We decided to visit my parents nearly six months after the wedding. I knew it would be a test, but I never imagined how harsh it would be. The moment we stepped through the door, Mum greeted us with an icy stare and words that sent chills down my spine: “This is a working house, not a holiday.” Her voice carried a threat, as if we hadnt come home, but to some forced labour camp.
My Emily, with her delicate hands and city grace, suddenly seemed as fragile as a daisy in the wind. I felt her grip tighten around mine when Mum ordered her to gut the fish. “William, shes your wife, not a maid!” I wanted to shout, but I stayed silent. Silent, because I knew every protest would only fan the flames.
Those days in the countryside became a nightmare. Emily worked until late, her fingers trembling from the cold as she scrubbed dishes with well water. I watched her bite her lip to keep from crying whenever Mum accused her of laziness. “Youll never be good enough for my son!”the words echoed like a curse. And I stood there, chained by invisible bonds to the land where Id grown up.
Our dinners were boiled potatoes and fish, prepared by Emily, but Mum refused to sit with us. She watched from the corner like a shadow, waiting for a mistake. And when we finally lay down to sleep, I heard Emily sobbing into the pillow. “I’m sorry I’m sorry for everything,” I whispered, but the words dissolved into the dark.
Back home, I resolved to tell Mum, “Never insult my wife again.” But she only laughed. “Have you forgotten who raised you? Who fed you when you cried from hunger?” Her words cut like a knife.
When we returned to the village, I was ready to fight. Dad had hurt his leg, so I had to tend to the cows. Emily wore rubber boots that rubbed her feet raw. The rain turned the fields to mud, and she stumbled after me while I stayed quiet, knowing any tenderness from me would only bring more cruelty.
And thenthe lamb. Emily couldnt stand the smell, but Mum cooked it every day on purpose. “Eat if you want to be part of this family!” she snapped when Emily pushed the plate away. I grabbed a fork, tore into the meat, and flung it onto the floor. “Never again,” I muttered, but it was only the beginning of the war.
Now, with Emily expecting our daughter, I wont take the risk. “Come alone if you must,” I told Mum over the phone. “But she stays here.” Her silence held an ocean of insults, but for the first time, my heart was calm. I held Emily close, and her warm hands reminded mesometimes you must protect your family even from those who gave you life.
P.S. The next time Mum called, I turned off the phone. It hurt us both. But sometimes pain is the only way to wake up.
