Emily drifted through the kitchen, a halflit morning hanging like a thin veil over the house. Mum needs a hand, she whispered to herself, the balcony windows have to be washed, and we have to buy a weeks worth of groceries. Can you go today?
Thomas shuffled in wearing old gym trousers and a crumpled tee, the very picture of a lazy Sunday. He paused at the tap, poured himself a glass of water, and barely glanced at his wife. Emily sat at the tiny table by the window, nursing a steaming mug, while sunlight stitched strange patterns on the tablecloth. Her thoughts seemed to wander far beyond the kitchen walls.
It wasnt the first time such a request had slipped into their routine. It began with innocuous errands: Emily, could you pass Mum the bread? Can you pop over with the tablets? Soon the tasks grewlong trips across town with heavy bags, wholehouse cleanups at the motherinlaws, even small repairs that Mrs. Whitaker declared only someone spry and quick could manage. Thomas, meanwhile, never seemed to appear for his own mother. He always had an excuse: fatigue, a dull ache, or simply not feeling like it. Youre free today, hed say, and Emily would sigh, grab a mop, and drive off, listening to the endless stream of complaints about health, prices, neighbours, and the way poor Tom gets the short end of the stick.
Thomas, Emilys voice cut through the quiet, a calm steel that made him turn his head. Ive told you before. Im your wife, not a personal assistant for your mother, and certainly not a free housekeeper. If Mrs. Whitaker needs help, especially something as big as this, why dont you go yourself? You have a day off, dont you? Or have you forgotten?
Thomas blinked, caught off guard. Usually these talks ended with Emily conceding after a few more words.
…I thought youd he stammered, frowning. Its not hard! Womens workwashing windows, buying food youre better at that than I am.
Emily twisted her lips, a smile that hinted at trouble.
Womens work? she echoed sarcastically. So lugging fivekilogram sacks of potatoes up to the seventh floor and scrubbing grime off panes is now exclusively a ladys duty? And youll stay home, conserving your energy, waiting to collapse on the couch later?
The tension thickened. Thomas slammed his glass onto the counter, his face flushing.
Whats your problem? he snapped. Mums alone, shes old, its tough for her! Instead of helping youre throwing a fit!
A fit? Emily raised an eyebrow. You call my unwillingness to be a servant a fit? Listen carefully.
What else? he demanded.
Im your wife, not a errandgirl! If your mum needs help, you must be the one to go and do it! Shes your mother, Thomas. If it truly is hard for her, its your sons duty to assist. Or do you think a son should dump everything onto his wife? Im not asking you to tend to my mother; her problems are mine, and Ill handle them. So, love, grab the list, a rag, a bucket, and head to Mums. Use my gloves if you have none of your own. I have my own tasks now. No more of these requests. Understood?
Thomas stared at her as if she were an alien creature. The familiar order he relied on was collapsing. Emily, who had always yielded, now stood cold, decisive, without alternatives.
You realise what youre saying? he shouted, stepping forward. Its disrespect to my mother!
Emilys composure did not waver. No, Thomas, its respect for yourself. Basic selfrespect. If you cant see that, thats your problem.
She rose, walked past the table, and left the kitchen, leaving him alone among the sunspotted floor, the shattered comfort of the room, and a sudden thought: the world was no longer a cosy place.
Thomas followed her into the sitting room, where Emily perched with a book as if performing a ritual. He halted in the doorway, fists clenched, his face flaming with anger.
You just decided you can refuse? he rasped. Ignore my pleas, my mothers needs? Is that how a wife should behave?
Emily slowly set the book down.
Do you think its normal, Thomas, to shift a sons responsibilities onto his wife? she asked evenly. You speak of Mum, yet you forget shes yours. She has a son, an adult, a man with a day off. Why does he send you instead of helping himself, while you plan a day on the sofa?
