Dear Diary,
Im still feeling the sting of todays lunch at the Petersons house in Manchester. Aunt Blythe smirked as she lowered her camera and said, Your place is the kitchen, not the family portrait. Her voice sounded like a knifeedge in my head.
Motherinlaw Helens thin whisper followed: Did you oversalt the borscht on purpose, or are you simply hopeless in the kitchen? Each word rang in my ears.
I tried to stay calm. I followed your recipe, Helen, I said, clutching my composure. You gave it to me yourself.
She huffed, Of course, Im to blame, and pushed her plate away with a flourish. David, are you really going to eat that?
David didnt even look up. He kept spooning the soup, as if nothing had happened. Blythe, sitting across from me, wore that familiar mocking grin that makes my fists clench under the table.
Finally Blythe spoke, Mum, dont be so harsh. Maybe shes just used to a different flavour. Their family cooks differently.
Her tone sounded protective, yet it only poured more fuel onto the fire. She always does thissoftly, with a smile, but it cuts.
I could hold it no longer. David, say something, I pleaded.
He lifted his eyes slowly. Whats there to say? The soups fine. Eat it and stop nitpicking.
Blythe reached for the bread. David likes it, so it must be all right, she said, as if that settled everything.
Helen pursed her lips, saying nothing more. The rest of the meal trudged on in a tense silence, broken only by the clink of silverware and Blythes occasional remarks about work, a new hatchback she plans to buy, and an upcoming holiday in Spain.
I ate my portion mechanically. Three years. Three years married to David, three years of enduring the constant criticism from Helen, the poisonous jabs from Blythe, and Davids mute compliance. I kept hoping things would improve, that I would become one of the family, but the farther I got, the clearer it became that I never would.
After lunch I cleared the table, washed the dishes, while the women moved to the sitting room for tea. David slipped away to his study, citing work. I caught bits of their conversation from the kitchen.
She tries, but you can see shes not one of us, Helen said.
Enough, Mum. David loves her, theyre happy together, Blythe interjected.
Love, love Love will fade, the bills and the arguments will stay. Shes nothingno backbone, no spine. Just a quiet mouse.
I squeezed the sponge tighter. A quiet mouse. Yes, thats how Ive always been. My parents taught me to be modest, to stay in the background. I never argued with teachers, I endured university snubs silently. Now at thirtytwo, I still swallow slights without a word.
Sarah, bring us some biscuits! Blythe called from the lounge.
I fetched the tin from the cupboard and placed it on the coffee table. Helen and Blythe perched on the sofa, scrolling through their phones.
Look, Mum, this dress! Ill wear it to the partyMax will be thrilled, Blythe gushed, showing a picture.
Lovely, dear. Red looks splendid on you, Helen replied.
I set the biscuit tin down, ready to leave, when Helen stopped me. Sarah, when are you and David planning children? Its been three years already, and theres still no progress.
Her question landed like a slap. I froze. We arent ready yet, I managed.
Not ready? Helen frowned. At your age you should be thinking about grandchildren. I dont have forever.
Maybe they have their own problems, Blythe tried to smooth things over. Many couples do these days.
What problems? Davids a healthy man. It must be you, Helen snapped.
My cheeks flushed. I wanted to explain that David and I had decided to first secure a job and buy our own flat, but the words lodged in my throat.
Im going, I whispered, and fled to the hallway, pressing my back against the wall, eyes closed. The pressure inside was unbearable. Every weekend felt the samevisiting Davids parents, feeling like a servant: cooking, cleaning, enduring snide remarks while David stayed silent. He was always silent.
I slipped into the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and told myself to hold on. Just a bit longer, and wed be home, where it would be easier. At my own place, David was attentive, caringa far cry from the docile boy in his parents house.
Back in the lounge, Blythe pulled out her camera. Mum, lets finally get a proper family photo! she chirped.
Good idea! David, come here! Helen called.
David shuffled out, yawning. Whats happening?
Were taking a family picture, Blythe said. Right, lets set up.
She arranged everyone, placing Helen in a chair, David beside her. Mum, you stand here, Ill be on the other side of David.
I stood awkwardly at the edge, unsure whether to join. Blythe was fiddling with the camera, muttering to herself.
Can I stand too? I asked timidly.
Blythe looked up, stared at me for a long moment, then smiled. Your place is the kitchen, not the family portrait, she said, lowering the camera.
Silence fell. I stood frozen, unable to process what Id heard. Helen pretended not to notice; David said nothing.
What? I managed to croak.
Blythe shrugged. Its just a family photo. Its my familyMum, me, David. Whats your part in it?
Im Davids wife, I said, my voice shaking.
And so what? Wives come and go, families stay, she replied.
David, do you hear what your sister is saying? I turned to him.
He finally looked up from his shoes. Blythe, enough. Sarah will be in the picture too.
Blythe waved it off. Alright, I was just joking. Stand here, on the side.
