Your place is in the kitchen, not in the family portrait, the sisterinlaw whispered, lowering the camera.
Did you oversalt the borscht on purpose, or is cooking just not your strong suit? the motherinlaws voice cut through the room, each word echoing in Olivias ears like a distant bell.
I followed your recipe exactly, Olivia replied, trying to keep her composure. You gave it to me yourself.
Of course, it was my fault, snorted Eleanor Whitfield, pushing her plate away with a theatrical flourish. David, are you really going to eat that?
David barely glanced up. He methodically spooned the soup into his mouth as if nothing were amiss. Mabel, the sisterinlaw, sat opposite, a faint smile playing on her lips, the sort of smile that made Olivias fists clench under the table.
Mother, why are you being so harsh? Mabel finally spoke, her tone feigning concern. Perhaps shes simply accustomed to different flavours. Their family cooks differently, after all.
Olivia recognized the veneer. It sounded protective, but it only added fuel to the fire. Mabel always did thatsoftly, with a smile, but with a sting that lingered.
David, say something, Olivia begged, her patience fraying.
He lifted his eyes, slow as a clocks pendulum.
Whats there to say? The soups fine. Eat it and stop fussing.
Mum, see? Mabel reached for the bread. David likes it, so it must be all right.
Eleanor pursed her lips, saying nothing more. The rest of the lunch stretched on in a tense silence, broken only by the clink of cutlery and occasional remarks from Mabel about work, a new motor she planned to buy, and an upcoming holiday in Spain.
Olivia mechanically ate her portion. Three years. Three years of marriage to David, three years of enduring the motherinlaws constant critiques, Mabels poisonous quips, and Davids mute acquiescence. She had hoped time would smooth the edges, that she would carve a place for herself in this household. The longer she stayed, the clearer it became that there was never a space for her.
After the meal she cleared the table, washed the dishes, while the women retired to the sittingroom for tea. David slipped away to his study, citing work. From the kitchen Olivia caught fragments of their conversation.
Shes trying, but you can see shes not one of us, Eleanor muttered.
Come on, Mum, enough. David loves her; theyre happy together, Mabel interjected.
Love, love Love will fade, but the chores and the grievances remain. Shes nothingno backbone, no character. A quiet mouse. Eleanors words cut sharper than any knife.
Olivia clenched the dishcloth tighter. A quiet mouse. Yes, perhaps thats how shed always been taught to see herself: modest, unobtrusive, obedient. Her parents had drilled that into her from childhood. She never argued with teachers, endured classmates sarcasm at university without protest. Now, at thirtytwo, she still swallowed slights in silence.
Mum, bring us some biscuits! Mabel called from the sittingroom.
Olivia fetched the tin from the cupboard, set it on the coffee table, and watched as Eleanor and Mabel scrolled through a phone, giggling over a picture of a dress.
Mum, look at this dress! Ill wear it to the party. Max will love it, Mabel cooed, showing a photo.
Its lovely, dear. Red suits you, Eleanor praised.
Olivia placed the biscuits down, prepared to leave, but Eleanor halted her.
Olivia, when do you and David plan to have children? Its been three years already; theres still no sign.
The question landed like a slap. Olivia halted.
We arent ready yet.
Not ready? At your age, its time. I want grandchildren; Im not forever, Eleanor fumed. Youre dragging your feet.
Mum, maybe they have their own issues, Mabel tried to defuse. Many couples today have them.
What issues? Davids a healthy man. The problem must be you, Eleanor snapped.
Olivia felt her cheeks burn. She wanted to explain that the decision was mutual, that they intended to secure a flat of their own first. The words lodged in her throat.
Ill go, she managed.
In the hallway Olivia pressed her back against the wall, eyes closed. Inside her, a storm roared. Every weekend repeated the same pattern: arriving at Davids parents house, feeling like a servantcooking, cleaning, tolerating remarkswhile David sat mute. She fled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, reminding herself to hold on a little longer. Soon they would return home, where the atmosphere was different; David became attentive, caring. In his parents home he turned into a compliant boy.
Back in the livingroom, Mabel produced a camera.
Mum, lets get a family photo! Weve never had a decent one, she suggested.
A splendid idea! David, come over here! Eleanor called.
David emerged from his study, yawning.
Whats the fuss?
Were taking a portrait. A family picture.
Right, lets do it then.
