“Your Wife Is Getting Too Full of Herself. Teach Her How to Behave,” Demanded Max’s Mother-in-Law – Marina, my housewarming party’s tomorrow! I’ve invited so many people, and you know, the new flat is still completely unfurnished. Can you help me out? “Of course, Mrs. Newton,” replied Marina, though she’d planned her own relaxing weekend. And so it began: canapés for thirty guests, Caesar salad, mixed meats, a fruit arrangement, decorating the lounge, arranging the furniture. Just imagine: on Friday evening, instead of a romantic dinner with her husband, Marina made a trip to Tesco. Saturday from six in the morning meant prepping food… in someone else’s home. “Max, at least help me set out the chairs!” Marina pleaded with her husband. “But you know better what looks nice,” he shrugged, scrolling through his phone. By three o’clock, Mrs. Newton’s flat was transformed: a lavish buffet in the lounge, everything beautifully arranged, flowers set out just so. Marina looked at her work and felt utterly drained. The first guests arrived promptly at four: Mrs. Newton’s colleagues, neighbours from her old house, girlfriends. Everyone embraced the hostess, admired the flat, and handed over glittery housewarming gifts. Marina hovered in the kitchen, slicing lemons. “Where’s your daughter-in-law?” one guest asked. “She’s busy in the kitchen, of course,” Mrs. Newton waved dismissively. “Marina! Come in and say hello!” Marina came out, smiled, greeted everyone. “Oh, your daughter-in-law is so caring!” cooed a woman in an elegant suit. “You can see she’s got golden hands!” “Yes, I’ve brought up Marina well,” Mrs. Newton laughed smugly. “Now I have a dependable helper.” And then… things got even more interesting. There wasn’t a chair for Marina. “Sorry, dear Marina – you won’t have time to sit anyway,” Mrs. Newton said apologetically. “Better keep an eye on the food, serve the plates.” Marina nodded. What else could she do? So there she was, standing off to the side, almost like a waitress. Serving snacks, pouring champagne, clearing away empty napkins. Meanwhile, at the table: lively stories, laughter, toasts. “Remember, Mrs. Newton, that time at your old job—” began a colleague. Marina listened silently to their memories of a life she wasn’t really a part of. “Marina, could you refresh the fruit?” Mrs. Newton called loudly. Marina retreated to the kitchen, washed grapes, set them out on a platter. “How lovely!” the guests all cheered. “Mrs. Newton, you’ve got a real artist helping out!” “Max was so clever to choose such a homely wife!” added the woman in the suit. “I bet dinner is always ready, and the house is perfect!” Everyone laughed. Max smiled proudly too. Proud of what, exactly? Having free help around the house? But the evening wasn’t over. The table talk got freer, the guests more relaxed, voices louder. “Nina, do tell us about how Max charmed all the girls at university!” giggled one of Mrs. Newton’s old friends. “Oh, let’s not reminisce!” Mrs. Newton brushed it aside coquettishly, but she loved the attention. Everyone laughed. Max turned pink, though he was used to his mum’s boasting. Marina stood by the side table, polishing glasses. No one cared about her presence – she was part of the furniture. Useful, but invisible. “And at university, girls queued up for Max!” Mrs. Newton gushed on. “The Dean even joked, ‘Max will end up a Casanova!’ He turned out just as predicted! Before Marina, there were so many romances!” “Alright, Mum,” Max tried half-heartedly to stop her. “What’s wrong with that? Marina knows she’s not the only one,” laughed Mrs. Newton. “A man should know life! Otherwise, how will he build a family?” The woman in the suit nodded: “Exactly, Nina. It’s good for women too – a husband with experience is a blessing.” “Precisely!” Mrs. Newton agreed. “And Marina’s so calm. Not at all jealous!” All eyes turned to Marina, waiting for her to confirm she really was “calm.” Marina nodded. What alternative was there? “Marina, how did you and Max meet?” the neighbour asked cheerily. Marina opened her mouth but Mrs. Newton answered first: “At the bank! He’d just become a manager, she was a consultant. You could see straight away – a very serious and responsible girl.” Responsible. As if