My husband and I are blissfully married.
We met at university. I never intended to stay there; my heart was always set on returning home. With my specialty, I knew Id be a leading figure in my hometowna rarity amongst my peers.
I specialise in animal cardiology. Not human, mind youcats, dogs, even cattle. There arent many wealthy clients, but they exist, and even those less well-off would go to great lengths to seek help for their pets. My husbands a vet too, brilliant at diagnostics.
I enquired at local practicessame old story everywhere. They only do the basics: neutering, vaccinations. Complicated cases? Not worth the bother, apparently.
So we opened a clinic for the complex cases, offering proper diagnostics. We also conduct research for other vets. We work as a solid team, so things are going swimmingly.
Business is good, but we dont charge extortionate fees. Thats why we have plenty of clients. Weve already bought our own flat, hired assistants, so I dont have to sleep in the surgery, and I have time for the children and housework.
But my husbands parents are never satisfied with me.
I know theyre bitter he moved to my hometown; theyre always hoping hell pack up, move the clinicand usto London. Heaven knows why theyre upset; he has two sisters, both living right next door to them, so its not as though theyre alone. Were the ones who helped both those sisters, even gave them money for their deposit.
Still, Im always polite with them.
But my father-in-law doesnt seem to grasp the concept of boundaries.
So, this afternoon he calls:
Meet us tonight at 7. Be there to get me.
Its five oclock, I reply.
Then get on with it!
Fine. Ill collect our child, sweeten up my assistant for staying late, and keep quiet about the disaster of a cake Id just started baking.
On the road.
The little ones tucked in her car seat at the back.
My husbands at the clinic, busy with a patientan injured one, about to go into surgery. Father-in-law insists on refusing a taxi.
So, I drive.
Hes already shouting at me before opening the door, yakking away on his phone while searching for my car. I refused to get out; the child was sleeping and I didnt want to disturb her.
He climbed in, slammed the door, and started having a go: You could have come out. My daughters asleep, dont wake her. But he blared on, Anyone wanting to sleep can sleep.
Of course, she woke up and started crying.
Did Granddad try to soothe her? Did he even offer her a toy?
No, he did not. All I got was a tiradetheyre unruly children, and its my fault for staying at home. Apparently, I should be raising them, not glued to the telly. Working at the clinic five, sometimes ten or twelve hours counts as staying at home?
But his son, well, he works!
Then came the rantI drive fast, Ill get us killed. Oh, and he informed me my husband already has a fiancée waiting back at home, a young woman supposedly set to bear him normal, obedient children.
My daughter whimpered, and Granddad twisted around, shouting at her to keep quiet while the elders spoke.
Id had enough.
I drove him back to the station. Goodbye. Goodbye, goodbye
When I got home, my husband was waiting at the door, exasperatedhis father had filmed the whole thing. I handed him our sobbing daughter.
One more word and youre off to Daddy. His brides waiting, and youll have new, obedient children. Now crack on, or Ill start shouting myself.
My husband glanced away, and I realised wed had this conversation before. His father wont be visiting us ever again.
