Youre a burden, not a wife, my motherinlaw snapped in front of the whole family while I was refilling the teapot, oblivious that it was I who had settled her debts.
Mike, love, pass me that prawn salad, Margaret Whitaker sang to her son as if he had just returned from a victorious battle, her voice soft and melodic, yet beneath it lay a command no one dared refuse.
Mike sprang from his seat, the chair screeching against the floor as he rushed around the table, shielding me from the other guests as though I might interfere with his role as the dutiful son. I shifted in my chair, pretending to be absorbed in my glass of orange juice, while inside I watched the tableau with a cold, practiced irony.
The same pattern replayed at every gathering for a year. The ritual: Mike hero, saviour, the familys rock. And me a woman perched on the side, a convenient accessory whose task was to pour drinks, smile at jokes that never landed, and fall silent when needed.
Margaret took the salad bowl from her sons hands with a solemnity as if accepting a trophy after months of hard negotiations. She set the dish in the centre of the table like a queen crowning herself.
A true man, the pillar of the family! she proclaimed loudly, scanning the assembled relatives. Not one who merely flirts. Everything rests on his shoulders; he bears it all.
I adjusted the napkin on my lap to conceal my expression. His shoulders meant my money the very money I had secretly used to plug the hole in her failing shop. Twentyseven thousand pounds the sum that still made Mikes hands tremble when we transferred the final instalment.
Let them think its me, he whispered later. Itll be easier for Mum to accept. You know her ideas about a woman who earns.
I knew, and I agreed. What difference did it make who collected the medals if the family was saved from shame and bill collectors? At the time I thought it didnt matter.
Emily, why are you so still? Margarets voice pulled me from my thoughts. Uncle Victors plate is empty. Put some meat on it.
I silently lifted his plate. Uncle Victor offered a shy smile, but no one ever dared challenge Margaret.
While I served the hot dish, she continued her monologue, apparently addressed to everyone but really aimed at me.
I watch you young folk and marvel. My Mike works tirelessly, spinning like a hamster in a wheel. And all for what? So theres prosperity at home. So the wife lacks nothing.
She paused, letting the words settle over the guests.
And whats the return? Wheres the support? When I was his age, I worked, ran the house, and already had children. And now? They sit on mens shoulders and give nothing back.
I placed the plate before Uncle Victor. My hands shook slightly, but I forced a smile. Mike met my gaze, a flicker of apology in his eyes, yet he stayed silent, as always.
The evening drifted along the familiar route. Praise for Mike alternated with veiled reproaches toward me, disguised as life wisdom. I felt like an exhibit under glass, scrutinised and judged.
When dessert time arrived, I went to the kitchen for the cake. Mike followed.
Emily, dont be upset, he whispered, closing the door. Mum is just shes so pleased with me. That I rescued her.
Im not upset, Mike. I understand everything.
But I no longer understood. The drama of the modest wife beside the hero husband was suffocating.
My appdevelopment startup, which everyone dismissed as a cute hobby, earned three times more than his departmenthead salary. I insisted we hide my income to avoid envy, to keep Mike comfortable.
He was comfortable. I was not.
I returned to the living room with the cake. Margaret was complaining to a cousin about prices.
and tell me, how is a young family supposed to save for all this? No way! Unless the husband has a brain on his shoulders. And if beside him theres not a helper but a budget hole, then its all lost.
I began slicing the cake.
A distant relative asked, Margaret, why isnt your family going to the seaside this year? Mike worked so hard.
Margaret pursed her lips and shot me a scorching glance, as if I had cancelled the trip. Then, slowly and venomously, so everyone could hear:
What seaside? He needs rest from the endless burden. Youre a burden, not a wife, she hurled at me across the table. You only know how to live off someone elses money.
The knife in my hand froze. An awkward pause settled, broken only by Uncle Victors cough. All eyes turned to me, waiting for an outburst, tears, a retort.
I lowered the knife onto the plate, looked at Margaret and smiled a cold, empty smile. What slice would you like, Margaret? With nuts or without?
She blinked, flustered. Without waiting for an answer, I cut the biggest, most beautiful piece and placed it before her, then continued serving the cake as if nothing had happened.
The evening ended quickly. Guests, sensing the tension, slipped away one by one. In the car, Mike turned on a familiar song.
Emily, Mum went too far, it happens to everyone. You know her temper
I know, I replied flatly, watching the city lights flicker past. My voice sounded foreign and lifeless.
She doesnt mean it. She just worries about me. That I get so tired.
Yes, sure, I nodded. Worries.
There was no anger or remorse in his tone, only tired irritation at having to mediate between two women again, and no understanding of what had really happened. He saw only his mothers character trait.
The next days passed in oppressive silence. We barely spoke. I buried myself in work, signing a new contract with foreign investors. Mike drifted through the house like a shadow, offended by my silence.
Then the phone rang. Of course it was Margaret. Mike talked with her in the kitchen for ages, then entered the room where I was at my laptop.
Emily, listen he began uncertainly.
I lifted my glasses and looked at him.
Moms car is falling apart. She almost had an accident today the brakes failed.
