“I’m Not a Caregiver”
“Natasha, I’ve got some rather difficult news,” Alex said, setting his spoon down and avoiding her gaze. “Mum’s in a bad way. She’s eighty now, can’t manage on her own anymore. She needs constant care.”
“I was afraid of this…” Natalie sighed, drying her hands on a tea towel. “Have you spoken to Simon? We’ll probably have to hire a nurse. We can’t handle this alone.”
“I did. And we agreed—a nurse is too expensive. Besides, letting a stranger into the house is risky. It’s better if someone in the family looks after her.”
“‘We agreed’?” Natalie frowned. “You and your brother already decided without me?”
“Yes. And we concluded—you’re the best choice. Mum knows you, she’ll accept you. A stranger? Never. And anyway, you’re home—you could quit your job and take care of her.”
Natalie’s heart dropped. She was an accountant, with barely three years left until retirement. Quit now? Lose her pension and her years of service?
“Alex, I need time to think. I’m not made of steel. My health isn’t what it used to be, either. And… neither of you even asked me. You just handed me a decision.”
“Come on, Nat. You know Mum gave us this flat. She did everything for us—now it’s our turn to be grateful. Simon and I will help; you won’t be on your own.”
She knew better. Their “help” would only stretch as far as it suited them. In reality, the burden would fall entirely on her. But she didn’t argue. She asked for a month’s leave from work—”family care.” And made one thing clear:
“One month. After that, we reassess. I won’t commit indefinitely.”
“Fine. For now, we’ll move Mum in—it’ll be easier than running back and forth.”
The next morning, Evelyn, Alex’s mother, appeared at the door of their two-bedroom flat in Surrey. She’d grown frail, moving painfully. They brought in a walker, laid out blankets, arranged medicines, set up basins, pillows, quilts. The flat soon smelled of disinfectant and old age.
Alex took charge immediately.
“Prop her up with that cushion. Her soup’s cold—heat it. And make sure she takes all her pills—that’s your responsibility now!”
Natalie stayed silent, doing as she was told. But she wasn’t young anymore. Her back ached, her blood pressure wavered, her joints throbbed. And Evelyn, as if on purpose, began minor cruelties—spilling her tea, hiding her pills, complaining about noise.
A few days later, Simon arrived with his wife, Helen. Still in their coats, they toured the flat like inspectors, murmuring, “Mum can’t breathe in here,” and, “There’s a dreadful draft.” Natalie stood in the corner, unseen.
“Mum, how are they treating you?” Simon asked.
“Oh, son, who’d bother with an old woman?” Evelyn wheedled. “She looks at me like I’m a burden. No proper meals, no kindness. She does the bare minimum…”
Natalie snapped.
“There’ll be shepherd’s pie tomorrow. Tonight, it’s stew. Does she need a banquet every day?”
“Natalie,” Helen cut in, “how can you not cook properly for her? She’s elderly! She needs to be fed like a child. Or is that too much for you?”
“Helen, I cook, clean, wash, scrub—why don’t you try it first? When it’s your turn, do as you please.”
“Oh, I’ve got a job! I can’t. And—I wouldn’t know how!” Helen’s haughtiness vanished in a flash.
They left as they’d come—without offering help.
Alex, despite his promises, withdrew further each day.
“Nat, love, you’re the woman in this. Handle it. I’m exhausted from work. Besides, it’s tradition—daughters-in-law care for their mothers-in-law. No one’s ever complained.”
Natalie stayed quiet. She counted the days until she could return to work.
Three weeks later, Alex came home with a “solution.”
“Simon and I agreed. Mum will leave the flat to you in her will. In return, you’ll quit and care for her full-time. It’s only fair.”
“Are you mad?” Natalie went pale. “You think I’d trade my life for a few square metres? I won’t wreck my health for a house! I won’t spend years as a nurse just to inherit!”
“Think of James! We could sell the flat, split the money—he’d get something.”
“Ten years from now? Fifteen? And what about me? Should I just disappear?”
Alex was silent, looking wounded.
“I don’t care about the flat. I want to live. I want my job back, my coffee in the mornings, my books—not running around with bedpans. You’ve got a brother—let him take responsibility for once. Or hire a nurse!”
“Money! It’s always money! Your salary’s a pittance—staying home makes more sense!”
“No. My answer’s final.” Natalie met his eyes. “Do whatever you want. But I won’t look after Evelyn anymore.”
A week later, Natalie packed her things. Quietly, without a scene. She rented a room in a shared house. James, their son, backed her—promising to help with rent, call, visit.
Alex soon realised—his mother needed care. A nurse was hired, efficient, with references.
And Natalie, for the first time in years, felt free. Not guilty. Not obliged. Just a woman. One who’d finally chosen herself.
