When I turned fifteen, my parents decided they absolutely needed another child. The moment my brother arrived, the weight of his care and the household chores fell squarely on my shoulders. I barely had time for homework, and poor grades earned me harsh scoldings. The worst came when my father laid down the law: Dont even think about boys until your brother finishes school! I knew then I had to make a drastic choice.
Everyone congratulated me when my brother, Oliver, was born, but I wasnt in the mood for celebration. My mother was pleased to have a daughternot because she loved me, but because I was free babysitting. The moment Oliver turned one, she stopped breastfeeding him overnight and went back to work full-time. My nan would come in the mornings, but by the time I got home from school, shed either be asleep or gone, leaving Oliver in my care. He cried constantly, and no matter what I did, I couldnt soothe him.
I had no time for myself. Changing nappies, bathing him, cooking fresh mealsit never ended. If my parents came home to dirty dishes or unironed clothes, theyd call me lazy and ungrateful. Id squeeze in homework late at night, exhausted. School suffered, and even the teachers, pitying me, only gave me Cswhich just meant more scolding at home.
The washing machine washes, the dishwasher cleanswhat exactly do you do all day? Too busy daydreaming about parties? My fathers shouting echoed through the house while my mother stood by silently, as if shed forgotten how exhausting it was to look after a toddler.
True, the washing machine did its jobbut someone still had to load it, hang the clothes, and iron yesterdays pile. The dishwasher? I wasnt allowed to run it during the daytoo much electricity. Olivers dishes had to be scrubbed by hand. And nobody envied me mopping the floors daily while he crawled and toddled everywhere.
Things eased slightly when Oliver started nursery. My parents insisted I pick him up and feed him as soon as I got home, but at least I had a few afternoon hours to myself. I studied harder, scraping through without Cs.
I dreamed of studying biologythe only subject that truly gripped mebut my parents refused.
The universitys in the city centrean hour and a half each way! When would you get back? Oliver needs collecting, and then theres dinner. Dont even think about it.
They wouldnt budge, so my future was decided for me: a vocational school for catering, the closest to our flat. The first term was a blurwhat people now call burnout. But slowly, I grew to enjoy baking cakes, making biscuits, crafting desserts.
By my second year, I had a part-time job at a nearby café. At first, my parents complained I wasnt home enough, but I stood my ground. After graduation, they hired me full-time.
Then a new head chef joined the café. We started meeting after shifts, and the scolding began anew. More than once, my father showed up after work to stop me from walking with him. Finally, they staged a family interventionnan, aunt, uncle, all gathered to lay down the rules.
Youre quitting the café, my aunt announced. Ive got you a job as a kitchen assistant at Olivers school.
Best news all day! Mum chimed in. Oliverll always have you nearby, and youll be home by afternoon to help us.
Give up the caféwhere I was valued, paid well, where things were finally going right, where the man I loved worked? The future they wanted for me was dismal: a grim school canteen, slimy chicken nuggets and gluey pasta bakes, evenings spent scrubbing floors, a life revolving around Oliver.
No boys until your brother finishes school, my father snapped.
The next day, I told my boyfriend everything. Hed been saving to open his own café, but it wasnt enoughwed need a loan or investors. At home, I lied, saying I had two weeks notice to work.
The loan fell through, but a friend of his, a restaurant manager, offered him a new opportunitya project opening in Manchester. He went for an interview and convinced them to video-call me. As I spoke, he pulled out desserts Id made, stored in a cool box.
On my last day, I slipped out early. I dashed home, packed my things, grabbed my documents and savings, and caught the first train north.
Now, I live my own lifefor the people I choose, not the ones I was born to.
I do love Oliver, and I hope one day well have a proper relationship. I dont hate my parents, but I know if Id stayed under their roofor even in the same cityId never have broken free. Running was my only choice. Here in Manchester, Ill build something better. And for the first time, itll be mine.
