Oh, this storyits heartbreaking, honestly. Let me tell you it in a way that fits here in England.
Im their free housekeeper and cookno one cares that Im pregnant.
In a little village just outside Manchester, where the morning mist wraps around the old brick houses like a damp blanket, my life at 27 has become nothing but serving everyone elses whims. My names Emily, married to James, and in a few months, well have a baby. But my fragile little world as an expectant mum is crumbling under the weight of his grandmother and her family, who treat me like an unpaid servant. We live in a three-bed flat owned by Jamess grandmother, and its turned into my curse.
**Love That Turned Into a Trap**
When I met James, I was 23. He was sweet, with a gentle smile and dreams of starting a family. We got married a year later, and I was over the moon. His grandmother, Margaret, offered to let us stay in her big flat while we got on our feet. I agreed, thinking itd be temporarythat wed build our own life. But instead of a home, I found a prison where my job is to dust, cook, and keep quiet.
The flats spacious, but stifling. Margaret lives with us, and her daughterJamess aunt, Dianedrops by nearly every day with her two kids. They act like the place is theirs, and Im just part of the furniture. From the start, my mother-in-law made it clear: “Emily, youre young, so youll keep the house running.” I thought I could earn their affection, but their indifference and demands just keep growing.
**Slavery Behind Closed Doors**
My lifes an endless cycle of cleaning and cooking. In the morning, I mop the floors because Margaret cant stand a speck of dust. Then I make breakfast for everyone: porridge for her, eggs for James, and when Diane turns up, pancakes or toast. By afternoon, Im peeling veg, prepping a roast or shepherds pie because, “Weve got guests to feed.” Evenings? Dishes and orders: “Emily, peel the potatoes for tomorrow.” My pregnancy, my nausea, my aching legsno one cares.
Margaret barks orders like a drill sergeant: “Youve over-salted the gravy,” “The curtains arent pressed right.” Diane piles on: “Emily, mind the kids, Im swamped.” Her two, spoiled and loud, scatter toys, spill juice on the sofa, and its me who cleans because, “Thats what family does.” James, instead of backing me up, just murmurs, “Dont upset Nan, shes getting on.” His words sting like betrayal. Im trapped in a place thatll never feel like mine.
**Pregnancy Under Fire**
Im six months along, and its not just a metaphorIm exhausted. The sickness wont let up, my back aches, Im drained. But my mother-in-law just scoffs: “In my day, women worked till they dropped.” Diane smirks: “Oh, dont be dramatic, Emily, its not an illness.” Their coldness cuts deep. I worry for my babythe stress, the sleepless nights, the endless work are taking their toll. Yesterday, I nearly passed out carrying a bucket of water, and no one even blinked.
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, “Nans putting us upjust try harder.” Try harder? For how long? I wont let my child be born in a place where his mums 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. Do your job, or Ill throw you out.” Diane chimed in: “A good daughter-in-law pulls her weight, doesnt whinge.” I stood there, clutching a tea towel, feeling something inside me snap. My baby, my health, my lifenone of it matters. James, like always, stayed silent, and that hurt worse than a slap. I wont be their skivvy, their invisible help.
Ive made up my mind: Im leaving. Ill stash away what little I can, rent a tiny flateven a bedsit if I have to. I wont give birth in this nightmare. My mate Lucy keeps saying, “Take James and go before its too late.” But what if he chooses his grandmother? What if Im left alone with a baby? Fear grips me, but I know one thing: I wont survive another month of this.
**My Plea for Help**
This is me screaming into the void. Margaret, Diane, their endless demands are breaking me. James, who I still love, has become part of it, and that tears me apart. My baby deserves a mum who smiles, not one who cries over the sink. At 27, I want to live, not just survive. Leaving will hurt, but Ill do itfor me and my little one.
I dont know how to make James see, or where Ill find the strength to go. But I do know this: I wont stay in a house where my pregnancy is just a nuisance. Let Margaret keep her flat. Let Diane find another maid. Im Emily, and Ill choose freedomeven if it shatters my heart.