But something inside me snapped. I turned and walked toward the hallway, my coat trembling in my hands.
What are you doing, Sarah? David called after me.
Going home, I replied.
But we agreed to stay for dinner.
Im not staying. Stay if you want. With your family.
Sarah, dont be like that. Blythes just being silly, you know that.
I know. I also know your mother and your sister. I know them both, I said, as I stepped out without a word of goodbye. David stayed, rooted to the spot with his mother and sisterhis real family.
The October wind was biting as I hurried down the street, tears blurring my vision. I felt a raw mix of hurt, anger, and fear. I knew I couldnt keep living like this.
When I finally reached my mothers flat, I collapsed onto her sofa. She didnt ask questions, just offered tea and a listening ear. We talked about neighbours, work, everyday things. I asked, Mum, how did you manage with Dad all those years?
She sighed. Respect is the cornerstone of any marriage. Love can wane, but respect endures. Your father always listened to me, defended me when needed.
What if he didnt? I pressed.
It stops being a family and becomes torment, she answered, meeting my eyes. You shouldnt be a servant in your own home.
I nodded, the truth ringing familiar.
The next day David called. I didnt answer. He left a text: Sarah, come home. Lets talk calmly. I didnt reply.
A week passed. I went to work, then back to Mums, trying to sort my feelings. The anger faded, leaving a weary exhaustion and the understanding that things could never return to the way they were.
On Saturday David knocked on my mothers door. She ushered him in, then slipped away to the kitchen.
We sat opposite each other in the living room. He looked exhausted, unshaven, dark circles under his eyes.
Ive missed you, he said simply.
Ive missed you too, I admitted, but that doesnt change anything.
What do you want from me? he asked.
To see me, to hear me, to stand up for me when it matters. I want to be your wife, not just the person who cleans and cooks.
He was silent, then nodded. I understand. I was wrong. I thought staying out of the way would help, but it just let you suffer alone.
Exactly. I didnt cope. I kept quiet while you thought everything was fine.
Im sorry. Truly sorry.
I dont need apologies. I need change.
What exactly?
I breathed deeply. I wont come to your parents every weekend. Once a month, at most. And if your mum or Blythe insult me, you intervene. I shouldnt have to defend myself.
Deal.
And Ill stop being the quiet one. Ill speak up. If you dont like that, tell me now.
He cracked a smile, the first genuine one in weeks. Speak up. Im curious to see the real you when youre not silent.
Seriously? I laughed.
Seriously. I like it when youre angry, your eyes light up.
I returned his smile. Ill come home, but if this repeats, Ill leave and not look back.
He nodded firmly. It wont repeat. I promise.
We left together. The house was empty and quiet. I walked through each room as if seeing it for the first timemy home, my family, my right to be respected.
A month later David truly changed. He asked my opinion more, and when Helen called demanding a weekend visit, he said they already had plans. She complained, but he stayed silent.
When they finally came three weeks later, the atmosphere was different. I felt steadier, more confident.
The lunch went relatively smoothly. Helen tried to critique the stew again, but David steered the conversation elsewhere. Blythe kept her distance, looking subdued.
After washing the dishes, Blythe entered the kitchen. Sarah, I wanted to apologise, she began, hesitant.
What for? I asked, drying my hands.
For the comment about the photo. David chided me later. He said I was out of line.
You were, I replied.
She nodded. Its hard seeing David with another family. We were always close. Then you appeared.
I didnt steal your brother. I just love him.
I know. Im selfish; I wanted everything to stay as it was.
Nothing stays the same forever. We grow, we form our own families, I said.
She smiled sadly. Youre right. Im sorry, truly.
I forgive you, but please dont do it again.
She returned to the lounge where Helen leafed through a magazine and David watched TVa normal family scene.
Mom, lets get a family photo, Blythe suggested suddenly. We still dont have one.
Helen set the magazine down. Good idea.
Blythe fetched her phone, opened the camera. Okay, Sarah, stand here by David. Mum, you sit in that armchair. Ill be on the edge.
I moved beside David, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Blythe aimed the lens.
Smile! One, two, three!
The shutter clicked. The picture was ready. Blythe glanced at the screen and nodded. Looks perfect. A real family.
I stared at the photo. For the first time in ages, I felt truly part of the picturenot a background extra, but a member.
On the drive home I stared out the window, reflecting on how much has shifted in just a month. Ive learned to speak up, to protect myself. David has learned to listen. Even Blythe and Helen have become more cautious.
What are you thinking about? David asked, glancing at me.
Sometimes you have to walk away to be heard, I replied.
I hear you now. I wont lose you again.
A smile spread across my face. Theres still a lot of work ahead, but for the first time I truly believe were togetherreally together.
Later, over tea in our kitchen, David asked, Will you stop staying quiet?
Ill try. Ready?
Ready. Surprise me.
I laugheda genuine, heartfelt laugh. I finally believed I had the right to be myself, to have a voice, and to occupy more than just the kitchen spot in the family photo.
