Free Housekeeper and Cook My Pregnancy Means Nothing to Anyone
I am their unpaid housekeeper and cookmy pregnancy means nothing to them.
In a small village near York, where morning mist clings to old cottages like ghosts, my life at twenty-seven has become an endless servitude to others whims. My name is Emily, Im married to William, and in a few months, well have a child. But my fragile world as an expectant mother crumbles under the weight of my husbands grandmother and her family, for whom Im nothing more than an unpaid maid. We live in a three-bedroom flat owned by Williams grandmother, and it has become my curse.
**Love Trapped in a Web**
When I met William, I was twenty-three. He was kind, with a gentle smile and dreams of starting a family. We married a year later, and I was over the moon. His grandmother, Margaret, offered to let us stay in her spacious flat while we got on our feet. I agreed, thinking it would be temporary, that wed build our own life. Instead, I found a prison where my role is to dust, cook, and stay silent.
The flat is large but suffocating. Margaret lives with us, and her daughterWilliams aunt, Patriciavisits nearly every day with her two children. They treat the place as theirs and me as part of the furniture. From the start, my mother-in-law made it clear: “Emily, youre youngkeep the house running.” I thought I could earn their affection, but their indifference and demands only grow.
**Slavery Behind Closed Doors**
My life is an endless cycle of cleaning and cooking. In the morning, I mop the floors because Margaret cant stand dust. Then I make breakfast for everyone: porridge for her, eggs for William, and when Patricia arrives, pancakes or toast. By afternoon, I peel vegetables, prepare stew or roast beef, because “the guests are hungry.” At night, its washing up and orders: “Emily, peel the potatoes for tomorrow.” My pregnancy, my nausea, my aching legsno one cares.
Margaret barks commands like a sergeant: “The soups too salty,” “The curtains are wrinkled.” Patricia adds fuel: “Emily, mind the kids, Im swamped.” Her spoiled, noisy children scatter toys, stain the sofa, and I clean it upbecause “thats family.” William, instead of defending me, murmurs, “Mum, dont upset Gran, shes old.” His words are a betrayal. I feel shackled in a home that will never be mine.
**Pregnancy Under Fire**
Im six months along, and my condition isnt just a metaphor. Nausea consumes me, my back aches, exhaustion weighs me down. But my mother-in-law scoffs: “In my day, women gave birth in the fields and worked till the end.” Patricia sneers: “Oh, Emily, dont be dramaticpregnancy isnt an illness.” Their cruelty cuts deep. I fear for my babystress, sleepless nights, this endless labour take their toll. Yesterday, I nearly fainted carrying a bucket of water, and no one batted an eye.
I tried talking to William. Tears in my eyes, I begged: “I cant do this anymore; Im pregnant, its too much.” He held me but said, “Grans letting us stayjust try harder.” Try harder? For how long? I wont let my child be born where his mother is treated like a servant. I want peace, kindness, but all I get are scoldings and dirty dishes.
**The Final Straw**
Yesterday, Margaret snapped: “Emily, you should be grateful to live here. Work, or Ill throw you out.” Patricia chimed in: “A daughter-in-law should be useful, not whine.” I stood there, clutching a dishcloth, feeling something inside me break. My child, my health, my lifenone of it matters. William, as usual, stayed silent, and that hurt more than a slap. I refuse to be their doormat, their silent shadow.
Ive made my choice: Im leaving. Ill save money, rent a tiny flateven a bedsit if I must. I wont give birth in this hell. My friend Lucy urges me: “Take William and go before its too late.” But what if he chooses his grandmother? What if Im alone with a baby? Fear grips me, but I know one thing: I wont survive months more of this slavery.
**My Cry for Help**
This is my plea for the right to exist. Margaret, Patricia, their endless demands are destroying me. William, whom I still love, has become complicit, and it tears me apart. My child deserves a mother who smiles, not one who cries over the sink. At twenty-seven, I want to live, not just survive. Leaving will be hard, but Ill do itfor myself and my baby.
I dont know how to convince William, or where Ill find the strength to go. But I know this: I wont stay in a house where my pregnancy is a nuisance. Let Margaret keep her flat. Let Patricia find another servant. I am Emily, and I will choose freedomeven if it breaks my heart.
