If youre not working, youll be cooking for us, barked the brotherinlaws sister as she stepped over the threshold.
Andrew, I cant take this any longer! Are you even hearing me?
Emily stood in the middle of the living room, a crying baby, Lily, cradled in her arms. Her heart hammered as the walls seemed to close in. Andrew lounged on the sofa, eyes glued to his phone, pretending neither the infants wail nor her pleas existed.
What now? he muttered, not even looking up.
What? Ive been up all night! Lily ran a fever; I rocked her until dawn. You slept soundly in the spare room and didnt even stir!
Ive got work tomorrow. I need to get some sleep.
And I dont? Im a robot, is that what you think? Twentyfourhour shifts on my feet!
Andrew finally ripped his gaze from the screen, irritation flashing across his face.
Emily, stop having a fit. Youre at home, you can rest during the day. Im working from sunrise to sunset to keep us afloat.
A lump rose in Emilys throat. Home felt like a holiday resort, not a place where she was trudging through endless diaper changes and sleepless nights.
You know what? she said softly, gently soothing Lily, who finally quieted. Go to bed. I wont bother you any more.
Andrew stood, heading for the bedroom without a glance at his daughter. Emily sank onto the couch, pressing Lilys tiny, warm body against hers. The baby was only eight months old, still unable to sleep through the night, demanding constant attention. Emilys exhaustion was so deep it seemed to swallow her whole.
Three years ago they had married in a modest flat in Manchester. Andrew had courted her, bringing flowers and whispered compliments. Emily worked as a receptionist at a private clinic; Andrew was a project manager at a construction firm. They lived simply but happilyuntil Lily arrived.
At first Andrew had been thrilled, bragging about wanting a son, a happy family. When Emily went on maternity leave, his involvement faded. He spent longer hours at work or out with friends, and when Lily was born he seemed to retreat behind an invisible wall.
Emily understood a newborn was a stressor for everyonesleepless nights, endless crying, fatiguebut she hoped they would face it together. Instead, Andrew erected a barrier.
After putting Lily down, Emily shuffled to the kitchen. It was half past eleven, and she hadnt had breakfast. The sink was piled with yesterdays dirty dishes; a scorched pot of porridge clung to the stove. She turned on the kettle on autopilot, scrubbing plates with a weary sigh.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Andrew: Mum and Felicity are arriving tonight. Theyll stay a week. Have dinner ready.
Emily reread the message three times. Motherinlaw and sisterinlaw, for an entire week, and he hadnt even asked if she could manage.
She typed back: Andrew, I have a baby. How am I supposed to look after them too?
His reply was instant: Just be polite. Theyre family.
Emily threw the phone onto the table. Margaret, the motherinlaw, had always kept a cool distance, as if a better match might have been waiting. Felicity, Andrews sister, was a successful salon owner, proud of her single status, openly disdainful of children, claiming they were a curse on her career.
Now they were both descending on her flat for a week.
By evening Emily had managed to get the flat presentable, whip up a pot of borscht and meatballs, and change Lily into fresh clothes. She threw on the first thing she could findold jeans and a wrinkled Tshirt. There was no time to think about her appearance.
The doorbell rang precisely at seven. Andrew answered, still in his work shirt, dropping onto the sofa as soon as he got inside.
Mum! Felicity! Come in!
Margaret swept into the hallway, scanning the room with a critical eye. Felicity followed, heels clicking, a designer handbag swinging.
Good afternoon, Emily said, drying her hands on a towel.
Ah, hello, Margaret replied dryly, not even removing her shoes. Andrew, help with the luggage.
Felicity stopped at the doorway, eyeing Emilys disheveled outfit.
Did you stay home all day? At least dress decently for guests.
Emily felt heat rise in her cheeks.
Sorry, I was looking after the baby.
I see, Felicity shrugged, slipping off her shoes as she moved into the sitting room where Margaret had already settled. Mum, I told you how messy this place is.
Emily stood frozen in the hallway, unsure what to do. Andrew flitted around his mother and sister, asking how the journey had been, whether they were tired. He gave Emily zero attention.
Will you be having dinner? she ventured, peeking into the room.
Whats on the table? Margaret asked, narrowing her eyes.
Borscht and meatballs.
Borscht? Felicity snorted. We were hoping for something lighter. A salad, perhaps, some steamed fish.
