“I wont cook for your family anymore!” snapped Marina, flinging her apron onto the table, unable to bear her mother-in-laws constant demands.
Her hands trembled with barely contained fury as she turned to face her husband, David, who stood frozen in the kitchen doorway, a bag of groceries in his arms. Hed just returned from the shop with his mothers usual listthree kilos of meat, vegetables for salads, a dozen eggs for baking. Another family dinner, this time for his cousins birthday.
“Marina, love, why must you react like this?” he ventured carefully, setting the bag down. “Its just one evening…”
“Just one evening?” Her voice cracked as tears welled in her eyes. “Four years, David! Four years of every weekend, every holiday, Ive spent eight hours at the stove while your mother takes credit for *my* dishes!”
David looked away. He knew she was right. Hed known for years but stayed silenteasier not to argue, not to pick a side.
“She *helps* you,” he mumbled weakly.
“Helps?” Marina gave a bitter laugh. “She sits in the parlour with the guests, boasting about how she stayed up all night baking this cake while Im in the kitchen chopping yet another bowl of salad!”
Davids phone buzzed. He didnt need to look to know who it was.
“Dont answer it,” Marina pleaded. “Please, lets talk first!”
But hed already hit the green button.
“Yes, Mum… Yes, I got everything… Marina? Shes here, getting started…”
Marina turned to the window, fists clenched. The same old story. Shed lost before the conversation even began.
“Mums asking if youve started marinating the meat,” David said, covering the receiver. “Guests arrive by sixwe need to hurry…”
“Let her do it herself!” Marina snapped. “Since shes such a brilliant hostess!”
David faltered, glancing between his wife and the phone. “Mum, we… well begin soon. Yes. See you tonight.”
He hung up, rubbing his face.
“Marina, dont be childish. People are expecting usits embarrassing to cancel…”
“And was it embarrassing for me to be your familys unpaid cook?” She sank onto a chair, exhaustion weighing on her. “Do you know how much catering costs for twenty people? At least three hundred quid! And I did it for *free*without so much as a *thank you*!”
“*I* thanked you”
“You?” Her voice was raw. “You vanish to the garden with the men, smoking and talking football while Im left alone in the kitchen!”
He reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
“Listenjust cook tonight, and afterward, well talk to Mum. Maybe next time well order in…”
“Next time?” She shot up, knocking the chair back. “There *is* no next time! Im done, David! Done being your mothers shadow!”
The front door swung openMargaret, Marinas mother-in-law, had her own key. She strode in without knocking, as always.
“Why havent you started?” she demanded. “Its past three! The meat needs *hours* to marinate!”
Marina drew a steadying breath.
“Margaret, Im not cooking.”
The older woman stiffened. “*What* did you say?” She turned to David. “David, what nonsense is this?”
“Mum, Marinas tired”
“Tired? Of *what*? Sitting at home all day?”
“I work remotely!” Marina shot back. “Full-time!”
“Oh, tapping at a computerthats not *work*,” Margaret scoffed. “In my day, I worked at the factory *and* kept house! Fed my husband, helped *my* mother-in-law!”
“Your mother-in-law didnt make you cook for the entire family every weekend!”
“Didnt *make* me? I *wanted* to! Family is sacred! But you wouldnt understand!”
Marinas temper flared. “I understand *perfectly*! Family isnt *slavery*! I wont spend every weekend at the stove while you play hostess!”
“David!” Margaret whirled on her son. “Do you hear how she speaks to me?”
Trapped between them, David hesitated.
“Mum… maybe we *should* order food? There are decent delivery services…”
“*Order*? What will people say? That Margarets daughter-in-law cant cook? *Shameful*!”
“I *can* cook! I just wont do it every weekend!”
“Oh, you *wont*?” Margarets eyes narrowed. “But you *wanted* to marry my son? Then *act* like a wife!”
“Cooking for twenty isnt *being a wife*its exploitation!”
“David, I wont listen to this!” Margaret clutched her chest. “Your wife *insults* me!”
“No ones insulting you,” David said tiredly. “Mum, shes exhausted. Cant we at least invite fewer guests?”
“*Fewer*? Auntie Mabels coming from Leeds! What do I tell her? That your wife *refuses* to cook?”
Marina grabbed her bag and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?” David panicked.
“To my mothers! Let *your* mum cook her signature dishessee how they turn out!”
“Marina, wait!”
But she was already gone.
Silence fell. Margaret sat heavily, the picture of wounded dignity.
“*This* is the wife you chose? Selfish! Only thinks of herself!”
David studied his mother, seeing everythingfinallythrough Marinas eyes. Four years of weekends. Four years of his mother taking credit.
“Mum… why dont *you* cook?”
She blinked. “*What*?”
“If theyre *your* recipes, why does Marina make them?”
“IIm *teaching* her! Passing down family traditions!”
“*Four years* of teaching?” He shook his head. “Mum, she cooks better than you. We both know it.”
Margaret pursed her lips. “Well, if Im not *wanted*, Ill go home! Handle your guests alone!”
She stood, waiting for him to stop her. He didnt.
“Ill tell Auntie Mabel dinners off! Everyone will know what your wifes like!”
“Tell them the truth,” he said. “That you used my wife as free labour for four years.”
She gasped. “How *dare* you speak to me like that!”
“How *dare* you treat my wife like that!”
She stormed out, slamming the door.
An hour later, David drove to his in-laws. Marina sat at her mothers kitchen table, sipping tea.
“Can we talk?” he asked from the doorway.
Her mother tactfully withdrew.
David sat across from Marina. “Im sorry. Ive been a blind fool.”
“Four *years* a fool,” she said flatly. “I *tried* to talk to you.”
“I know. And every time, I took the easy waynot arguing with Mum. I thought it kept the peace.”
“For *you*,” she whispered. “What about *me*?”
He exhaled. “When you left, Mum said shed manage. Guess what? She didnt even know where we keep the *flour*! Four years of waltzing in like she owns the place, and shes *clueless*!”
Marina gave a tearful smirk. “But brilliant at giving orders.”
“I called the guests,” he said. “Explained were postponing. And guess what? Auntie Mabel *knew* you did the cooking! She came *specifically* for your custard slices!”
“The ones your mother called *her* secret recipe?”
“Exactly.” He took her hand. “No more cooking for Mums parties. If she wants guests, she hires caterers or cooks *herself*.”
“Shell be furious.”
“Let her be.” His voice was firm. “I wont lose you over her pride.”
Marina studied him. “And if she guilt-trips you? Calls, plays the martyr?”
“Ill stand firm,” he vowed. “When you walked out, I realised*were* the family now. And that matters more than Mum showing off.”
Her smile was faint. “Fine words. Well see if you mean them.”
His phone rang*Mum*.
“Answering?” she asked.
He declined the call.
“Tonight, Im with my wife. Not listening to Mums theatrics.”
They returned home late. Twelve voicemails from Margaretranging from outrage to self-pity. David deleted them unheard.
“Hard talk tomorrow,” he muttered.
