Since youre not working, youll be cooking for us, my sisterinlaw announced as soon as she stepped over the threshold.
Andrew, I cant take this any longer! Are you even hearing me? my wife Linda shouted.
Linda stood in the middle of the living room, cradling our teething eightmonthold Emma, tears streaming down her cheeks. I was slumped on the sofa, eyes glued to my phone, pretending not to notice the babys whine or her words.
What now? I asked without looking up.
What now? I havent slept a wink! Emmas been running a fever, I rocked her all night. And you were snoozing in the spare room, didnt even stir! she snapped.
Ive got a shift tomorrow. I need to get some sleep.
And I dont? Im a robot, right? On my feet round the clock!
I finally tore my gaze away from the screen, irritation flashing across my face.
Linda, stop the drama. Youre at home, you can rest during the day. Im on the job from dawn till dusk to provide for us, I said.
A lump rose in Lindas throat. It felt as if I were lounging on a holiday while she was kneedeep in dirty nappy changes and sleepless nights.
You know what, she whispered, rocking Emma until the baby finally quieted. Go to bed. I wont bother you any more.
I rose and headed for the bedroom without looking at our daughter. Linda sank onto the sofa, hugging Emmas warm little body. Emma, barely eight months old, still didnt sleep through the night and demanded constant attention. Linda was exhausted to the point where she felt she had nothing left.
Wed married three years ago. Back then Andrew that was me courted Linda, brought flowers, said sweet things. She worked as an administrator at a medical centre, I was a site manager for a construction firm. We lived modestly but happily. Then she got pregnant.
At first I was thrilled. I said I wanted a son, that wed be a happy family. But once Linda went on maternity leave things changed. I spent more time at work or with my mates, and when Emma arrived I practically vanished.
I understood a newborn is stressful for everyone sleeplessness, endless crying, fatigue. I hoped wed get through it together, but I shut myself off behind an invisible wall.
After putting Emma down in her crib, I drifted to the kitchen. It was half past ten and I hadnt had breakfast. The sink was piled high with yesterdays dishes, a burnt pot of porridge sat on the hob. I flicked the kettle on and began washing plates.
My phone buzzed. A message from me: Mum and Grace are arriving this evening. Theyll stay a week. Have something ready for dinner.
I read it three times. My motherinlaw and my sisterinlaw a whole week, and I hadnt even asked if that was convenient for Linda.
I replied, Andrew, Ive got a baby. How am I supposed to entertain them?
His instant reply: Dont worry, just be polite. Theyre family.
Lindas shoulders drooped. Her motherinlaw, Margaret, had always been cool with her. She seemed to think I could have done better. Grace, my sister, was a successful salon owner, proud of her single status. Shed made it clear that children were a careerkilling burden.
By evening Linda had managed to tidy the flat, whip up a beef stew and meatballs, change Emma into fresh clothes, and throw on whatever was at hand old jeans and a crumpled tshirt. She hadnt had time to think about her appearance.
The doorbell rang at seven sharp. I answered, having just walked in from work a half hour earlier, and flopped onto the sofa.
Mum! Grace! Come in! I called.
Margaret swept into the hallway, eyeing everything with a critical glance. Grace followed, highheeled and clutching a large handbag.
Hello, Linda said, drying her hands on a towel.
Ah, hello, Margaret replied dryly, stepping straight into the sitting room without even taking off her shoes. Andrew, could you help with the luggage?
Grace halted in the doorway, looking at Linda. Did you spend the whole day at home? At least dress properly when you have guests.
Lindas cheeks flushed. Sorry, Ive been looking after the baby.
Got it, Grace said, slipping off her shoes and moving to the sofa where Margaret was already settled. Mum, I told you this place was a mess.
Linda stood in the foyer, unsure what to do. I hovered, asking how the journey had been, whether they were tired. I didnt notice how Lindas anxiety was building.
Will you be having dinner? she asked, peeking into the room.
Whats on the menu? Margaret asked, narrowing her eyes.
Beef stew and meatballs, Linda answered.
Stew? Grace sneered. We were hoping for something lighter salad, steamed fish.
I didnt know Linda began.
Just bring whatevers on the table, Margaret waved her hand. Dont let the food go to waste.
I set the dishes on the table while Margaret and Grace nitpicked everything. The stew was too salty, the meatballs dry, the bread stale. I ate in silence, not defending Linda.
Wheres the baby? Margaret asked once wed finished eating.
Sleeping, Linda said, gathering the dirty plates.
Wake her up, I want to see my granddaughter, Margaret demanded.
