Free Housekeeper and Cook My Pregnancy Doesnt Matter to Anyone
Im their unpaid housekeeper and cookmy pregnancy means nothing to them.
In a small village near York, where morning mists cling to old cottages like ghosts, my life at 27 has become an endless cycle of catering to others whims. My name is Emily, married to James, and in a few months, well have a child. But my fragile world as an expectant mother is crumbling under the weight of his grandmother and her family, who see me as nothing more than an unpaid servant. We live in a three-bedroom flat owned by Jamess grandmother, and its become my curse.
**A Love That Fell Into a Trap**
When I met James at 23, he was kind, with a gentle smile and dreams of starting a family. We married a year later, and I was over the moon. His grandmother, Margaret, offered to let us stay in her spacious flat while we got on our feet. I agreed, thinking it would be temporarythat wed build our own life. Instead, I found a prison where my role is to dust, cook, and stay silent.
The flat is large but suffocating. Margaret lives with us, and Jamess aunt, Patricia, visits nearly every day with her two children. They treat the place as theirs and me as part of the furniture. From the start, my mother-in-law made it clear: “Emily, youre youngkeep the house running.” I thought I could earn their affection, but their indifference and demands only grow.
**Slavery Behind Closed Doors**
My life is an endless loop of cleaning and cooking. In the morning, I mop the floors because Margaret cant stand dust. Then I make breakfast for everyone: porridge for her, eggs for James, and when Patricia turns up, pancakes or toast. By afternoon, Im peeling vegetables, preparing stew or roast beef because “the guests are hungry.” Evenings are for washing up and orders: “Emily, peel the potatoes for tomorrow.” My pregnancy, my nausea, my aching legsno one cares.
Margaret barks commands like a drill sergeant: “The soups too salty,” “The curtains arent pressed right.” Patricia chimes in: “Emily, mind the kids, Im swamped.” Her spoiled, noisy children scatter toys, stain the sofa, and Im the one cleaning because “family comes first.” James, instead of defending me, whispers, “Dont upset Gran, shes old.” His words sting like betrayal. Im chained to a home that will never be mine.
**Pregnancy Under Fire**
Im six months along, and its more than just a metaphor. Nausea gnaws at me, my back aches, exhaustion weighs me down. But my mother-in-law scoffs: “In my day, women worked the fields till they dropped.” Patricia sneers, “Oh, Emily, stop exaggeratingpregnancy isnt an illness.” Their coldness cuts deep. I fear for my babythe stress, sleepless nights, relentless labour leave scars. Yesterday, I nearly fainted carrying a bucket of water, and no one batted an eye.
I tried talking to James. Tears in my eyes, I begged, “I cant do this anymore, Im pregnant, its too much.” He hugged me but said, “Grans putting us upjust try harder.” Try harder? For how long? I wont let my child be born where his mother is treated like a maid. I want peace, kindness, but all I get are complaints and dirty plates.
**The Last Straw**
Yesterday, Margaret snapped, “Emily, you should be grateful to live here. Earn your keep, or Ill throw you out.” Patricia added, “A good daughter-in-law makes herself useful, not whines.” I stood there, clutching a rag, feeling something inside me break. My child, my health, my lifenone of it matters. James, as usual, stayed silent, and that hurt worse than a slap. I wont be their doormat anymore.
Ive made my choice: Im leaving. Ill save money, rent a studio, even a bedsit if I must. I wont give birth in this hell. My friend Lucy urges, “Take James and run before its too late.” But what if he chooses his grandmother? What if Im left alone with a baby? Fear grips me, but one things certain: I wont survive more months of servitude.
**My Cry for Help**
This is my plea for the right to exist. Margaret, Patricia, their endless demands are destroying me. James, whom I still love, has become their accomplice, and it tears me apart. My child deserves a mother who smiles, not one who cries at the sink. At 27, I want to live, not just survive. Leaving will be hard, but Ill do itfor myself and my baby.
I dont know how to convince James or where Ill find the strength to go. But I know this: I wont stay in a house where my pregnancy is a nuisance. Let Margaret keep her flat. Let Patricia find another servant. Im Emily, and I choose freedom, even if it breaks my heart.