I didnt know
Fine, bring whatever you have, Margaret waved a hand. Dont let the kitchen go to waste.
Emily set the table. Margaret and Felicity critiqued every detail. The borscht was too salty, the meatballs too dry, the bread stale. Andrew ate in silence, offering no defence.
Wheres the baby? Margaret demanded after theyd finished.
Shes asleep, Emily began clearing the dishes.
Wake her. I want to see my granddaughter.
She just fell asleep. Its better not to disturb her; she wont sleep later if we wake her.
I said wake her, the motherinlaws tone hardened. Or shall I get up myself?
Emily walked to the nursery, finding Lily curled up, arms outstretched, looking peaceful. It pained her to rouse the child, but she had no choice.
What a whiney baby, Felicity muttered as Emily entered with Lily, who began to fuss.
Shes only eight months old, Emily tried to soothe. She got scared when we woke her.
Exactly why I never want children, Felicity snapped, turning away. Theyre nothing but trouble.
Margaret grabbed Lily, turning her this way and that, inspecting her.
Shes so skinny. Are you feeding her properly?
Of course I am!
You must barely have time for yourself. Look at this place, its not spotless.
Emilys fists clenched. Shed spent the whole day cleaning, cooking, chasing a baby, and still it wasnt enough.
Mom, Felicity, perhaps youd like to retire for the night? Andrew offered, his voice flat. You must be tired from the journey.
Yes, perhaps, Margaret said, handing Lily back to Emily. Andrew, show us where well sleep.
Ive set a pullout sofa in the lounge, Emily replied, the words feeling like a confession. Thats the only spare space we have.
A sofa? Felicity raised an eyebrow. Seriously?
Felicity, you can take the spare bedroom, Andrew suggested. Well move Lily to our room for the night.
Emily wanted to argue but stayed silent. It was futile.
When the guests finally settled, Emily moved Lilys crib into the master bedroom. The baby, now irritated from being woken, cried incessantly. Emily rocked her, sang lullabies, but Lilys wails filled the house.
Emily, do something! Andrew thrashed on the bed. I have work tomorrow!
Im trying!
Not trying enough!
Emily fled with Lily to the kitchen, slammed the door, sat on a stool, pressed her daughter to her chest, and wept quietly with her.
The next morning a knock on the bedroom door jolted her awake.
Emily, get up! Its nine oclock!
She opened her eyes to find Lily still asleep in the crib, Andrews side of the bed empty. Emily slipped on a robe and padded out.
In the kitchen, Margaret and Felicity were already seated, frowning.
Weve been up for an hour and theres no breakfast, Felicity complained. At least we managed to turn the kettle on.
Sorry, I didnt hear you get up, Emily said, moving to the stove. What would you like?
An omelette, Margaret demanded, but no butter, just a dry pan. I cant have any fat.
Porridge for me, Felicity added, water only, no sugar. And a proper coffee, not instant.
Emily didnt have ground coffee, only instant, but she said nothing and began preparing.
Listen, Felicity said, leaning back, eyes narrowing, since youre not working, youll be cooking for us. Properly, not this borscht nonsense. Well give you a list of what to buy and how to make it.
Emily froze, whisk in hand.
What?
Nothing special, Felicity shrugged. Youre home all day anyway, so you might as well be useful.
Im with a baby!
The baby sleeps half the day. You have time.
Emily glanced at Margaret, hoping for support, but the older woman simply nodded.
Felicitys right. Were family, after all. You should be glad to help your husbands relatives.
Wheres Andrew? Emily asked, feeling the pressure build.
Hes at work, left early, Margaret said, sipping tea. By the way, your sugar is cheap. Next time buy something decent.
Emily finished the bleak breakfast in a heavy silence. Her hands shook, but she kept composure, plating the omelette and porridge, then clearing the dishes.
This is awful, Felicity said, pushing the porridge away. Its lumpy. Redo it.
I wont, Emily replied quietly, but firmly.
What? Felicitys gaze hardened.
I said I wont. Eat whats there or make it yourself.
How dare you speak to us like that? Margaret snapped, tapping her cup. Were guests in this house!
Guests dont behave like servants, Emily said, removing her apron. I have my own work. Im a mother, Im looking after my child.
Work? Sitting with a baby isnt work, love, Felicity laughed cruelly. Youre just riding my brothers coattails.
