Another envelope for them, and all we get is a jar of pickles? I think, eyeing the kitchen table at my motherinlaws house. Peter sits opposite me, and across from us is his mother, Helen. She has just returned from the sitting room, where she handed my sisterinlaw, Margaret, yet another envelope stuffed with cash. I saw it through the ajar door. Margaret beams, and her husband Tom cant hide his satisfaction.
Kate, would you like some more salad? Helen asks, placing a bowl in front of me. I made it myself, especially for you.
A lump forms in my throat. For you. For her family theres always food. For themmoney for holidays, a new car, a house renovation. For usjars and a cake to take away. Am I being ungrateful? Should I simply be thankful for what I have?
Peter squeezes my hand under the table. I know the signal: Dont start anything at the table. But I can no longer stay silent.
Mum, did Margaret get something extra again? I ask quietly, but firmly.
The kitchen falls into a hush, broken only by the ticking clock and Toms fork scraping his plate.
Kate, dont overstate it, Helen replies coolly. I give each person what they need.
And we dont need anything? Peter tries to interject, but Helen cuts him off with a glance.
You have everything. Both of you work, you live in the flat that belonged to my parents. Margaret has it harder.
Margaret lowers her eyes, yet a faint triumph flickers on her face. Tom shows no sign of embarrassment.
I step out onto the balcony for fresh air, recalling the early years of our marriage. I had tried so hard to be a good daughterinlawbaking cakes for Christmas, helping in the garden, calling on namedays with cheerful wishes. I always heard, Margaret did it better, Margaret has it tougher, Margaret is so resourceful.
I remember Christmas three years ago. We were all gathered around the table when Helen handed Margaret and Tom an envelope labelled For a fresh start. We received a jar of homemade lard and a slice of poppy seed loaf. Peter tried to joke, Mum, isnt there a fresh start for us too? Helen simply smiled, Youve already started.
That was the moment I first felt like the lesser part of the family, as if we were merely an afterthought.
Kate! Peter calls from the balcony, joining me. Please, dont make a scene.
This isnt a scene! I snap, teeth clenched. Its my life! How long must I pretend everythings fine?
Peter sighs heavily.
I know its unfair. But what can we do? Shes my mother.
And Im your wife! Tears well up. Have you ever stood on my side?
Peter remains silent. I know he loves his mother and doesnt want to hurt her, but I can no longer keep up the act.
We return to the kitchen as Margaret and Tom are about to leave.
Thanks for everything, Mum! Margaret kisses Helen on the cheek.
See you later! Tom calls over his shoulder, looking at me with an air of superiority.
We are left alone with Helen.
Kate, I dont understand your attitude, Helen begins in a teacherlike tone. Youve always been grateful for everything.
Maybe Im tired of being grateful for scraps, I reply softly.
Helen furrows her brow.
I dont get this bitterness.
Its not bitterness, I say firmly. Its hurt. I want to feel like a true part of this family, not the one always left behind.
Helen looks at me for a long, cold moment.
Perhaps you should work on yourself, Kate.
Peter and I leave without a word. The car ride home is silent.
At home I collapse onto the sofa and cry. Peter tries to hold me, but I pull away.
You never see my side, I sob. You always take theirs.
Thats not true! I just I dont want a family war.
And Im done fighting inside myself!
The next day my mother calls.
Kate, how was it at Helens?
I have no answer. Im ashamed to admit my feelings, because I think Im supposed to be grateful for what I have. Yet do I really have to accept being the lesser one?
A week later Margaret posts pictures of her new flat on Facebook: Thank you, Mum, for the support! Below are dozens of comments: What a wonderful motherinlaw!, Family is everything!
A pang of jealousy and sorrow hits me. That evening I try to talk to Peter about it.
Should we maybe see each other less? I ask hesitantly.
Peter looks at me sadly.
Its my mother I cant just cut her out.
And what about me?
He stays silent for a long moment.
I dont want to choose between you and my mum
I feel more alone than ever.
Weeks pass. Each visit to Helens home brings fresh anxiety and humiliation. I start avoiding family gatherings, citing work or feeling unwell. Peter goes to his mothers more often, and our conversations become shorter, more superficial.
One day I get a message from Margaret:
Kate, could we meet for coffee? Id like to talk without anyone listening.
Reluctantly I agree. We meet at a café in the town centre.
I know youre angry with me, Margaret begins bluntly. But its not my fault my mum favours me.
I watch her closely.
Did you ever try to change it?
Margaret shrugs.
It suits me sometimes but Im tired of it too. Mum pits us all against each other. Youre the strong, independent one; Im the poor victim. In truth were both miserable.
Her honesty catches me off guard.
Do you think it can be changed?
She shakes her head.
Mum wont change. We can stop playing her game, though.
I return home with a flicker of hope. That night I speak to Peter more honestly than ever before.
Either you stand with me and we set boundaries with your mum, or we end up living under the same roof but never truly together.
Peter is silent for a long while, then pulls me into a tight embrace.
Im sorry for everything. Lets try to change this together.
I dont know what the future holds, but one thing is clear: I will never again let anyone convince me that I deserve only the remnants of love.
The real question remains: must we choose between loyalty to family and our own happiness, or can we carve a path that restores our dignity? The answer lies in standing up for ourselves while seeking balance, for only then can we truly belong.
