What do you mean nothings been made for dinner? We didnt come here for you! Marks father protests, dropping his coat on the empty kitchen table.
I cant believe you put up with this, Emma, Sarahs colleague, says, shaking her head. I would have drawn a line ages ago.
Sarah sighs, stirring her coffee. The lunch break is ending, and the chat with her friend does nothing to ease the knot in her chest.
It sometimes feels like Im living in a public thoroughfare, Sarah says, pushing her cup away. Picture this: I get home after a meeting, barely able to stand, and theres my motherinlaw and her friend in the kitchen having teaas if its their house. And Mark never even warned me.
What did you do? Emma asks.
What else could I do? I smiled, put the kettle on, fetched some biscuits
Emma sighs. You trained them yourself. Youve been tolerating this for five years.
Sarah rubs her temples; the headache that has been her constant companion lately returns.
Mark thinks I should be happysays his parents treat me like a daughter.
Do they turn up often?
At least three or four times a week. Especially my fatherinlawhe loves dropping by unannounced. Hell stroll in, plop into the armchair and start, Back in my day then hell ask whats for dinner.
Just then Sarahs phone buzzes. Mark has messaged that his parents will stop by this evening to discuss weekend plans.
Look, Sarah hands the phone to Emma. He doesnt ask; he states it as a fact.
And the flat is yours, right? Emma squints.
Yes. I bought it before we marriedtook out a mortgage thats drowning me. Three years left, and I havent taken a penny from Mark. My dad kept on, What if you divorce, youll have to split the house. So I pay it all myself and keep every receipt.
They know that?
Of course. It means nothing to them. George simply said, Now this is the family nest.
The workday drags on. Sarah tries to focus on reports, but her thoughts keep looping back to the evening ahead. After talking with Emma, something inside her cracks. She had convinced herself everything was fine, that this was how a family should work. Now she feels a different certainty.
At six oclock she packs up and decidestonight she wont cook. She will make them feel, for once, that she is a person, not just help.
At home she showers, changes into something comfortable, and heads straight for her favourite armchair with a book shes meant to read for ages. She avoids the kitchen entirely.
The doorbell rings at seven. On the doorstep stands George, newspaper in hand, and behind him his wife Ruth, clutching a bag of sunflower seeds.
Weve come to see you! Ruth chirps, marching toward the kitchen.
Sarah nods silently. George, still in his street shoes, shuffles into the living room and settles into the armchair as usual.
Whats for dinner? he asks, unfolding the paper.
Nothing, Sarah says curtly.
George folds the page. Nothing? Dont just stand there like a statue! Get something on the stove!
The front door bangs as Mark bursts in.
Hi, everyone! he calls from the hallway. Oh, Mum, Dad, youre already here!
Ruth peeks out of the kitchen. Mark, the thing is Sarah didnt make anything.
Didnt make anything? Mark frowns at his wife. You knew my parents were coming.
I knew, Sarah replies calmly. You told me at lunch.
So what? You could have thrown something together. Its not the first time.
Sarah watches her motherinlaw exchange a knowing glance with Mark.
Exactlyit wouldnt be the first, Sarah says, rising from the armchair. Or the tenth. Im exhausted being a roundtheclock cafeteria.
Dear, what are you saying Ruth begins.
Im not your dear! Sarahs voice trembles. I have a name. I have my own life. I have my own flat, for that matter!
Sarah! Mark steps toward her. Stop the drama!
Drama? Sarah laughs bitterly. You call it drama when, for the first time in five years, I say no?
George folds his newspaper dramatically. You know, Mark, I always said youve spoiled her. Look at the result.
You Sarah turns sharply to George, then falls silent. A lump rises in her throat; her hands shake.
Whatme? he raises an eyebrow. Go on, finish what you started.
Sarah clenches her fists. Five years of pentup resentment burst out.
You treat my home as your own. You come whenever you feel like it, you give orders, you constantly demand food This is my flat! Mine! I have the right to be alone here sometimes!
Ruth throws up her hands. Mark, do you hear? Shes throwing us out!
Sarah, stop this right now, Mark grabs her elbow. Apologise to my parents.
I wont, Sarah pulls free. Im done apologising for wanting a normal lifewithout daily visits and instructions on what to do in my own home. Im fed up cooking for everyone all the time!
Marks parents begin to gather their things. Ruth mutters that Sarah is ungrateful. For a moment the house is quiet, and Sarah even hopes the storm has passed.
A few weeks later Mark announces that his parents will stay for a couple of days. Sarah has just returned from a threeday business trip, exhausted from endless meetings.