recommending her for a job. “I told Max: pay attention to that one. Not flighty, homely. Good for a family!” Just imagine – being described like merchandise. “Good for a family.” “And you made the perfect choice!” the woman in the suit exclaimed. “She’s a real grafter! Organised this whole housewarming, cared for everyone.” “Goes without saying,” Mrs. Newton confirmed. “I could tell straight off she was fit for family life. Not like today’s selfish girls who only think of themselves!” And now for the worst part – Max stayed silent. He didn’t protest. Didn’t say “Mum, enough.” He just sat and listened as his wife was discussed like a pedigree horse at auction. “When are the babies planned?” inevitably, someone asked. “Nina, aren’t you dreaming of grandchildren?” Mrs. Newton sighed wistfully: “I’d love some! But young people keep putting it off – work and all that. Time’s ticking!” Marina felt her cheeks burn. This topic stung. She and Max had been trying for nearly two years. She’d been seeing doctors, taking vitamins. So far everything looked fine, but every month brought fresh disappointment. “Well, it’s their private business,” said the neighbour tactfully. “Of course!” Mrs. Newton agreed. “But I hint every week – it’s time! Years go by, I want grandbabies!” Marina pressed her lips together. Hinted? She asked every week: “Any good news yet?” And Marina always blushed and mumbled apologies. “And maybe they’re not ready?” suggested another guest carefully. “Not ready?!” Mrs. Newton scoffed. “We were already having kids at their age! This new idea of not being ready… maternal instinct hasn’t disappeared!” Marina drifted over to the window. “Marina, dear!” called Mrs. Newton. “Don’t mope – come here, we’re discussing important things!” Marina stood beside Max’s armchair. “Just look at Max’s docile wife,” Mrs. Newton went on. “You ask – she delivers. Not like some modern girls, always complaining.” “And what rights does a wife have?” the woman in the suit mused. “Main thing’s keeping your husband happy and the family thriving.” “That’s right!” another guest agreed. “Women’s happiness is in their family and children.” Marina heard their talk grow tighter inside her. They spoke about her, not to her. “Nina, remember Max’s first serious girlfriend?” one guest piped up. “I think her name was Jenny?” “Oh, don’t remind me!” laughed Mrs. Newton. “Pretty, but what a temper! Always had to have her say, always argued. Not a wife – a punishment! I said to Max back then: ‘Son, think carefully. Do you really need such a shrew?’” Max fidgeted awkwardly but didn’t speak. “And you did right!” said the woman in the suit. “A mother knows best about her son’s match. Otherwise he’d be miserable for life!” “Marina, could you bring more ice?” Mrs. Newton asked. Marina nodded and went to the kitchen. She stood, staring at the ice cubes. Suddenly she realised: she wasn’t a guest. She was the help. Marina stood in the kitchen, bucket in hand, staring out at the evening. Lights twinkled on other balconies – people living their own lives. From the lounge came a happy chorus, someone singing karaoke. All were joining in. “Marina!” Mrs. Newton called. “Where’s the ice? And could you start the coffee?” Marina flicked the machine, grabbed the ice bucket, went to the lounge. “Here’s our little worker-bee!” the woman in the suit announced. “Marina, why so serious? Lighten up and join in!” “She’s tired is all,” Mrs. Newton waved away. “Been on her feet all day. But it’s fine – a woman must do it all. That’s how it is!” “Of course!” the neighbour chipped in. “The man must earn!” “Don’t I earn money too?” Marina asked quietly. Everyone turned. The room fell silent. “Sorry, dear?” Mrs. Newton said, baffled. “I said – don’t I earn money too?” Marina repeated, louder. Max frowned: “Marina, what’s this about?” “About Aunt Gal’s words – ‘The man earns, he deserves a break.’ Well, what about me?” The guests exchanged glances. Nobody saw this coming. “Well, you do earn, of course…” the woman in the suit said gently. “But it’s different.” “How is it different?” “Well,” she hesitated. “You’re a consultant. Max is a project manager – more responsibility.” “I see. So my job isn’t really a job? And the housework’s still mine. So I work at the office and at home. Max just works in the office, but he’s the one who gets to rest.” A heavy silence settled. “Marina, what are you saying?” Max asked, annoyed. “I’m saying,” Marina put the bucket on the table, “I spent two days preparing for this party. Shopping, cooking, decorating. And today I’ve been working non-stop. Yet not even a seat at the table for me.” “We didn’t mean—” Mrs. Newton tried to explain. “We just miscalculated.” “Miscalculated,” Marina agreed. “Didn’t think about me. Because I’m just staff here.” “Marina!” Max snapped. “Stop it!” “Stop what? Speaking the truth?” “Calm down, Marina,” a guest urged. “Just nerves.” “Enough of this show!” Mrs. Newton scolded. “Distracting people with drama!” “But it’s fine to discuss my family life with everyone? Fine to mention I haven’t had kids, fine to talk about Max’s exes?” Mrs. Newton paled. “I didn’t mean to—” “You talked about Jenny. You said good thing she left because she had opinions. And everyone agreed – good thing Max’s wife is so convenient now.” Marina looked at each person. “You know what? Jenny was right! She shouldn’t have let herself become a free helper!” “What are you talking about?” Max got to his feet. “What helper?!” “Know what I wished for today?” Marina continued, quietly. “I wished you’d say, ‘Meet my wife. She works in a bank, she’s clever and talented.’ Instead everyone said, ‘So handy. So docile. Just right for family life.’” “Marina, come on now,” Max began. “Come on? What – because you were silent! Silent when your mum called me convenient, silent when Aunt Gal lectured about a wife’s place, silent while everyone poked into my life!” Her voice shook. Tears that she’d been fighting all evening finally came. “You know what? I’m tired of being convenient!” Marina wiped her eyes. “Sorry for ruining your party. But I’m done playing the ideal daughter-in-law.” She headed for the door. “Marina, wait!” Max shouted. “Where are you going?” “On the balcony. For fresh air,” she said plainly, not stopping. “You can keep celebrating. Just without your waitstaff.” The balcony door closed. Behind it, muffled voices and music continued. Here, under the English night sky, Marina could finally be herself. She cried. Marina stayed on the balcony for more than an hour. First crying – from hurt, shame, relief. Then she dried her tears and watched the lights of London. Inside, voices continued, quieter now: Max and Mrs. Newton. “I don’t understand what’s come over her!” Mrs. Newton exclaimed. “To do that in front of everyone!” “Mum, maybe she’s got a point,” Max replied, unsure. “A point?! She shouted at her elders! Ruined our party!” Marina listened. “She did work all day, though.” “So what? In my youth, I worked too! Didn’t complain! Family means work, Max. Women must know their place.” Marina smiled bitterly. Even after everything, Mrs. Newton hadn’t understood. “Still—” “No ‘still’! You need a firm talk. Explain to her how a wife must behave. Or she’ll really get out of hand.” Marina opened the door and entered. Max and Mrs. Newton were amid dirty dishes. “A firm talk is a good idea,” Marina said calmly. They jumped. “Marina, dear,” Mrs. Newton started in a cajoling tone. “Don’t take it so to heart, we didn’t mean—” “I know,” Marina nodded. “You’re just not used to me speaking up.” “Let’s talk about it at home,” Max pleaded. “No. What started here, ends here.” Marina sat in a guest’s chair. “Max, I’m going to my parents’ tomorrow. For a week. I need to think.” “What is there to think about?” Max sounded panicked. “Whether I want to live in a family where I’m not valued.” “Don’t be dramatic, Marina.” “It’s not drama,” she said quietly. “It’s a choice. Either things change, or I change my life.” Mrs. Newton scoffed: “Young people! Straight to ultimatums!” “Max, if you care about our marriage – think it over. Not about how to ‘put me in my place’ but about why your wife cried on the balcony while your mother received congratulations.” A week later, Max came to Marina’s parents’ kitchen, nervously twisting his wedding ring. “Marina, please come home. Things will change.” Marina looked at him for a long moment. “Alright. We’ll try.” She never cried at family parties again. Because she’d learned to stand up for her right to respect.

