“Im not cooking for everyone anymore! Just for myself and Annie.”
“Why the hell not?” snapped Nicholas, his face darkening.
“Because in this family, Ive realised, its every man for himself. So live with it!”
“Mum, wheres my breakfast?” Yvonne barged into the bedroom without knocking. “Im going to be late for school!”
Nina tried to sit up, but the room spun. The thermometer read thirty-eight point seven. Her throat burned; her chest rattled with every breath.
“Yvonne, Im ill Grab something from the fridge.”
“Theres nothing in there! Just Annies yoghurts!” The girl stood in the doorway, arms folded. “You only ever think about her!”
From the nursery came a whimperAnnie was awake. Nina forced herself up, legs trembling, her vision blurring.
“Nina, wheres my shirt?” Nicholas called from the bathroom, half-shaved. “The blue striped one?”
“Should be in the wardrobe”
“Its not! Did you iron it yesterday?”
Nina leaned against the wall. Yesterday, shed spent the whole day feverish, tending to their youngest.
“No. Didnt get to it.”
“Bloody hell! Ive got a meeting!” He slammed the bathroom door.
Annies cries grew louder. Nina staggered to the nursery, scooping her daughter up. The little girl clung to her, sniffling.
“Mum!” Yvonnes shout came from the kitchen. “Theres literally nothing here! Not even bread!”
“Moneys on the table. Buy something on your way.”
“Im not stopping at the shop! Ive got exams! And anyway, feeding us is your job!”
Nina carried Annie to the kitchen, pulled frozen sausages from the freezer, slapped a pan on the hob.
“And make pasta!” Yvonne ordered, eyes glued to her phone.
As breakfast sizzled, Nicholas emerged in a crumpled shirt.
“Had to wear this one. Look like a bloody tramp. Thanks for that.”
Nina said nothing. Speaking hurt, and she had no energy left for explanations.
“Its Sophies birthday today,” Yvonne announced, heaping pasta onto her plate. “Im going round after school. Dont wait up.”
“Yvonne, I feel awful. Could you stay and help with your sister?”
“Yeah, right! Ive waited all term for this party! And I never asked for a sisterthats your problem!” She grabbed her bag and slammed the door.
Nicholas scrolled through his phone, shovelling food in.
“Nicholas, could you come home early? Im really not well.”
“Cant. Work drinks after. You know how it is.”
“But Im sick…”
“Take something. Paracetamol or whatever. Youre not bedridden. Youll manage.” He pecked her sweaty forehead and left.
Nina was alone with their three-year-old. Annie demanded attention, food, play. Nina moved on autopilot, feeling her strength drain.
By lunch, her fever hit thirty-nine. She half-heartedly fed Annie, put her down for a nap, then collapsed on the sofa. Her head pounded; her heart raced.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Yvonne: “Mum, send money for Sophies present. NOW!”
Nina didnt reply. She couldnt even lift the phone.
Nicholas returned first that evening, tipsy, swinging a bag of crisps.
“Got beer and snacks! Match is on!” He flopped onto the sofa, flicking on the telly.
“Nicholas, feed Annie, please. I cant move.”
“That bad?” He finally looked at her. “Christ, youre red as a tomato.”
“High fever. All day…”
“Well, call the GP if its that bad. Wheres Annie?”
“In her cot. Shell wake soon.”
“Fine, Ill feed her. When shes up.”
Annie woke half an hour later, crying for Nina. Reluctantly, Nicholas peeled himself off the sofa.
“Whatre you whinging for? Come to Dad!”
But the toddler only screamed louder, straining towards Nina. Nicholas faltered.
“Nina, she only wants you!”
“Give her a biscuit from the cupboard. And juice.”
“Where? I cant find anything!”
She dragged herself up. The room tilted; she gripped the wall. Nina fetched the biscuit, poured juice. Annie quietened.
Yvonne came home past midnight. Nina hadnt sleptthe fever wouldnt let her.
“Why didnt you reply?!” Yvonne yelled from the door. “I had to borrow money from Sophies mum! So embarrassing!”
“Yvonne, Ive had a fever all day…”
“So what? Couldnt pick up the phone? Two seconds!”
The next morning, Nicholas shook Nina awake.
“Nina, get up! Ive got work, and Annies screaming!”
The fever had broken, but weakness lingered. Nina dressed Annie.
“What about breakfast?” Nicholas asked.
“Make it yourself. Im taking Annie to nursery.”
“Me? I dont know how! And Im late!”
“Youll learn.”
Something in her voice silenced him. He muttered and stomped off.
When Nina returned, the house was a messdirty dishes, scattered clothes, unmade beds. Normally, shed clean immediately. Not today.
She showered, drank tea, and slept.
That evening, the family gatherednot for dinner, but around an empty table.
“Mum, whats for dinner?” Yvonne asked.
“Dont know. Whatever you make.”
“What?”
“Exactly what I said. Im not cooking for everyone anymore. Just me and Annie.”
“Why the hell not?” Nicholas scowled.
“Because in this family, Ive realised, its every man for himself. So live with it!”
“Nina, whats got into you?” He reached for her, but she stepped back.
“Im tired of being your maid! Yesterday proved Im just unpaid staff to you.”
“Mum, I said sorry!” Yvonne lied.
“No, you didnt. Neither did your dad. Not once did you ask how I felt.”
“Fine, sorry!” Yvonne huffed. “What, we just starve now?”
“Fridge is full. Youve got hands. Cook.”
The first week was chaos. Yvonne threw tantrums; Nicholas grumbled and slammed doors. Nina stood firmcooking only for herself and Annie, washing only their clothes, tidying only the nursery.
“Mum, all my jeans are dirty!” Yvonne wailed.
“Washing machines there. Detergents under the sink.”
“I dont know how!”
“Learn. Instructions are on the lid.”
Nicholas wore wrinkled shirts to work, ate at cafés. Their savings dwindled.
“Nina, this is ridiculous! Eating out every day!”
“Cook at home. Cheaper.”
“I cant!”
“YouTubes free. Millions of recipes.”
The house descended into filthdirty dishes, dusty floors. Nina saw it all but didnt intervene. Only the nursery stayed clean.
After two weeks, Yvonne attempted pasta. Forgot salt, overcooked itmush.
“Mum, help!”
“No. Learn.”
“Youre my mother! You have to!”
“Im obligated to care for minors. Cooking gourmet meals for you isnt in the job description. Bread, milk, cerealyou wont starve.”
Nicholas tried scrambled eggs. Burnt them. Tried againedible.
“Look, Nina! I made eggs!”
Nina nodded and turned a page. No praise.
By week three, the flat was a tip. Yvonne sobbed over a mountain of laundry.
“Mum, please! Just this once! Ive got nothing clean for school!”
“You were home all yesterday. Couldve washed them.”
“I was studying!”
“I work remotely, cook, clean for Annie, take her to the park. And I manage.”
“Youre the adult!”
“And you want adult privileges? Late nights, money for fun? Then act like one.”
By months end, resistance crumbled. Yvonne learned to wash, cook basics, tidy. Nicholas mastered eggs, pasta, even simple soup.
One evening, Nina returned from the park to a set table, the smell of food. Nicholas and Yvonne stood, sheepish.
“Mum, we made dinner,” Yvonne murmured. “I did salad. Dad roasted a chicken.”
“Thank you,” Nina said evenly.
“Mum, were sorry,” Yvonne whispered. “We didnt realise… how hard it is for you.”
“Nina, well do better,” Nicholas added. “Promise. Well help.”
Nina studied them. They hadn
