud of her single life. She openly declared that children were a burden on career and freedom. Now both women would be under our roof for a whole week.
By evening Laura had tidied the flat, cooked a pot of beef stew and some meat patties, and dressed Daisy in a fresh onesie. She herself threw on an old pair of jeans and a crumpled Tshirtthere was no time for fashion.
The doorbell rang at seven. I opened it, still in work clothes, and flopped onto the sofa.
Mum! Isabelle! Come in! I called.
Margaret swept in, eyeing everything with a critical glance. Isabelle followed in a sleek suit and high heels, clutching a large handbag.
Good afternoon, Laura said, drying her hands on a towel.
Hello, Margaret replied dryly, not even removing her shoes. Andrew, can you help with the luggage?
Isabelle stopped at the doorway, staring at Laura. Did you spend the whole day at home? At least dress decently when you have guests.
Lauras cheeks flushed. Sorry, I was looking after the baby.
Right, Isabelle said, slipping off her shoes. Mum, I told you the house was a mess.
I hovered between my mother and sister, asking them how the journey had been, ignoring Lauras eyes.
What will you serve? Laura asked, peeking into the living room.
Borsch? Margaret asked, squinting.
Stew and patties, I said, trying to keep peace.
Stew? Isabelle sniffed. We wanted something lightsalad, steamed fish.
I didnt know
Just bring whatever you have on the table, Margaret waved a hand. Dont ruin the evening.
Laura set the table. The stew was too salty, the patties a little dry, the bread slightly stale. I ate in silence, offering no defence for her.
Wheres the baby? Margaret asked once wed finished.
Shes sleeping, Laura said, gathering dirty plates.
Wake her up, I want to see my granddaughter, Margaret demanded.
Laura hesitated, then walked to the nursery. Daisy lay asleep, arms outstretched, peaceful. Isabelle muttered, She cries all the time.
Shes only eight months, Laura whispered, trying to soothe her. She got scared when we woke her.
Exactly why I dont want kids, Isabelle said, turning away.
Margaret lifted Daisy, examining her. Shes so thin. Are you feeding her enough? You seem to have only time for yourself. The flat isnt exactly spotless.
Laura clenched her fists. She had spent the whole day cleaning, cooking, caring for Daisy, and still it wasnt enough.
Would you like to rest? I suggested, hoping to defuse the tension. Maybe youre tired from the journey.
Yes, thank you, Margaret said, handing Daisy back. Andrew, show us where well sleep.
We only have a pullout sofa in the lounge, Laura replied. Thats all we havetwo rooms, one nursery.
A sofa? Isabelle raised an eyebrow. Seriously?
Isabelle, you can use the nursery, I offered. Well move Daisy to our bedroom for the night.
Laura wanted to argue but stayed silent. It was useless.
When the guests finally settled, I moved Daisys cot into our bedroom. She whined after being woken and couldnt settle. I rocked her, sang, but she kept crying.
Andrew, do something! Laura hissed. I have work tomorrow!
Im trying! I snapped back. Its not enough, is it?
Feeling defeated, Laura slipped out of the bedroom with Daisy, closed the kitchen door, and sat on a stool, weeping silently with her child.
The next morning, a knock on the bedroom door woke me.
Laura, get up! Its nine oclock! I called.
Daisy slept beside her cot, and I was nowhere to be seen. Laura rose, threw on a robe, and headed to the kitchen where Margaret and Isabelle were already looking annoyed.
Weve been up an hour and theres no breakfast, Isabelle complained. At least the kettle works.
Im sorry, I didnt hear you get up, Laura said, moving to the stove. What would you like?
An omelette, but no butterdry pan only. I cant have fat, Margaret demanded. And I want porridge, wateronly, no sugar, and a proper coffee, not instant.
I didnt have ground beans, only instant; I kept quiet and started cooking.
Isabelle lounged back. Since youre not working, youll be cooking for us. Well give you a shopping list and recipes. Thats what you do all day, right?
Laura froze, whisk trembling.
What? she asked.
Nothing special, Isabelle shrugged. You sit at home all day, so you might as well be useful.
Your child sleeps half the day, you have plenty of time, Margaret added, nodding.
Laura looked to me for support, but I simply agreed with them.
Exactly, Isabelle said. Were family, arent we? You should help your husbands family. Youre not much of a cook anyway.
Wheres Andrew? Laura asked, feeling a pressure build.
Hes at work. He left early this morning, Margaret replied, sipping tea. By the way, your sugar is cheap; get better next time.
The breakfast turned out bland, the porridge lumpy. Redo it, Isabelle snapped.
I wont, Laura said quietly but firmly. Eat whats there or make it yourself.
Who do you think you are? Margaret barked, tapping her cup. Were guests in this house!
Im not your servant, Laura said, removing her apron. I have my own workbeing a mother, looking after our child. Thats a job too.
Isabelle laughed. A mothers work isnt work, love. Its nothing. Youre just leeching off my brother.
Enough, I said, standing. Ill get the dishes done.
Where are you going? Margaret protested. The dishes arent done!
I didnt answer. I retreated to the bedroom, slammed the door, and texted: Your mother and sister are being rude. Either you talk to them or Im leaving to my parents.