Mabel arranged everyone. She seated Eleanor, placed David beside her. Mum, you sit there; Ill stand opposite David.
Olivia lingered at the edge, unsure whether to join. Mabel fussed with the camera, muttering to herself.
May I join too? Olivia asked timidly.
Mabel looked up, fixed her with a long stare, then a halfsmile.
Your place is in the kitchen, not in the family portrait, she said, lowering the camera.
Silence fell. Olivia stood rooted, stunned. Eleanor glanced away as if hearing nothing. David said nothing.
What? Olivia managed.
Mabel shrugged. Its just a family picture. Our familyMum, me, David. What are you doing here?
Im Davids wife.
And so what? Wives come and go; families endure.
Daviddo you hear what your sister is saying? Olivia demanded.
David finally looked up from his shoes.
Enough, Mabel. Olivia will be in the picture, he said.
Mabel waved a hand. Fine, I was only joking. Stand over there, off to the side.
But Olivias mind had already cracked. She turned and headed for the hall, jacket tugged tight, hands trembling.
Olivia, where are you going? David called after her.
Home.
But we agreed to stay for dinner.
I wont stay. Stay if you like, with your family.
Olivia, stop. Youve been foolish, you know shes a fool, David muttered.
I know. I know your mother, I know you.
She slipped out without a goodbye. David lingered, watching her go, his silence louder than any accusation.
Outside it was an early November evening, wind biting the streets. Olivia walked fast, almost ran, tears blurring her view. The hurt, the shame, the terror of realizing that this could not go on forever flooded her.
She collapsed onto the sofa at her mothers cottage, finally letting the tears fall. They ran until her eyes ached, then she washed her face, brewed a mug of tea, and sat by the window. Outside the street lamps flickered, the night deepening. She stared out, wondering what to do next.
David returned late that night, slipping in quietly, guilt evident.
Olivia, are you awake? he asked.
She stayed silent.
Why did you react like that? Mabel was only being foolishly cheeky.
It wasnt a joke, Olivia said.
It was a poor joke. Shes always blurting out things, David tried to justify.
And you? Why do you always stay silent when they demean me?
Davids shoulders slumped. What can I do? Its my mother, my sister. I cant argue with them over every trifle.
Over a trifle? They insult me and you call it a trifle?
Its not an insult. My mothers just controlling. Mabels always been spoiled. They dont mean it maliciously.
Should I keep enduring?
Dont endure, speak up. Im not forbidding you.
Olivia managed a bitter smile. Speak up, then youll blame me for hurting your mother or sister.
Why bring up the time six months ago when I told your mother we couldnt come every weekend? You stopped talking to me for a week, called me ungrateful.
David fell silent. Olivia pressed on.
And when Mabel said she was surprised youd married me, that I was a drab mouse with no beauty or witthen you laughed and said at least I was handy, she recalled.
Enough, Olivia, David interjected. Lets not dredge the past.
It was last month, she whispered. A month.
Silence stretched. Inside Olivia felt a new fire igniteanger, not at Mabels cruel jokes nor Eleanors relentless criticism, but at David, whose silence had made her invisible.
The scariest part, she whispered, was thinking you loved me, that I mattered. Turns out Im just convenientcooking, cleaning, never arguing.
Davids face hardened. Thats nonsense.
It isnt. You were right that my place is the kitchen. Thats all Im needed for.
David rose abruptly. Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Youre blowing this out of proportion.
How can you say that? Olivias voice rose. They humiliate me and you sit still. Is that nothing?
Nothing? Youre too sensitive! You need a sense of humour!
She stood, walked to the bedroom, opened the wardrobe and began packing. Her hands shook, but she tried to stay steady.
What are you doing? David asked from the doorway.
Leaving. To my mothers.
Because of a stupid remark?
Not the remark. Because of you. Because you dont see me. You dont hear me.
Olivia, lets talk calmly, not in a tantrum.
Im not having a tantrum. I simply cant stay. I need to think.
She zipped her bag and headed for the front door. David tried to block her.
You cant just walk out. Were a family.
What family, David? Your family is Mum and Mabel. Im a stranger there, and here too.
She slipped past him, leaving the flat for the first time without his shadow following.
Her mother met her at the doorstep, surprise in her eyes.
Olivia dear, whats happened? Why are you alone?
May I stay with you for a while? Olivia asked.
Of course, love. Come in.