Enough, Emily turned and headed for the door.
Where are you going? Margaret called after her. The dishes arent done!
Emily didnt answer. She disappeared into the bedroom, slammed the door, and grabbed her phone. She texted Andrew: Your mother and sister are being abusive. Either you deal with them or Im leaving to my parents.
His reply arrived half an hour later: Dont overthink it. They just want to help. Hang on for a week.
Hang on. The words echoed in her mind as she threw the phone onto the bed.
Lily awoke, wailing. Emily lifted her, changed her diaper, fed her, while Margaret and Felicity continued their sniping from the kitchen, their words drifting like shards: shameless, Andrews failed son, should have found someone better.
Emily slipped out with Lily, walking into the park, pushing the pram beneath autumncoloured trees, trying to collect her thoughts.
She returned to a flat that now reeked of fried mushrooms and potatoes. Margaret was at the stove, not even looking up.
Oh, youre back, she said without turning. Where have you been?
I was out.
Well, since you dont want to cook, I made the mushrooms myself. Andrew loves them. Though the pantry is almost empty.
Emily passed by, watching Lily drift to sleep, and sank onto the bedroom floor, staring at the wall. What had become of her life? She had once been confident, social, with a job and friends. Now she felt like a trapped mouse, terrified to open her mouth.
That evening Andrew returned, his mood unusually bright.
How was your day? he asked, kissing his mother on the cheek.
Fine, Andrew. I made you some mushroom potatoes, your favourite.
Thanks, Mum! he said, sitting down. Wheres Emily?
Shes in the room, looking tired, Felicity said, painting her nails on the sofa. We asked her to make breakfast, and she got angry.
Emily! Andrew called. Come here!
Emily emerged from the bedroom.
Whats happened?
Mum says you were rude this morning.
I was? Emily protested.
Yes, you said youd be cooking for us because you dont work, Margaret replied, placing a plate in front of her. Thats how it was.
Thats not true! Emilys voice trembled. They told me Id be their servant because Im just staying at home!
I hear you, Andrew said, his face softening. Im sorry.
Im not home for nothing! Im raising our child, 24hour shifts, no breaks. Thats work too.
I didnt mean to make you feel invisible, Andrew said, his eyes pleading. Ill change.
Emily stared at him, unsure whether his remorse was genuine or another excuse.
What do you want from me? she asked.
Respect, support, that youre on my side, not my mothers.
I can try.
Promises are empty words.
Then tell me how to prove it.
Start by apologising not because you have to, but because you truly understand how I felt.
Andrew fell silent.
Emily, what do you expect from me?
I expect you to stand with me, to share the load, to see my work as real.
Ill do that. I promise.
The words felt thin, but they were a start.
The next morning, after a brief, awkward breakfast, Andrew announced: Ive booked an appointment with a therapist. Im going to sort myself out.
Emily blinked, surprised. He had always dismissed counselling as a waste of time.
Really?
Yes. First session is two days from now.
She watched him cradle Lily later that day, his hand gentle on the babys head, and for the first time in months she saw a father, not a detached roommate.
When he left, Emilys mother, Joan, asked, Are you going back to him?
I havent decided, Emily admitted. I need to see if he truly changes.
Joan nodded, squeezing Lilys tiny hand.
You deserve respect, love, a partnership, not a household where youre invisible.
A week later, Andrew returned, bearing flowers and a tiny stuffed rabbit for Lily.
Ive thought a lot, he said, eyes earnest. Im enrolling in therapy, Ill share the chores, Ill pay you a salary from my earnings so youre not dependent.
Emilys breath caught.
A salary?
Yes. Part of my pay will go straight to you, officially.
Tears welled in her eyes. Thank you, she whispered, the words spilling over.
It wasnt a perfect turnaround. Andrew still forgot things, sometimes slipped into old habits, but he listened now. When Emily voiced her fatigue, he offered help instead of dismissing her.
A month later Margaret visited again, this time more restrained, offering polite conversation rather than commands. Felicity never returned, sending a birthday card for Lily with a brief apology.
Emily learned that she could not endure disrespect for the sake of peace; peace without respect was merely the calm before a storm. She realised sometimes you have to walk away for people to finally notice your worth.
If this story strikes a chord, share it with friends. Remember, every woman has the right to be valued in her own home.
