An Extra Mouth
The kitchen table was cramped. The tiny five-metre space could barely hold five people—two adults and three children.
“Ben, fetch the stool from the living room,” Mum said.
Seventeen-year-old Ben rolled his eyes but obeyed, returning with the stool.
“There. We’ll move the table a bit and make room. It’s alright, Max, it’s alright,” Mum said, not looking at the five-year-old boy who had caused all this fuss. Instead, she glanced at her husband, whose sour expression made his displeasure clear.
Susan served her husband first, placing a steaming bowl of stew in front of him. She quickly sliced bread and ham, handing a bulb of garlic to her daughter to peel. Soon, plates were set out for everyone. Ben, mimicking his father, took a slice of brown bread, layered it thinly with smoked ham, and ate it between spoonfuls of stew. The garlic cloves were swiftly claimed by father and son, leaving the dish empty.
Max clutched his spoon but didn’t eat, watching the two men opposite him. He wanted to copy them, but the plates were too far away.
“Eat,” ten-year-old Emily said, passing him bread and ham.
Max snatched them up and chewed eagerly, as if they were chocolates. Susan smiled and picked up her spoon.
Dad refused seconds. Ben nodded silently. Emily asked for salt to sprinkle on her bread. Tea was drunk in silence, everyone staring into their mugs. Biscuits vanished from the tin in haste.
When supper ended, John stood first.
“Let the children eat first next time, then us. The table’s too small.”
Susan paused, plate in hand, but said nothing. Ben glared at Max, still munching a biscuit.
The day before, John had come home with Max. He’d pushed the boy inside impatiently.
“Come in, Max,” Susan said, holding a towel in the hallway.
It was clear they’d discussed this.
“Who’s that?” Ben asked, stepping out with a textbook.
“This is Max,” Susan said gently.
“I heard his name. Who is he?”
John and Susan hadn’t prepared for this. They should have told the children earlier.
“Max will live with us. We’ll add a fold-out bed to your room.”
“Our room?” Emily appeared too.
Their shared room was already split by a wardrobe. Fitting another bed meant rearranging everything.
“Make space.”
Dad’s authority wasn’t questioned. A look was often enough.
Seven years ago, John had left. A terrible row erupted. Usually calm Susan had sobbed hysterically, begging him not to abandon her with two small children. But he took a single bag and left.
He’d fallen for a woman at work, Antonia, and nothing else mattered. Not even the children.
Then, two years later, he returned with the same bag. No apology. Just, “If you filed for divorce, I’ll leave. It’s over there.”
Susan couldn’t speak. She’d waited so long for this moment, and now—she had nothing to say. She’d forgiven him long ago. She just wanted to see him.
They lived like strangers for nearly a year before John apologised. Susan thawed. Things returned to normal—almost. Then Max arrived.
Antonia wasn’t ill. She just didn’t want the boy. He was in her way. She’d only had him for the work housing.
“Take him or I’ll send him to a care home,” she’d said when John visited.
“Where? We’re four in a two-bed flat!”
“I don’t care. You didn’t ask where when I had him.”
“I thought you loved me, wanted Max.”
She laughed. “You thought. Decide by month’s end. If not, he’s gone.”
She was bluffing. She knew John wouldn’t allow it.
Susan agreed immediately. She never treated the children differently.
Time passed. They bought a bigger table. Emily got a corner of the living room, freeing space in the boys’ room.
Ben started uni. Max began school. They should’ve adjusted by now. But Ben resented Max more, despite sharing a father. Susan intervened tactfully. Emily adored Max instantly—he was more like her.
Max wasn’t deprived. He got clothes, toys, school supplies like the others. Susan divided everything fairly. But Ben hated it. Behind Max’s back, he called him “the extra mouth,” sneering. When alone, Ben tormented him. Max was often punished for things he didn’t do.
One day, Ben ate two portions at lunch, knowing there was exactly enough for dinner.
“Who took an extra sausage?” Susan asked that evening.
“Max stole them at lunch. Emily saw,” Ben lied eagerly.
Emily nodded. She’d seen Max eating just one.
“I had one,” Max admitted.
“Just one? I told you all to save one for dinner.”
“Yeah. Ben ate it and blamed me, like last time.”
Susan didn’t look at Ben. She gave Max her portion.
“I read somewhere an extra mouth is worse than a gun. True, Mum?”
John slammed the table, stood, and took Ben’s plate. He stared at his son, then gave Ben’s sausage to Susan and threw her portion at Ben.
“There’s only one extra mouth here. You. Twenty years old, leeching off us. Want food? Get a job. That’s it!”
Max stared at his plate, fighting tears.
John stormed out. Ben grabbed his coat and left. Emily pretended to drink her tea.
Susan reached to comfort Max but saw his tears dripping into his food.
“You’ll salt it too much.”
“I can’t eat it…”
“You must. It’s yours. Take what’s yours in life with gratitude. Especially food. A man must eat to work and think of more.”
***
By year’s end, Max walked home alone.
One day, Ben passed the school early. He saw four boys tossing a bag while Max chased it. A girl stood nearby, face hidden.
Ben smirked but walked on—until he saw Max on the ground, being kicked.
He sprinted back, grabbed two boys by their collars.
“Four against one? I’ll wring you out like lemons!” He avoided looking at Max, afraid—for the first time, for someone else.
“Max, you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“This is my brother. Remember that. Hurt him again, and I’ll make you regret it.”
The boys fled. Ben crouched before Max.
“Up. Your face?”
“I blocked it. They took her bag.” He pointed at the girl.
“You know her?”
“No.”
“Why defend her? They’re twice your size.”
“Girls need defending, any age.”
Ben smirked—their dad had said that.
“Right. Let’s go. Mum’ll kill you over your uniform.”
They walked in silence. Ben glanced at Max wiping dirt off his blazer.
“Why’d you say that back there?” Max asked suddenly.
“What?”
“You called me your brother. You always said—”
“Aren’t you?” Ben cut in.
“Yeah.”
“Then that’s that. Friends?”
Max spat on his hand before shaking. Ben laughed but didn’t wipe his.
“Help me with maths? I promised Mum I’d get top marks.”
“Struggling?”
“A bit.”
“I’ll help.”
By next year, Max was top of his class under Ben’s watch.
Ben moved out, juggling work and studies, but now contributed to the house. After the sausage incident, he never picked on Max again. One lesson was enough.