Mark, Ive just landed. I need to rest, to pull myself together
You know how much they love coming here, Mark says without looking up, eyes glued to his phone.
They love eating for free, flashes through Sarahs mind, but she says nothing.
The parents arrive in the evening with two huge suitcases. The sheer amount of luggage puts Sarah on edge.
George plops onto the sofa and cranks the TV up. Ruth, coat still on, heads straight for the kitchen.
Sarah dear, were famished after the journey. Make something quick, she demands.
Im working, Sarah says, nodding at her laptop. My deadline is looming.
Working, she says, Ruth snorts. You could make an effort for your husbands parents.
From the living room, George calls out, By the way, about work! Sarah, could you help me with my phone? The internets acting up
I cant right now, sorry, Sarah replies.
Shes always like this, George says loudly to Mark. No respect for her elders.
Mark stays silent, pretending not to hear. Sarah clenches her teeth and returns to her screen. Half an hour later Ruths voice echoes from the kitchen again.
Sarah! How long are you going to pretend youre busy? Were sitting here starving!
Order delivery, Sarah snaps finally. Theres a magnet on the fridge with a menu and a number.
Ugh, Ruth grimaces. We prefer homecooked meals. In my day, daughtersinlaw
Im not your daughterinlaw from the last century! Sarah slams her laptop shut. I have my own life, my own job, my own plans! Why should I drop everything every time you need something?
Silence settles over the room. Even the TV seems to quiet.
Mark, George says slowly, do you hear how your wife is speaking to us?
Sarahs just exhausted, Mark tries to smooth things over. Ill take care of dinner myself.
No, son, George rises from the armchair. Its not about being tired. Your wife has become arrogant. She thinks that because the flat is hers, she can look down on us.
You know what? Sarah stands as well. Yes, its my flat. And I have the right to decide who lives here and when!
Sarah! Mark puts a hand on her shoulder. You could be a little more tolerant! Theyre my family!
Leave me alone, Sarah says quietly. I cant do this any longer.
Enough! Ruth interjects abruptly. Come on, start cooking if you have time to argue.
Four eyes stare at Sarah. She gives in.
A few days later Marks parents finally move out. Sarah hopes peace will return. Two months pass relatively calmly.
One evening, after a grueling day of backtoback meetings, traffic, and a difficult client, Sarah unlocks the front door and freezes on the threshold. Voices and clatter rise from the kitchen. George and Ruth are already making themselves at homegroceries spread on the table, pots ready.
Ah, there you are! George leaps away from his newspaper. What are you making for dinner?
Sarah sets her bag down. Nothing.
Mark, standing silently by the window, looks away. George frowns.
What do you mean, nothing? We didnt come here for you! We came for your food! Get to the stove!
Something snaps inside Sarah. Her fiveyear ordeal of humiliation, endless concessions, and trying to please finally feels pointless. No one ever saw her as a person.
I see, Sarah straightens. So its all about the food? Here I was thinking you came to see your son.
Sarah, dont start, Mark tries to intervene.
No, love, Im finishing, Sarah turns to him. This isnt a cafeteria. Not a hotel. This is my home! Mine! And I will no longer let anyone boss me around here.
Ruth throws up her hands. Mark, do you hear what shes saying?
You havent heard me for five years, Sarah continues. For five years Ive cooked and tolerated your visits. And you she looks at Markhave never once taken my side. Not once!
Because youre wrong! Mark snaps. Youre acting like
Like what? Sarah cuts him off. Like someone whos tired of being a servant in her own home?
George stands. Wed better go. We wont get in the way of you sorting things out.
Right, Sarah nods. Go. And dont come back without an invitation.
Sarah! Mark grabs her hand. Apologise. Now!
No, Sarah pulls free. Enough. Choose, Mark. Either you start respecting my boundaries or go live with your parents for good.
A heavy silence falls. Sarah watches Marks gaze shift between her and his parents, then back again. At last he lowers his head.
Sorry, Sarah. But theyre my family.
And me? Sarah asks quietly. What am I?
Mark stares at her, searching for answers. You wont change your mind? he asks sullenly.
Sarah shakes her head. She has found the strength to take control, and she will not give up her freedom.
Mark silently grabs his coat and follows his parents out. The front door slams, and the flat falls unusually quiet. Their marriage ends.
Sarah sinks into a chair. Tears do not come; instead a strange relief washes over her, as if she has dropped a heavy backpack shes carried for years.
Her phone buzzesa message from Emma: How are you?
Sarah smiles and begins to type: Can you believe it, I finally.