She just fell asleep. Itd be better not to disturb her; she wont sleep later if we wake her, Linda tried to explain.
I said wake her up, Margaret snapped. Or shall I go myself?
I walked into the nursery. Emma was asleep, tiny arms stretched out, looking peaceful. I felt a pang of guilt waking her.
What a baby, Grace muttered as I carried Emma back, already beginning to whine. She cries all the time.
Shes only eight months, I soothed. She got scared when we woke her.
Thats why I never want kids, Grace said, turning away. Just trouble.
Margaret took Emma, turning her over in her hands. She looks thin. Are you feeding her properly?
Of course I am! I snapped.
You must have time only for yourself. Look at this flat; its not spotless, she added.
I clenched my fists. Id spent the whole day cleaning, cooking, chasing Emma, and it still wasnt enough.
Mom, Grace, maybe youd like to rest? I suggested. You must be tired from the journey.
Fine, Margaret said, handing Emma back to me. Andrew, show us where well be sleeping.
Weve set up a sofa bed in the lounge, I said. We only have two rooms the bedroom and the nursery.
A sofa bed? Grace raised an eyebrow. Seriously?
Grace, you can use the nursery, I offered. Well move Emma to our bed for the night.
Linda wanted to argue but stayed quiet. It was pointless.
When the guests finally settled, I moved Emmas crib into the master bedroom. She started fussing after being woken and couldnt settle. I rocked her, sang lullabies, but she kept crying.
Linda, do something! I tossed in the bed. Ive got work tomorrow!
Im trying! she snapped back.
Not trying enough! I shouted.
Linda slipped into the kitchen with Emma, shut the door, perched on a stool and wept silently together.
The next morning a knock sounded at the bedroom door.
Linda, get up! Its nine oclock! a voice called.
Emma was still asleep in her cot, and I was nowhere to be seen. Linda pulled on a robe and headed out.
In the kitchen, Margaret and Grace were sitting with annoyed looks.
Weve been up an hour and theres still no breakfast, Grace complained. At least we managed to turn the kettle on.
I didnt hear you get up, Linda said, moving to the stove. What would you like?
An omelette, Margaret said. But no butter, just a dry pan. I cant have any fat.
Ill have porridge, with water, no sugar. And a proper coffee, not instant, Grace added.
I only had instant coffee, but I didnt say anything and started cooking.
Grace leaned back, looking at me. Since youre home all day and not working, youll be cooking for us. Make a proper meal, not that stew again. Well give you a shopping list.
What? I asked, whisk in hand.
Whats the big deal? Grace shrugged. Youve got all day, you could actually be useful.
Im looking after the baby! I protested.
The baby sleeps half the day. You have plenty of time, Margaret said, nodding in agreement.
Grace began to lecture me about how I should be helping my wife, how Id better learn to cook properly.
I stared at Margaret, hoping for support, but she just smiled.
Grace is right. Were family. You should be willing to help your husbands side of the family, Margaret said. You need to learn a bit more in the kitchen.
Where are you? I asked, feeling my temper rise.
He left early for work, Margaret replied, sipping tea. By the way, your sugar looks cheap. Next time buy the good stuff.
I finished breakfast in a tense silence. My hands trembled, but I kept it together. I plated the omelette and porridge, set them out, and cleared the dishes.
Its bland, Grace said, pushing the porridge away. Its full of lumps. Fix it.
I wont redo it, I said quietly but firmly.
What? Grace asked, eyes narrowing.
I said I wont, I repeated. Eat whats there or make it yourself.
How dare you speak to us like that? Margaret slammed her cup on the saucer. Were guests in your house!
Im not your servant, I snapped, pulling off my apron. I have a job too. Im a father, Im caring for our child.
Grace laughed. A job? Sitting at home with a baby isnt a job, love. Its nothing. Youre just riding on my brothers coattails.
Enough, I said, turning to leave the kitchen.
Where are you going? The dishes arent done! Margaret called after me.
I didnt answer. I went to the bedroom, shut the door, and pulled out my phone. I texted Andrew: Your mum and sister are being rude. Either you speak to them, or Im going back to my parents.
He replied half an hour later: Dont be dramatic. Theyre just trying to help. Hang on for a week.
Hang on. I threw the phone onto the bed.
Emma woke, wailing. I lifted her, changed her into a fresh onesie, fed her, while Margaret and Graces voices drifted from the kitchen, snippets like shameless, Andrew spoilt her, should have found someone else.
I slipped out with Emma, left the flat without warning, and walked to the park, pushing the stroller past the autumncoloured trees, trying to sort my thoughts.