Author Emily TaylorReading 13 minViews 1

Your wifes getting rather out of hand. You need to explain how she ought to behave, lectured Maxs mother.

Emily, Ive got my housewarming tomorrow! Ive invited so many people, and you know theres nothing sorted in the new flat yet. Youll help out, wont you?

Of course, Mrs Thompson, replied Emily, although shed planned to spend the weekend doing something else entirely.

And so it began. Canapés for thirty, Caesar salad, charcuterie nibbles, fruit platters, flowers, moving furniture, rearranging lamps, laying out cushions.

Imagine it: Friday evening, instead of a romantic dinner with her husband, Emily found herself in the queue at Tesco. Saturday started at six in the morning, cooking in someone elses kitchen.

Max, at least help me set up the chairs! begged Emily.

You know best how itll look nice, waved Max, scrolling through his phone, lost in the headlines.

By three oclock Mrs Thompsons flat looked transformed. The lounge gleamed with a grand buffet, flowers positioned just so, cushions fluffed. Emily gazed at the result and felt utterly exhausted.

Guests began arriving on the hour. Mrs Thompsons colleagues, neighbours from her old terraced house, old friends in smart cardigans and pearls. Everyone hugged the hostess, admiring the décor, bearing gifts in shiny paper and wishing her luck in the new place.

Emily was slicing lemons in the kitchen.

But wheres your daughter-in-law? wondered one of the guests.

Oh, shes there, busying herself in the kitchen, Mrs Thompson said with a dismissive flick of the hand. Emily, come alongsay hello!

Emily emerged, gave a smile, greeted everyone politely.

Oh, how caring your daughter-in-law is! joyed a woman in a tailored navy suit. Good with her hands by the looks of it!

Yes, I raised her well, Mrs Thompson replied, laughing almost triumphantly. Reliable help, at last!

And then the dream took a turn. There was no chair for Emily.

Oh, Emily, no need for you to sitno time, really, Mrs Thompson muttered with mock sympathy. Better keep an eye on the food and top up the plates.

Emily nodded. What else could she do?

So there she stood, like a waitress at some surreal banquet, passing round nibbles, refilling prosecco, tidying tissues while laughter and toasts swirled in a whirl of animated chatter.

Remember, Margaret, at your old job? started one of the friends.

Emily listened to stories of lives that were not hers, as if she were invisible furniture.

Emily, freshen up the fruit, will you? called Mrs Thompson, loudly.

Emily retreated to the kitchen, washed grapes, arranged them on a platter.

Beautiful! exclaimed the guests. Mrs Thompson, youve got a true artist helping!

Max was clever to choose such a house-proud wife, chimed in the lady in the cardigan. Bet his dinners are always ready, and the home spotless!

Everyone laughed. Max smiled, proud.

Proud of what? Of having a live-in maid for nothing?

But the dream unfolded further.

Conversations grew freer, voices more rowdypeople dropping pretension, as old friends do.

Margaret, tell us, how did Max drive all the girls mad back at uni? giggled one of the grannies.

Oh, whats to recall! Mrs Thompson replied, waving a hand but clearly loving the centre-stage. Every girl fancied him! Barely twenty, he was such a heartbreaker!

Laughter rumbled around. Max blushed, but everyone knew he was used to the praise.

Emily stood by the serving table, polishing glasses, ignored entirely. She felt as if she, herself, was a lamp or a cushionuseful, yet unseen.

And girls at uni queued up for him! Mrs Thompson went on. The Dean would joke, Max is our Don Juan! And it turned out he was! Before Emily, he had the lot!

All right, Mum Max weakly tried to stop her.

Oh, come now! Emily knows shes not the first, Mrs Thompson laughed. A man should have lived a bit! Its all essential for a strong family!

The woman in the suit nodded approvingly.

Exactlymen with experience are better husbands.

Thats it! Mrs Thompson agreed. And Emilyshes not the jealous type.

Everyone turned to Emily, waiting for her reactionproof she was as calm as described.

Emily nodded. What choice had she?

Emily, how did you and Max meet? asked a neighbour.

Emily began to speak, but Mrs Thompson jumped in:

At the bank! Hed just become a manager, she was working as an adviser. Clearly a serious, responsible girl.

