On my fifteenth birthday, my parents decided they absolutely needed another child. The weight of responsibility for my brother and the housework fell entirely on me. There was no time left for schoolwork, and poor grades earned me punishment. But the worst was yet to come: Until your brother finishes school, dont even think about boys! my father barked. I knew I had to make a drastic choice.
The day my brother, Oliver, was born, everyone congratulated me as if it were some grand occasion, but I felt no joy. I dont like remembering those days, yet here I am, telling you.
My mother was pleased to have a daughternot out of love, but because I was free childcare. When Oliver turned one, she stopped breastfeeding overnight and went back to work full-time. My nan would come in the mornings, but by the time I returned from school, she was either asleep or gone, leaving my brother in my care. He cried constantly, and nothing I did could soothe him.
I had no time for myself. Changing nappies, bathing him, cooking fresh mealsevery moment was accounted for. If my parents came home to dirty dishes or unironed clothes, theyd scold me for being lazy, a freeloader. Homework happened late at night when I shouldve been sleeping. School became a struggle. Teachers pitied me enough to give Cs, but even that only brought more lectures.
The washing machine washes, the dishwasher cleanswhat exactly do *you* do all day? Too busy dreaming of lads and nightclubs?
My fathers shouts filled the house while my mother nodded along, as if shed forgotten what it was like to spend even an hour with a restless toddler.
True, the washing machine *did* washbut someone still had to load it, hang the clothes, and iron yesterdays pile. The dishwasher was off-limits during the daytoo expensive to runso Olivers bottles and bowls had to be scrubbed by hand. No one envied my endless mopping, not with a crawling, then toddling brother leaving chaos in his wake.
Things eased slightly when Oliver started nursery. My parents insisted I fetch him and make his tea as soon as I got home, but at least I had a few afternoon hours to myself. I scraped through school without failing, though my dream of studying biology was crushed.
The universitys in the city centrean hour and a half each way. When would you get back? Whod collect Oliver? Dont even think about it.
Their word was final, so I enrolled in the nearest culinary college, training to be a pastry chef. The first term blurred by in a haze of exhaustion, but eventually, I found my footing. Baking cakes, decorating biscuits, crafting delicate dessertsit became my escape.
By the second year, I worked weekends at a nearby café. My parents grumbled, but I clung to those shifts like a lifeline. After graduation, they hired me full-time.
Then the new head chef arrived. We started meeting after closing, and suddenly, the shouting began again. More than once, my father turned up to drag me home before I could so much as walk with him. Then came the family meetinggran, aunt, uncle, all gathered to deliver their verdict.
Youre quitting the café, my aunt announced. Ive got you a job in Olivers school canteen.
Best news all year! Mum chirped. Youll always be there for him, home by three to help us.
Give up the caféwhere I was valued, paid, where my boyfriend workedfor a greasy school kitchen and a life revolving around Oliver?
Until your brothers grown, forget about boyfriends, Dad warned.
The next day, I told my boyfriend everything. Wed dreamed of opening our own place, but savings werent enough. A loan? Investors? At home, I lied, saying I needed two more weeks to finish my notice.
The bank said no, but fate intervened. A friend of his managed a restaurant in Manchester and tipped him off about a new venture. He went for an interview, then arranged a video call for me. As I spoke, he unveiled a box of my dessertsproof of what I could do.
On my last shift, I left early. The flat was empty. One bag, my documents, every penny Id savedthen straight to the train station.
Now I live my own life, for those I choose, not those forced upon me.
I do love Oliver, and I hope one day well be close. I dont hate my parents, but I know Id never break free under their roof, or even in the same city. Some battles arent about strengthsometimes, running *is* the bravest choice. Manchester might be our fresh start. Heres to hoping.
