Here I am, in a right mess, I tell you—I’ve become a slave in my husband’s family.
In a remote village outside York, where the wind carries the scent of freshly cut hay, my life, which began with love, has turned into unbearable servitude. My name is Emily, I’m 28, and three years ago, I married William. I thought I’d found a family, but instead, I’ve become a modern-day Cinderella—a servant for my husband, his parents, and all their relatives. My soul screams in despair, and I don’t know how to escape this trap.
**The Love That Blinded Me**
When I met William, I was 25. He was from a neighbouring village—tall, with a kind smile and warm eyes. We met at a county fair, and his simplicity won me over. He spoke of family, children, and life in the countryside where everyone stands by each other. Me, a city girl, dreamed of that cosy life. A year later, we married, and I moved to his village. Back then, I didn’t know that step would become my sentence.
William lived with his parents, Margaret and John, in a large house. His older brother and his family, along with countless relatives, were always dropping by. I thought I’d blend into their life, become part of a big family. But from day one, I realised—they didn’t want love from me, just labour. “You’re young and capable, so you should handle everything,” my mother-in-law said, and foolishly, I nodded, not knowing what I’d walked into.
**Slavery, Not Family**
My life became an endless cycle of chores. I wake at five to cook breakfast for everyone. Father-in-law likes porridge, mother-in-law prefers scrambled eggs, and William wants sandwiches. Then comes cleaning the massive house, laundry, and tending the garden. By midday, relatives arrive, and I cook dinner for a crowd: roast, mashed potatoes, pudding. Evenings are for supper, dishes, and collapsing exhausted at night. Every day, no breaks, no rest.
Mother-in-law barks orders like a sergeant: “Emily, you’re peeling potatoes wrong. Emily, the floors aren’t clean.” Father-in-law stays silent, but his gaze says, “You’re nothing here.” William’s relatives don’t even greet me—they just sit at the table and wait to be served. William, my husband, instead of supporting me, just mutters, “Don’t argue with Mum, she knows best.” His indifference stabs like a knife. I thought he’d be my protector, but he’s part of this system where I’m the slave.
**Moment of Desperation**
Recently, I snapped. When Margaret criticised my gravy again, and the relatives left a mountain of dirty dishes, I shouted, “I’m not a maid! I’m a person too!” Everyone froze, and Mother-in-law coldly replied, “Don’t like it? Go back to your city. You’re too used to having it easy.” William stayed silent, and that broke me. I ran outside, sobbing, and realised—I’m trapped. Nowhere to go—no home in the city, and my mum’s too far. But staying means losing myself.
I’ve noticed even my appearance has changed. Once cheerful and well-kept, I now look exhausted, my eyes lifeless. My friend Lucy gasped when she saw me: “Emily, you look ancient! Get out of there!” But how? I still love William. Or do I? His silence, his inaction, have killed the love I carried down the aisle. I feel like I’m drowning, and no one’s reaching for me.
**A Secret Plan for Escape**
I’ve started dreaming of running away. In secret, I’ve been saving bits of money—whatever I can scrape from the shopping. I want enough to rent a flat in the city and leave this nightmare. But fear paralyzes me—what will Mum say, who was so happy I married? What about William? How will I manage alone? And I’m terrified his family will drag my name through the mud. Their power here is absolute.
But yesterday, standing at the stove, listening to yet another complaint, I promised myself—I’ll break free. I’m no Cinderella, no slave. I’m young, I’m strong, and I’ll find a way. Maybe I’ll work remotely like Lucy, maybe I’ll return to my dream of becoming a florist. But I won’t stay here, where my life is just pots and orders.
**A Cry for Freedom**
This is my cry for help. I’m in trouble, married to a man whose family sees me as labour. Margaret, John, the relatives—they all think I exist to serve them. But I can’t take it anymore. William, the man I loved, is part of this machine, and it’s tearing me apart. I don’t know how to leave, but I know I must. At 28, I want to live, not just survive. My escape might be my salvation—or my ruin.