Responsible. Like some reference for employment.

I told Max: pay attention to her. Not flighty, but homely. Just the sort for a family!

Imaginethey spoke of her like she was up for auction: Sort for a family.

Didnt make a mistake! said the lady in the suit. Look at all shes done! Organised everything, fed everyone.

Yes indeed, Mrs Thompson confirmed, proud as a peacock. Straight away I knewshe could be trusted with a family. Not like these modern girls, thinking only of themselves!

And Max? He sat, silent. Not a word to say. Didnt protest, didnt say, Mother, please!just sat and listened as his wife was discussed as though she was a pedigree at a show.

And when are the babies planned?the inevitable question. Margaret, you must be hoping for grandchildren!

Mrs Thompson sighed dramatically.

Oh Im longing for it! But youngsters today are always putting it offwork, this and that. Time goes by, you know!

Emilys cheeks burned. That topic pierced her. For nearly two years she and Max had hoped for a child. Shed seen doctors in secret, taken vitamins. So far, everything was fine, but each month brought quiet disappointment.

Well, its their business, the neighbour offered tactfully.

Of course, Mrs Thompson agreed. But Ive hintedseveral times! Time flies, and I want to spoil my grandbabies.

Emily pursed her lips. Hinted? Every week Mrs Thompson enquired, Any news? And Emily would blush, murmuring her apologies.

Perhaps theyre just not ready, one guest suggested gently.

Not ready! Nonsense, Mrs Thompson scoffed. We had children at their ageand look! Now they come up with excusesthis not ready business. But maternal instinct isnt something you can ignore!

Emily drifted to the window.

Emily! Mrs Thompson called after her. Why so glum? Come join us. Were talking about important things.

Emily returned, taking her place beside Maxs armchair.

Look hereMax has such a compliant wife! Mrs Thompson announced. Say the wordshell do it. Not like the modern ones, full of complaints.

And what rights does a wife really have? remarked the lady in the suit. Most important thing is the happiness of the husband and thriving family.

Exactly! agreed another guest. A womans happiness is home and children.

Emily listened as the coil inside her pressed tighter and tighter. They spoke about her, not to her.

Margaret, do you remember Maxs first proper girlfriend? Wasnt she called Chloe?

Oh, dont remind me! Mrs Thompson laughed. There was a Chloe, pretty but fiery. Im glad they split up!

What happened? guests asked, curious.

Mrs Thompson surveyed the room with meaning.

Oh, she was difficult! Always had to have her say, contradicted everything. Not a wife, but a punishment! I told Max directly, Son, think about itdo you need trouble like that?

Max shifted uncomfortably, but said nothing.

And rightly so! approved the lady in the suit. Mothers always know which girl fits their son. Otherwise he’d be miserable.

Emily, could you fetch some more ice? Mrs Thompson requested.

Emily nodded, heading to the kitchen. She opened the freezer, pulled out ice cubes, stood there staring at them.

Suddenly, it dawned on her: she was not a guestshe was staff.

Emily stood with her bucket of ice, looking out into the twilight. On the neighbouring balconies, warm lights flickeredpeople living their own lives.

From the lounge, laughter and karaoke spilled into the air, warbling through the flat.

Emily! Mrs Thompson cried out. Wheres the ice? And put some coffee on please!

Emily, numb, loaded the coffee machine, picked up the ice bucket, and walked to the lounge.

And heres our worker bee! laughed the lady in pearls. Emily, why so serious? Join in the fun!

Shes tired, Mrs Thompson replied airily. Been on her feet all day. But thats what women are forcaring for others.

Of course! affirmed the neighbour. A mans job is earning money!

Dont I earn as well? Emily asked quietly.

The room turned, silence settling.

Whats that, dear? Mrs Thompson blinked in confusion.

I saiddont I earn as well? Emily repeated.

Max frowned.

Emily, whats this about?

Just that Aunt Linda saidits for men to work, so they can rest at home. Am I not working?

Guests exchanged glances, startled by the turning of the dream.

Well, you do, of course, said the lady in pearls, trying to keep peace. But its not quite the same.

How so?