Her reply arrived half an hour later: Dont make things up. Theyre just trying to help. Hang in there for a week.
I hung the phone on the bedside table. Daisy woke and cried. I lifted her, changed her, fed her, while Margaret and Isabelle continued their whispers from the kitchen: shameless, Andrews a fool, should have found someone else.
I walked out with Daisy, without telling anyone, and took a walk in the nearby park. The autumn leaves fell, and I thought about what to do next.
Returning home, the flat smelled of frying mushrooms and potatoesMargaret was cooking. Oh, youre back, she said without turning. Where have you been?
Out, I muttered. If you dont want me to cook, Ill do it myself. Andy loves mushrooms, you know.
I slipped past her, put Daisy back to sleep, and sat on the bedroom floor, staring at the wall. How had I ended up like this? I used to be confident, social, with friends and hobbies. Now I felt like a trapped mouse, too scared to speak up.
Evening came, and Andrew returned in a good mood. How was your day? he asked, kissing my mother on the cheek.
Fine, Andy, I replied. I made you some mushroom potatoes, your favourite.
Thanks, Mum! he said, sitting down. Wheres Laura?
Shes in the other room, Isabelle said, painting her nails on the sofa. We told her to help with breakfast, and she got upset.
Laura! Andrew called. Come here!
I stepped out of the bedroom.
Whats happened? he asked.
Mum says you were rude this morning.
I? Rude?
Yes, you refused to make us breakfast, Margaret said, placing plates on the table. You left us to fend for ourselves.
Its not true! They told me Id be cooking for them because I dont work, I protested. I have a baby!
Your baby sleeps half the day, Isabelle interjected. You have plenty of time.
I looked at Andrew, at his indifferent face, at the way he calmly ate his potatoes. He was not on my side. He never had been.
Its clear, I said, turning back to my bedroom. Im done.
I closed the door and leaned against it, tears burning my eyes but not falling. I needed to think.
The next morning I rose before anyone else, packed a bag for myself and Daisyclothes, documents, a little cash I had saved. When Daisy woke, I fed and dressed her, called a taxi, and left the flat while Margaret and Isabelle were still asleep. Andrew was still in bed. No one saw me off.
My parents live in a modest terraced house on the outskirts of Leeds. My mother opened the door in a nightgown. Emily? Whats happened? she asked.
Mum, can we stay with you for a while? I asked, exhausted.
She welcomed us without a word. My father, seeing us in the hallway, asked, That bloke again? referring to Andrew.
Its better if Im away for a bit, I said, sinking onto their sofa. I need space to think.
My mother held Daisy close. Of course, love. Stay as long as you need.
Andrew called an hour later. Emily, where are you? Mum says youre not home!
Im at my parents, I replied.
What do you mean? Come back now! he shouted.
No, I said firmly. Im tired of being treated like a servant in my own house.
He tried to argue, but I hung up. For the first time in months I felt a strange kind of relief.
My mother brewed tea and sat with me. Why did you stay silent for so long? she asked.
I thought I could manage, that it would pass, I said. I hoped Andrew would change.
Nothing changes by itself, my mother said, squeezing my hand. You have to set the terms and be ready to walk away if theyre not respected.
My father, reading the paper, looked up. Youre an adult now, Emily. Decide what you want. Well back you, whatever it is.
That night, after Daisy fell asleep, I reflected on everything. I realised I could not keep sacrificing my dignity for the sake of a façade of family peace. Respect, not silence, is what holds a household together.
A week later Andrew turned up at my parents door, holding a bouquet of lilies and a small present for Daisy. He looked tired, eyes rimmed with red.
Emily, Ive thought a lot, he began. I want to start over. Im seeing a therapist, Ive booked my first session for tomorrow. Im ready to change.
How many times have you promised that before? I asked, wary.
This time Im serious. Ive realized Ive been protecting my mother and sister instead of you. I even spoke to my mum; she agreed to treat you with respect.
He led me to the nursery, gently brushed Daisys cheek, and for a moment I saw a father, not a detached roommate.
When he left, my mother asked, What will you do now?
I havent decided yet, I said. Ill watch him for a while, see if he truly changes.
A few more weeks passed. Andrew attended therapy, talked about his fear of responsibility, admitted hed copied the domineering model from his own upbringing. He started helping with the house, taking Daisy for walks, cooking meals without being asked. When he slipped up, he apologised sincerely.
Then, one morning, over breakfast, he told me, Ive decided to allocate part of my salary to you, officially. You deserve a steady income for the work you do at home.
My eyes widened. Really?
Yes. Its not charity. Its fairness.
Tears welled up. For the first time in a long while, I felt seen.
The weeks ahead are still imperfect. He sometimes forgets, sometimes reverts to old habits, but he listens now. Margaret visits occasionally, more politely, and Isabelle hasnt turned up at allshe sent a birthday card for Daisy with an apologetic note.
Ive learned a hard truth: you cannot endure disrespect for the sake of keeping peace. True peace comes from mutual respect, love, and equality. If youre willing to walk away, people will finally realise what theyve lost.
Emily Harper, 34, father of Daisy. (Lesson: respect yourself enough to set boundaries; otherwise, you lose more than you gain.)