Because it never bothered anyone before! Thomas shouted, stepping sharply into the room. You always helped, and everything was fine! What changed? Did you grow a crown or start seeing yourself as special?
It changed because I cant do it any longer, Emily replied, her voice calm, devoid of anger, only deep, longstanding fatigue. Im tired of being the convenient helper for both of you, not a person in my own right. Im exhausted when my time, energy, and wishes are ignored. You say she always agreed. Have you ever considered the cost to me? How many times have I sacrificed my plans, my rest, even my health to please you and your mum?
Thomas snorted, waving his hand as if shooing a persistent fly.
Here we go again, the martyr act! No one forced you; you chose it. So it must have been comfortable for you!
It was a choice to keep peace in the family, Emily said bitterly, a thin grin curling her lips. I hoped youd notice, feel how much I do. Instead you took it for granted, as if I were obliged to serve all your relatives. And you know what? My own mum never asked you to come and help with windows or the garden. She understands we have our own lives. Yet your mum treats me like a free resource, to be deployed at a moments notice.
Dont compare them! Thomas roared, his face contorting with rage. My mother always tried for us! And now, when she asks for help, you act like a selfish creature? Thats just egoism!
And who will think of me if I dont? Emily looked straight into his eyes, fearless, unashamed. You? The man who never notices how I look after your mothers endless demands? Or Mrs. Whitaker, who after a cleaning session starts bragging about the neighbours daughterinlaw baking pies daily? No, Thomas. This chapter is over. I will no longer be the rug everyone tramples under the pretense of duty and help.
The room grew taut. Thomas felt his control slipping. His accustomed authority, his right to command, was crumbling before his eyes. He had grown used to Emilys softness, her acquiescence. Now her cold stare and firm voice knocked him off balance.
Youre ungrateful! he gasped, his voice cracking. We give you everything, and you you value nothing! You dont care about our feelings!
Feelings! Emily laughed, though the laugh carried no mirth. When was the last time you asked about mine, Thomas? When I trudged home after a whole day at your mothers and you said, Alright, did you get everything done? Good job. My needs? My need for a quiet moment, for simple human attention? Never. Its easier to have a wife who silently does whatever is demanded.
Thomas prowled the room like a cornered animal. His usual tactics of blame and accusation fell flat, only feeding his fury.
Fine, he finally panted, breathing heavily. If you wont cooperate, Ill do it my way. Youll hear my mothers opinion!
He fished out his phone, dialing quickly. Emily sat still, a faint shadow of disdain on her face. She recognized the moveheavy artillery in the form of a mother always siding with her son.
A terse voice crackled through: Thomas, youre up early? Im just measuring the pressure, trying not to worry.
Mum, you wont believe whats happening! he shouted, making sure Emily heard every word. I asked Emily to go to you for windows and groceries, as usual. She threw a fit! She says youre my mother, I should go myself, not send a girl on errands! Can you imagine?
Silence hung thick. Emily smirked in her mind, knowing how her mother liked to pause dramatically.
What what? Mrs. Whitaker finally replied, feigning surprise. She said that about me?
Yes, Mum, exactly that! Thomas blurted. She says youre my mother, not hers, and I must look after you, while shes tired! Nonsense! Im shocked!
The youth these days the mother sighed, sounding pitiful. I thought a daughterinlaw would be like family but she
Hand me the phone, Emily said evenly.
Thomas turned to her, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.
Scared? Going to apologise to Mum?
Hand it over, she repeated, her tone icy enough to make him pause. He passed the phone, flipping it to speaker.
Mrs. Whitaker, good morning, Emily began, businesslike. I overheard your conversation and would like to clarify.
Emily, dear, whats happening with Thomas? Hes so upset why are you treating him like this? Were one family.
Mrs. Whitaker, if you truly need helpespecially physically demanding tasks like washing windows and carrying groceriesyou should ask your son. He has a day off, hes healthy, and its his duty as a son to look after his mother. I am his wife, not your housekeeper.
