The Free Housekeeper and Cook My Pregnancy Means Nothing to Anyone
Im their unpaid housekeeper and cookmy pregnancy doesnt matter to a soul.
In a small village near York, where morning mist clings to the old cottages like ghosts, my life at 27 has become an endless cycle of serving others whims. My name is Emily, Im 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 my grandmother-in-law and her family, who treat 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, I was 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 quiet.
The flat is roomy but suffocating. Margaret lives with us, and Jamess aunt, Helen, 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 days are an endless loop of cleaning and cooking. In the morning, I mop the floors because Margaret cant stand dirt. Then I make breakfast for everyone: porridge for her, eggs for James, and when Helen barges in, pancakes or toast. By afternoon, Im peeling vegetables for a stew or roast because “the guests are hungry.” Evenings mean washing up and more 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.” Helen chimes in: “Emily, mind the kids, Im swamped.” Her spoiled, noisy little ones scatter toys and stain the sofa, and Im left to clean because “family comes first.” James, instead of standing up for me, whispers, “Dont upset Gran, shes old.” His words cut deeper than betrayal. Im trapped in a home that will never be mine.
**Pregnancy Under Fire**
Im six months along, and its not just a metaphormy back aches, nausea gnaws at me, exhaustion weighs me down. But Margaret scoffs: “In my day, women worked the fields till they dropped.” Helen sneers, “Oh, Emily, stop fussingpregnancy isnt an illness.” Their coldness is killing me. I worry for my babythe stress, sleepless nights, and ceaseless labour are taking a toll. Yesterday, I nearly fainted 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 anymoreIm pregnant, its too much.” He held me but said, “Grans putting a roof over our headstry harder.” Try harder? For how long? I wont let my child be born into a house where his mothers treated like a maid. I want peace, tenderness, but all I get are complaints and dirty dishes.
**The Final Straw**
Yesterday, Margaret snapped, “Emily, you should be grateful to live here. Earn your keep, or Ill throw you out.” Helen added, “A daughter-in-law ought to be useful, not whine.” I stood there, clutching a tea towel, feeling something inside me shatter. My child, my health, my lifenone of it matters. James, as usual, said nothing, and that silence hurt worse than a slap. I refuse to be their skivvy, their silent shadow.
Ive made my choice: Im leaving. Ill stash money away, rent a studioeven a bedsit if I must. I wont give birth in this hell. My friend Lily urges me, “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 I know one thing: I wont survive more months of this.
**My Cry for Help**
This is my plea for the right to exist. Margaret, Helen, 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 weeps at the sink. At 27, I want to live, not just survive. Leaving will hurt, but Ill do itfor me and my baby.
I dont know how to make James see, or where Ill find the strength to go. But I know this: I wont stay in this house where my pregnancy is a nuisance. Let Margaret keep her flat, let Helen find another servant. Im Emily, and Ill choose freedomeven if it breaks my heart.
