We decided to visit my parents nearly six months after our wedding. I knew it would be a trial, but I never imagined how hard it would be. The moment we stepped through the door, Mum greeted us with an icy stare and words that froze the blood in my veins: “This is a working house, not a holiday retreat.” Her voice carried a warning, as if we hadnt come home but stepped into some sort of forced labour.
My Emily, with her soft hands and city grace, suddenly seemed as fragile as a daisy in a field. I watched her grip my hand tightly when Mum ordered her to gut the fish. “William, shes your wife, not a maid!” I wanted to shoutbut I stayed silent. Silent, because I knew every word of protest would only stoke the fire.
Those days in the countryside turned into a nightmare. Emily worked late into the night, her fingers trembling from the cold as she washed dishes with water from the well. I saw her bite her lip to hold back tears whenever Mum accused her of laziness. “Youll never be good enough for my son!” It echoed in my mind like a curse. And I stood there, powerless, as though invisible chains bound me to the soil where Id grown up.
Our dinners were boiled potatoes and fish, cooked by Emily, but Mum refused to sit with us. She watched from the corner like a shadow, waiting for a mistake. At night, I heard Emily crying into the pillow. “Im sorry Im sorry for everything,” I whispered, but the words vanished into the dark.
When we returned home, I vowed to tell my mother, “Never disrespect my wife again.” But she only laughed. “Have you forgotten who raised you? Who fed you when you cried from hunger?” Her words cut like a knife.
The next time we visited the countryside, I was ready to fight. Dad had hurt his leg, and I had to tend to the sheep. Theyd given Emily rubber boots that rubbed her feet raw. The rain turned the fields to mud, and she stumbled after me, while I kept quietknowing any kindness from me would only bring fresh torment.
And thenthe mutton. Emily couldnt stand the smell, but Mum made it every day on purpose. “Eat if you want to be part of this family!” she snapped when Emily pushed her plate away. I took a fork, stabbed a chunk of meat, and flung it onto the floor. “Never again,” I muttered. But it was only the beginning of the war.
Now, with Emily expecting our daughter, I cant take risks. “Come alone if you want,” I tell Mum over the phone. “But she stays here.” Her silence held an ocean of resentment, but for the first time, my heart was calm. I held Emily close, and her warm hands reminded mesometimes you have to protect your family even from those who gave you life.
P.S. The next time Mum called, I turned off the phone. It hurt us both. But sometimes pain is the only way to wake up.