Emily, love, youre the one who runs the house the mother started, irritation creeping in. Thomas is a man, he has other responsibilities. He provides for the family
I work too, Mrs. Whitaker, Emily interjected. My day off is just as valuable. I wont perform regular chores for your family for free. If cleaning is difficult, you could hire a cleaning service. Thats a realistic solution.
A cleaning service?! the mother gasped. Let strangers into my home? People will gossip! Theyll think their son and daughterinlaw have forgotten me!
What I care about isnt what strangers think, Emily said firmly. Its my right to a life and rest of my own. If Thomas feels ashamed to help his mother or thinks it beneath him, thats his problem, not mine.
A heavy breathing filled the line.
So thats it? the mother finally hissed, her voice stripped of any former softness. You think you can dictate who runs this house? Fine, Emily I wont let this slide. If youre against the family, against order, against respect for elders, Ill come myself and sort it out. Well have a serious talk, and youll learn how to behave.
She slammed the handset down. Thomas glared at Emily, as if daring her to stand her ground. She simply set the phone on the table, ready.
Forty minutes later a sharp, insistent knock rattled the front door, as though the doorway itself were being forced open. Thomas, who had been pacing nervously, rushed to answer. Emily remained seated, her interior trembling, yet her resolve was steel.
Mum! Finally! You have no idea what just happened! Thomas shouted from the hall, his voice a mix of outrage and righteous fury.
Mrs. Whitaker stormed in like a gale, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing, a halftorn scarf slipping from her shoulder. Every fibre of her seemed poised for battle.
Come here, girl! she lunged at Emily, who rose calmly to meet her. How dare you tell my son what to do? How dare you speak to me like that?
Good afternoon, Mrs. Whitford, Emily replied, keeping a veneer of politeness that only inflamed the mother further. Im glad youre here. Lets discuss this peacefully, without misunderstandings.
Discuss? the mother screeched. I have nothing to discuss with a woman who insults her husbands mother! We took you into the family, and you turn out to be a snake! Where was Thomas when you spewed this?
He was right here, Mum! Mrs. Whitford shouted, supporting her son. He says I should wash your windows myself! He says youre not obliged! Can you imagine?
Thomas didnt just say that, Emily corrected quietly. Hes your son, which means hes responsible for you. If you think his wife should do it for you, then either youre lazy or youre not a man at all.
How dare you? the mother gasped, choking on her anger. My son works! He has no strength! And you sit at home doing nothing!
I work too, Mrs. Whitford, Emilys voice hardened. I earn as much as your son. My home is not a free service for your family. You raised a man who cant make a decision without you. Im tired of being the perpetual helper and scapegoat in this household.
Her words landed like slaps. Thomas stood frozen, unsure what to say. His mother trembled with fury.
I gave him everything! Nights without sleep! And you come here to judge me!
Exactly because you gave him everything, he remains a dependent child, Emily replied, giving no room for rebuttal. He should have grown up by now. Instead you keep him on a short leash. I will no longer be part of that family theatre.
Thomas finally exploded.
Silence! he roared, stepping forward. Youve crossed every line! My mother is a saint, and if you dont like it, you can leave! I choose my mother! Shes the only one I have, and there are plenty like you!
Those words were the final blow. Emily stared at him with a long, cold look.
Alright, Thomas, she said softly but firmly. Youve made your choice. Now I know what youre worth. I want nothing to do with you or your mother. Pack your things, or just go back to her. I dont care. This nightmare ends here.
She turned away, signalling the conversation was over. Behind her, the mothers hysterical cries and Thomass angry shouts faded into the distance. Emily gazed out the window, where a new day was beginning. The heavy load had finally slipped from her shoulders. Ahead lay uncertainty, but also freedom. Behind her were two people who had lost more than a daughterinlaw or a wifethey had lost any chance of a normal life, forever trapped in their own toxic loop.
