Your mother that makes it your duty! he shouted, but I was done with it.
I buttoned my sons coat, clenching my jaw to keep the anger at bay. Yet another Mothers Day loomed, and with it the dreaded visit to my motherinlaw. From the start our relationship had been a constant battle.
Margaret Hughes had never accepted me as her sons wife. No matter what I did, she always found a flaw, always a criticism to hurl.
Again, Blythe? Mark sighed, watching my tightlipped stare. You dont want to go, do you?
I let out a bitter laugh.
Are you really asking me that, Mark? You know exactly why I dont want to go!
His eyes flared.
Shell just nag me, put me down, say Im a terrible mother! Shell claim Im not raising our boy properly, as if she doesnt see I work, keep the house, cook, clean and pay every bill. Im the one holding this family together!
But youre home all day, Mark replied, shrugging.
My expression darkened.
Oh really? You think I just sit around doing nothing? Or that money falls from the sky?
I work too, he growled. Its not my fault Im not paid more.
The truth was that my freelance design income was three times Marks salary. I was the one keeping us afloat.
Cant you go alone? I asked, hoping for an out.
Blythe, its Mothers Day. You cant ignore my mother!
He sighed, and we finished dressing Oliver. Two hours later we were at Margarets house.
In the sitting room, Marks niece, Harriet, was already perched on a sofa. Id long noticed Margarets clear favourite. She treated Harriet like royalty while barely acknowledging her own grandson. It wasnt a surprise; Harriets parents had died five years earlier, and Margaret had raised her as her own.
Around us, Margarets sisters laughed loudly, clinking their wine glasses.
Then Margaret dropped a bombshell.
Ive made a decision, she announced solemnly. I will bequeath my flat to Harriet. Mark, you already have a home.
Mark didnt even flinch; he simply nodded.
Within days the paperwork was done. The flat would belong to Harriet, on the condition she moved in only after Margarets death.
But fate had other plans. A sudden stroke left Margaret paralysed, unable to care for herself.
We have to move in with mum, Mark declared, his tone final. She cant be left alone.
A cold wave ran through me. I knew exactly what that meant. I would have to feed, clothe, bathe her all while still working and looking after Oliver.
I said nothing. Weeks passed and I felt myself cracking.
Then, one night, I exploded.
Mark, the flat belongs to Harriet. Shouldnt she be looking after her own mum?
Harriet is at university, Blythe. She even has a boyfriend. Do you expect her to bring him here?
I let out a dry, bitter laugh.
I cant take this any longer!
Mark crossed his arms.
Oh, I see. Youre already exhausted?
My hands shook with fury.
Im suffocating! Everything rests on me you, your mother, our son, my job I cant go on!
But you work from home, he murmured, smug.
My stare grew sharper than shattered glass.
And what, you think Im not really working?
My heart pounded.
You know what? From now on its your turn to look after your mother!
Shes my mother, but shes also your motherinlaw! Thats your role! You want me to wash her, perhaps?
A deathly silence fell.
Then, in a cold, steady voice, I said:
I owe you nothing.
Mark snorted.
In that case, hire a care worker.
Oh? Youll pay for her?
Why should I?
Then there wont be a carer.
I crossed my arms.
You can use your mothers pension, or your salary.
Marks face hardened.
And why do I even have a wife?
That was the trigger. Something inside me finally snapped. Everything became blindingly clear. Mark had been using me for years. And Harriet? She never even visited her grandmother.
That night I lay awake, unable to sleep. By morning I knew what I had to do. As soon as Mark left the house, I packed my bags, took Oliver, and walked out. I sent him a single message and blocked his number:
I will no longer carry this burden alone.
Later that evening Mark stormed back in, shouting:
Either you come back, or Ill file for divorce!
I smiled faintly.
Fine then. I was about to.
For the first time Mark seemed truly lost. I wasnt waiting for apologies; my decision was set.
A month later the divorce was finalised. He never apologised.
And me? I never regretted leaving.
Six months on, I heard the news: Margaret had died.
Harriet? She kicked Mark out without a flicker of remorse. It was then he finally understood he had lost everything.