When I returned, a comforting smell greeted me Margaret was frying potatoes with mushrooms.
Oh, youre back, she said without turning. Where have you been?
Out for a walk, I replied.
If you dont want to cook, Ive already made something. Andrew loves mushrooms. You havent got much in the fridge, have you?
I tiptoed past her, laid Emma down for a nap, and sank onto the bedroom wall, wondering how Id ended up here. Id once been confident, cheerful, with friends, a career, hobbies. Now I felt like a trapped mouse, scared to open my mouth in my own home.
Evening came, and Andrew returned in good spirits.
How was your day? he asked, kissing his mother on the cheek.
Fine, Andrew. I made the mushroom potatoes you like, I said.
Thanks, Mum! he said, sitting down. Wheres Linda?
Shes in the room, looking out the window, Grace replied, painting her nails on the sofa. We told her to help with breakfast, and she got upset.
Linda! Andrew called. Come here!
I stepped out of the bedroom.
Whats wrong?
Mum says you were rude this morning, Andrew said.
I? Rude?
Yes, Margaret said, setting plates on the table. We asked you to make breakfast, and you snapped and left.
Thats not true! You said Id be cooking for you because I do nothing all day, I retorted.
I heard you say that, Andrew said, frowning. Youre not home just to sit there! I have a child!
The baby sleeps half the day, you have time, Grace interjected. Stop using that as an excuse.
I looked at Andrews indifferent face, at the way he calmly ate his potatoes. It was clear he wasnt on my side.
Fine, I get it, I said, turning back to the bedroom.
Linda, wait! Wont you have dinner? he shouted.
I shut the door, leaned against it, tears burning in my eyes, but I didnt cry. I needed to think.
The next morning I got up before anyone else, packed a bag for myself and Emma a few changes of clothes, my ID, some cash. When Emma woke, I fed her, changed her, and hailed a taxi.
Margaret and Grace were still asleep when I slipped out, bag over my shoulder. Andrew was still in bed. No one saw me off.
My parents lived at the other end of town in a modest threebed flat. My mother opened the door in a nightgown.
Emma? Whats happened? she asked.
Mum, can we stay with you for a while? I asked.
She stepped aside without a word, letting us in. My dad came out of his bedroom, saw us, and instantly understood.
That bloke again? he said, meaning Andrew.
No, Dad, please, I sat heavily on the sofa. I just need somewhere to be.
My mum took Emma into her arms, holding her close.
Of course, love. Stay as long as you need.
An hour later Andrew called.
Linda, where are you? Mum says youre not home!
Im at my parents, I said.
How can you be at your parents? Come back now!
Im not coming back, I replied.
What do you mean not coming back? Youre my wife, your place is here!
Andrew, Im exhausted. Im exhausted of you, of your mother, of your sister. I need time to think.
What am I supposed to think about? This isnt a drama, Linda! They asked you to cook, thats all, he snapped.
They didnt ask, I said, they told me what to do, like a servant. And you sided with them.
Im not taking sides, he protested. I just want peace at home.
The peace you want comes at my expense. I have to be silent, endure, cook, clean, while you pretend work is the only thing that matters.
He was silent.
When will you be back? I asked.
I dont know. Maybe never.
Andrew, are you serious?
Very.
My mother brought tea, sat beside me.
Did he come to make amends? I asked.
He said hed changed, she said. Hes been seeing a therapist now, trying to understand why he acted like that.
Im not sure I can trust him, I replied.
Take your time, she said. Dont rush.
I felt a strange warmth settle over me. My dad, reading the paper, looked up and said, Whatever you decide, were behind you.
Weeks passed. Andrew showed up every other day, telling me about his sessions, about how hed realized hed been copying his own fathers neglectful style, how hed been scared of responsibility and had pushed Emma away because it was easier than admitting he was failing as a dad.
He started helping more changing diapers, cooking simple meals, even taking Emma to the park. He wasnt perfect; he still forgot things, still slipped up, but he listened when I said I was struggling, instead of brushing me off.
A month later Margaret returned, still a little stiff but more courteous. She didnt boss us around, didnt lecture. Grace stopped turning up; she sent a birthday card for Emma with a brief apology note, which, while not a full mea culpa, was at least a start.
I realised that I could not keep tolerating disrespect for the sake of a fragile peace. I had to leave to be truly valued.
If any of you recognise this story, share it with your friends. Let women know they have a right to respect in their own families. And comment if youve faced something similar yourIn that quiet morning, as Emma babbled happily beside me, I finally understood that choosing my own peace was the greatest act of love.