I stayed silent, waiting. It didnt take long.
So, I thought we could help her. Buy a new one. Not the most expensive, of course, but reliable. So we dont have to worry.
He looked at me, hopeful, the same hope hed shown when he asked me to pay off her debts. Confident I would agree again.
We? I asked, closing the laptop slowly.
Yes, we. I cant manage alone, you know. But together
No, Mike, I said quietly, loud enough for him to hear every word. We cant.
He froze.
What do you mean? Margaret, thats my mum!
Shes your mum. Exactly. So youll buy her a car with your salary.
Mike stared at me as if Id spoken a foreign tongue. Confusion and anger mixed in his eyes.
Youre kidding? Because of what she said to you? Come on, Emily! I thought you were above that!
I am above that, Mike. So far above I wont let anyone trample over me any more not her, not you. The bank is closed. The Save the Family fund is terminated.
He grabbed his phone, rushed to the balcony, gesturing wildly. I heard fragments: completely lost it!, over some nonsense!, yes, come, of course!. I stayed still, waiting.
Margaret stormed in forty minutes later, bursting through the flat without knocking, ready for battle. Mike followed her like a squire.
Whats happening here? she demanded at the doorway. Emily, why are you pushing my son? Hes sick because of you!
I turned slowly to her.
Good afternoon, Margaret. Im not pushing anyone. I simply refused to buy you a new car.
What?! She glanced at Mike, then back at me. You refused to help the family? After everything my son does for you?
That was the moment. The stage was set, the actors in place.
And what exactly does your son do for me? I asked calmly, meeting her eyes. He didnt even cover your business debts of twentyseven thousand pounds last year.
Margarets mouth fell open. Mike went pale as a sheet.
What debts? Mike paid everything! He told me himself! He saved me!
Mike? I shifted my gaze to my husband, pressed against the wall. Mike, tell Mom where a departmenthead earning a hundred thousand a year suddenly got twentyseven thousand? Did you rob a bank? Find a treasure?
He remained silent, unable to meet my eyes.
Ill tell you where, I continued, my voice gaining strength. That money is mine. Every penny. Earned by my cute hobby, as you call it my IT company.
I had paid for your mistakes to spare your family disgrace. And in return I was labelled a burden.
Margaret sank onto the hall ottoman. The heroic mother mask slipped, revealing confusion and humiliation.
She looked from me to her sonhero, who turned out to be a liar.
I agreed to this lie for Mikes sake, to protect his pride. I thought it was right. I was wrong.
I grabbed my laptop bag from the chair.
So, Margaret. Your son will buy you a car, if he can. Or you will. Learn to solve your problems without my wallet.
I headed for the door, Mike stepping toward me.
Emily wait
No, I stopped at the threshold. Ive had enough. I was convenient for too long. Its time I be happy for myself.
And I left, closing the door behind me. I didnt know where I was going, but for the first time in ages I felt I was moving in the right direction.
Six months later I stood in the centre of my new flat bright, spacious, with floortoceiling windows overlooking the citys financial district. Sunlight danced on the parquet, the air smelled of fresh paint and coffee. Every detail was mine: the minimalist sofa, the abstract painting Id bought at my first auction.
After that final scene, I rented a hotel room, then a week later leased this apartment. The divorce proceeded surprisingly smoothly. Mike didnt argue; it was as if theyd removed his spine.
He was broken, not by my leaving, but by the exposure. His carefully crafted hero image crumbled to dust.
The phone on the kitchen island buzzed. A message from Mike. He wrote once a week, at first angry tirades, then pitiful pleas, now something in between.
Emily, I understand everything. I was wrong. But maybe we can at least talk? Mum is very ill, she cries constantly. Her blood pressure is high. She blames herself and me. We both feel terrible without you.
I set the phone aside without replying. I knew Margaret wasnt truly ill. Uncle Victor, the only relative who called after that evening, occasionally reported the situation.
Margaret didnt cry she was angry. Angry at her son for failing her hopes, at me for exposing the familys dirty laundry, at a world she felt had wronged her.
They never bought her a car. Now they lived together in her flat, and according to Victor, the atmosphere there was gloomy constant reproaches, money fights, mutual accusations. The hero and his saved mother turned out to be two miserable people unable to care for themselves, let alone each other.
He never grasped the main point. He wrote they felt bad without me, but not because they missed me as a person. They missed my money, my support, the invisible force that kept their world afloat while they sang praises to themselves.
Meanwhile my business flourished. The contract with the foreigners brought not only money but also recognition in niche circles. I hired five more developers, we rented a sleek loft for the office. I worked a lot, but the work now gave me joy, not dull irritation.
I no longer hid my successes, no longer pretended it was a cute hobby. I was the owner of a thriving company, and that was my greatest achievement.
Another call came, this time from my deputy.
Emily, the investors have confirmed a meeting in Shanghai in two weeks. They want to celebrate the launch in person. Should I book the tickets?
I looked out the window at the city sprawled beneath me, at the clear, boundless sky.
Yes, Kirill, I replied, smiling. Book them. And reserve a hotel with a sea view. Its time I finally rested.