Her mother didnt pry. She simply offered tea, talked about neighbours, the garden, the weatherevery ordinary thing that eased Olivias nerves.
Mother, how did you manage so many years with Father? Olivia asked eventually.
Her mother thought a moment. You see, dear, respect is the bedrock of a marriage. Love may wane, but respect endures. Your father always listened, defended you when needed.
What if he didnt? Olivia probed.
If he didnt, then it wasnt a marriage, but a torment. You must never be a servant in your own home.
Olivia nodded. She knew this already, but hearing it from her mother was a balm.
The next day David called. She didnt answer. Later a text arrived: Olivia, come home. Lets talk. She ignored it.
A week passed. Olivia went to work, returned to her mothers cottage, tried to sort her feelings. Anger faded, leaving exhaustion and a dawning clarity: the old way could not continue.
David turned up on a Saturday, knocked on the cottage door. Her mother opened, ushered him in.
May I speak with Olivia? she asked politely, then slipped away.
In the sittingroom they faced each other. David looked haggarddark circles, unshaven, a tired stare.
Ive missed you, he said simply.
I have too, Olivia replied, but that changes nothing.
What do you want from me?
That you see me. That you hear me. That you protect me when needed. That Im your wife, not just the kitchen hand.
David stayed silent, then nodded slowly.
I understand. I was wrong. I thought staying between you and your mother would make things easier, but it only let you fend for yourself.
What now? Olivia asked.
Ill stop going to your parents every weekend. Once a month at most. And if your mother or Mabel say something hurtful, Ill stand up for you, not expect you to defend yourself.
We have a deal, she said.
And another. Im tired of being silent. Ill listen to what you think. If I dont like it, Ill tell you now rather than later.
David managed a faint smile. Im curious to see the real you when youre not quiet.
Seriously?
He nodded. I like it when youre angryyour eyes sparkle.
Olivia let herself smile back.
Ill go back home, she said, but if anything repeats, Ill leave for good.
I promise it wont, David said firmly.
They left together. The house was empty, quiet. Olivia walked through the rooms as if seeing them anewher home, her family, her right to respect.
A month later David truly changed. He asked for her opinion more often, turned down Eleanors weekend calls with a polite excuse, and the household atmosphere eased. When Eleanor tried to comment on the cooking, David steered the conversation elsewhere. Mabel kept her distance, though the chill lingered.
After lunch, while Olivia washed dishes, Mabel entered the kitchen.
I wanted to apologise, she began, uneasy.
For what? Olivia asked, drying her hands.
For the comment about the photo. David scolded me later, said I was out of line.
You were out of line, Mabel admitted.
Its hard to accept that Davids family is now a different family, she confessed. We were so close before, and now you.
I didnt steal your brother, Olivia said gently. I just love him.
I know. Im selfish. I wanted things to stay as they were.
Nothing stays the same forever. We grow, we change, we form our own families.
Mabel smiled sadly. Youre right. Im sorry, truly.
I forgive you, but please, dont do it again, Olivia replied.
They returned to the sittingroom where Eleanor leafed through a magazine and David watched the tellya normal domestic scene.
Mabel suddenly suggested, Mum, lets finally get that family photo we never have.
Eleanor set the magazine aside. Good idea.
Mabel fetched her phone, switched to camera mode.
Olivia, stand here, next to David. Mum, have a seat. Ill stand off to the side.
Olivia stepped forward, David slipped his arm around her shoulders. Mabel aimed the lens.
Smile! One, two, three!
A click. The picture was taken. Mabel examined the screen, nodding.
Looks lovely. A real family.
Olivia glanced at the photo. For the first time in years she truly felt part of the imagenot a background figure, but a member.
On the drive home she watched the countryside roll by, thinking of how much had shifted in the past month. She had learned to speak up, to protect herself. David had learned to hear her. Even Mabel and Eleanor had softened their edges.
What are you thinking? David asked, glancing at her.
That sometimes you have to walk away to be heard, she replied.
I heard you. I wont lose you again.
Olivia smiled. Ahead lay more work on their relationship, but now they were truly together.
Back at home, over tea in the kitchen, David asked, Will you ever stay quiet again?
I wont, she said, eyes bright. Ready?
Ready. He chuckled.
She laughed, a sound that rose from the depths of her soul, free at last. She finally believed she had a right to be herself, to have a voice, and a place not only in the kitchen but in the family portrait.
