Whos broken it? Eleanors voice rang through the whole kitchen. She clutched a cracked porcelain teacup from the set her late husband had given her. Did you do this?
Emma froze, heart pounding. It wasnt her. Most likely Lucy, the fiveyearold greatgranddaughter who had been playing in the kitchen that morning. But admitting that would put the child in front of her stern motherinlaws wrath.
Im not sure, Eleanor, Emma whispered. Maybe I nudged it by accident while washing the dishes.
Eleanor pursed her lips, a flash of triumph flickering in her eyes.
Of course! Always the same excuse. Twenty years in my house and you show me no respect. Do you know how much that set meant to me?
I can glue it back together, Emma offered. Itll be almost invisible.
Dont touch it! Youll only make it worse.
James, Emmas husband, entered, rubbing his forehead. The shift had left him with a throbbing migraine; his job as head of security at the town centre meant constant noise and tension.
Whats happening? he asked, looking between his motherinlaw and his wife.
Your blessed wife just shattered my teacup, Eleanor said, wrapping the broken piece in a towel. The very one Father gave me.
Emma waited for James to defend her, to tell her it was just a cup. He only sighed.
Emma, how many times have I asked you to be careful with my things? he said.
But I didnt Emma began, then stopped. Arguing was pointless.
James fetched a bottle of kefir from the fridge and retreated to the sitting room. Emma was left alone with Eleanor, who dabbed at a single tear with a flourish.
Why must I endure this? Eleanor wailed. All my life Ive cared for this familykept the house, raised my son. And now this?
Emma dried her hands on the towel, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill. She knew crying would only please Eleanor. Twenty years under this roof had taught her to swallow her emotions. Here, in Eleanors house, her tears would mean nothing.
Ill go hang the laundry, Emma said, hurrying out to the back garden.
That evening, when her daughter Grace returned from university, Emma was sitting on the veranda, sorting beans. Grace tossed her bag onto the bench and sat down beside her.
Mum, why so glum? Grace asked.
Just tired, Emma replied, forcing a smile.
Grace, already perceptive at eighteen, sensed the undercurrent.
Grandma again? she said bluntly.
Emma stayed silent; that was enough.
Mum, how long can you keep taking this? Why do you never stand up for yourself? You saw Lucy playing with the set this morning, didnt you?
Enough, Emma whispered, glancing around. Dont make a fuss. Shes just a child; she doesnt need your lectures.
Do you want a lecture then? Grace snapped, flicking a long chestnut strand from her face. Sometimes it feels like youre a stranger in this house, like a servant.
Emmas heart lurched. Her daughter had voiced the thought that had haunted her for yearsshe felt alien, not belonging, despite two decades of marriage.
Dont say such nonsense, Emma snapped back sharply. Were a family. It just happens that we live in Eleanors house. Shes an elderly woman who needs our care.
And you dont need any? Grace shot back, rising. Im going to change.
When Grace left, Emma set the beans aside and stared at her handscalloused from endless chores, skin cracked from constant washing. Once a nurse at the local clinic, she had dreamed of a medical career. Then James came, love blossomed, a child arrived, and Eleanor forced her to stay home. Your son has a good job, why bother with the hospital? The house needs you, Eleanor had insisted. Emma had given up her aspirations, and after baby Alex was born, the question of work faded completely.
Dinner that night was quiet, broken only by Lucy, Eleanors greatgranddaughter, chattering with her motherinlaws younger son Marks wife Claire, who visited occasionally. Mark and Claire lived elsewhere, but Lucy often stayed with Eleanor.
Claire bought me a new dress today, Lucy beamed. Pink with lace! I feel like a princess.
Of course, my dear, Eleanor cooed. Youre the prettiest princess here.
Grandma, why does Aunt Emma never wear nice dresses? She always looks the same.
Emma froze, a lump forming in her throat.
Thats inappropriate, Lucy, Eleanor scolded, though her tone carried a note of satisfaction.
Aunt Emma just has other worries, Eleanor added. She doesnt have time for fancy clothes.
Mom, let me take you shopping tomorrow after my classes, Grace offered suddenly. Ive got my scholarship money.
Emma shook her head. I dont need new clothes.
Spend it on textbooks, James muttered. Exams are coming, not dresses.
Grace shot him an angry look. Why does Mom never buy anything for herself? Why does she always pity herself?
Dont start, love, Emma said, trying to keep the peace. Lets just eat.
No, I want to know! Grace pushed her plate away. Why does Grandma have a new TV, Dad a new phone, Lucy a mountain of toys, and Mum not even a decent dress?
Mind your language, James snapped. Are you speaking to your father like that?
Are you speaking to your mother like that? Grace retorted. How does she even live here? Like a maid!
Jamess face reddened. Apologise to Grandma at once! This is her house; shes allowed us to stay.
Enough! Emma rose, voice trembling. Grace, go to your room, please.
But Mum
Go, Emma repeated, firm.
When Grace left, Eleanor shook her head. Shes turned into a spoiled brat. No respect for her elders.
Emma cleared the table mechanically, feeling a heaviness settle deep inside. Twenty years in this house and she was still an outsiderCinderella who never became a princess.
That night, lying beside Jamess snoring form, Emma drifted back to the days when she first fell for himtall, disciplined, a former soldier turned security chief. He had courted her with flowers, protected her from bullies, and she had been a modest girl from a teaching family, still living with her parents in a nearby village.
Their wedding had taken place in Eleanors home. Jamess father, Peter, still alive then, had welcomed Emma warmly. I always wanted a daughter, he had said, and now I have one.
The early years, while Peter was alive, had felt happy. He defended Emma from his wifes criticisms, often praising her: Emma, youre a wonderful wife; no one could be better for James.
After Peters death, Eleanors demeanor changed. The constant nagging, the insinuations that Emma wasnt good enough for her son began. James tried to protect her at first, but eventually grew weary and withdrew.
Emma turned on her side, staring into the darkness. Could Grace be right? Had she truly become a stranger in her own family? Where could she go? She had no job, no savings. Her parents were gone, the tiny cottage they left had been sold at Jamess urging to fund repairs on Eleanors home.
Morning found Emma resolved. Today she would speak to James alone, without Eleanor, and try again to explain how hard it was.
At breakfast, Eleanor announced, Irie called. Theres an emergency at work, and they need Lucy for a week. I agreed, of course. Emma, could you put her in my spare room?
Maybe she could stay with Grace? Emma suggested. The girls would keep each other company.
Absolutely not! Eleanor snapped. Grace is buried in her textbooks, preparing for exams. Shed only get in the way. Lucy will stay with me.
Emma nodded, knowing arguing was futile.
After breakfast she stepped out to hang the laundry. The May air was cool and unwelcoming. The garden gate creaked and neighbor Valentina, an elderly retired teacher, entered.
Emma, love, how are you