Well, you know she faltered. Youre an adviser. Max manages projects. Hes got more responsibility.

So my job isnt a proper job. And all the housework is mine too. Means I work both in the office and at homeand Max only in the office. But he rests.

An awkward hush settled.

Emily, what on earth? Max snapped. Why now?

Because, Emily placed the ice down, I spent two days preparing for this housewarming. Shopping, cooking, decorating. Today, up since dawn, working non-stop. Yet no place was set for me at the table.

We really didnt mean itjust counted wrong, Mrs Thompson tried.

Counted wrong, Emily echoed. Didnt think of me. Because to you, Im just the help.

Emily! Max admonished sharply. Enough.

Enough what? Speaking the truth?

Calm down, intervened someone.

Stop disgracing yourself, Mrs Thompson said sternly. No need for drama.

But its fine to discuss my marriage in front of everyone? And say I have no children? To bring up all of Maxs past girlfriends?

Mrs Thompsons face went pale.

I didnt mean

You spoke about Chloe. How good it was she left, because she had opinions. And everyone nodded, happy Max has a convenient wife now.

Emily looked at each face.

Well, you know what? Chloe was right! I shouldnt have let myself become a free housekeeper!

What are you on about? Max stood, as chairs creaked. What housekeeper?

Do you know what I wished for today? Emilys voice lowered. To hear, Meet my wife. She works at the bank. Shes smart and clever. Instead, all I got was, What a homemaker, how good for a family.’

Emily, really Max started.

Really what? The way you kept quiet! When Mum called me convenientyou kept quiet. When Aunt Linda judged wivesyou kept quiet. When everyone prodded at my lifeyou kept quiet!

Her voice shook. All evening, tears had been swelling, now finally falling.

Do you know what? Im tired of being convenient!

Emily wiped her eyes.

Sorry to spoil the party. But I cant play the perfect daughter-in-law anymore.

She headed to the door.

Emily, wait! Max called. Where are you going?

Im going to the balcony. For some fresh air, she replied, not pausing. Carry on celebratingjust without the staff.

The balcony door closed. Behind it, the muted hum of chatter and music faded. Here, under the night sky and English stars, Emily could finally just be herself.

She cried.

She stayed on the balcony for over an hour, sobbingfirst for hurt, then shame, then relief. Eventually, she dried her tears and gazed out over the citys speckled lights.

Inside, the voices filtered quietlyjust Max and Mrs Thompson left.

I dont know what got into her! grumbled Mrs Thompson. Such a scene at my party!

Mum, maybe she wasnt completely wrong, Max admitted uncertainly.

Not wrong? She shouted at her elders! Ruined the day!

Emily listened.

She worked all day, though, Max said.

So did I, when I was young! Never complained! Family is work, Max. A woman should know her place.

Emily smiled bitterly. Even after everything, Mrs Thompson hadnt understood.

But still

No still about it! You need to speak to her properly. Explain how she should behave. Shes really gone too far.

Emily opened the door and entered. Max and Mrs Thompson stood among dirty plates in the lounge.

A proper talk is exactly what we need, Emily said, calmly.

They jumped.

Emily, Mrs Thompson started in an appeasing tone. Come now, we didnt mean anything.

I know, Emily nodded. Youre just not used to me speaking out.

Emily, lets discuss this at home, pleaded Max.

No. What started here finishes here.

Emily sank down in the chair where guests had sat so little time before.

Max, tomorrow Im going to my parents. For a week. I need to think.

Think about what? Max was alarmed.

Whether I want to live in a family where Im not valued.

Emily, dont make this dramatic.

Its not drama, she said, voice steady. Its a choice. Either something changes, or I change my life.

Mrs Thompson sniffed.

Young ones these days! Always with the ultimatums!

Max, if you care about our marriagethink, and not about putting me in my place, but why your wife cried on the balcony while your mother soaked up congratulations.

A week later, Max visited her parents house, nervously spinning his wedding ring at their kitchen table.

Emily, come homeplease. Well change.

Emily watched him for a long moment.

All right. Well try.

And she never once cried at another family gathering.

She learned how to stand up for the respect she deserved.