Oh, my dear children… listen, let me tell you how it goes when life sweeps you away from your own home and leaves you in unfamiliar walls—not by choice, but out of sheer helplessness.
Once, I too believed that family was a support. That a husband would stand by you, that a home would be warm not just from the radiators but from the heart. But it turned out… like this.
We had a young woman named Emily—hardworking as a bee. She managed her job, kept the house spotless, cooked dinners, and paid the bills. Meanwhile, her husband, Thomas, spent whole days lounging on the sofa, lost in his games. He used to work, but then he claimed his boss was a tyrant, the team was awful, and he quit. He promised he’d find something better soon, but seven months later, that “soon” stretched on like a bitter winter.
And then there was his mother, Margaret. Oh, her tongue was sharper than a knife. Whatever Emily cooked, it was never right—the porridge was too plain, the cream wasn’t fresh, the roast beef too dry, the pies too bland. And always coddling her son: “Thomas, darling, don’t settle for just any job—you’re clever, you’ve got an education!”
Emily carried it all on her shoulders. She earned the money, cooked the meals, washed the dishes after everyone. She even brought tea and biscuits to the living room because it was too much effort for them to get up from the telly.
How many times did she beg Thomas to take even a temporary job? His answer: “I won’t waste time on small things—I’m looking for something proper.” And his mother would chime in, “Don’t pressure him, he’s already stressed.”
Do you think anyone listened to her? Not a chance. In their minds, if she was working, then they had enough. That she was exhausted? Just details.
I lived like that once too… I remember bearing it all and getting nothing in return. At first, you think, just a little longer, and things will change. Then you tell yourself you’ll endure for the sake of family. But in the end, you realize—you’re enduring for people who don’t even value you.
Some say it’s my own fault I ended up in a care home. Maybe so. Because I didn’t leave sooner, when I still had the strength. I didn’t say “enough.” I endured until there was nothing left.
And so, one day, Emily packed her suitcase… and walked out. I don’t know where she went, but I know why. Because she was tired of being the cook, the cleaner, the breadwinner, and still “not good enough” in the eyes of those she broke her back for.
So there you are, my children… look after yourselves. Because if you don’t, no one else will.
