Whos broken this? My motherinlaws voice echoed through the kitchen. She held a cracked porcelain teacup, the kind her late husband had given her as a wedding gift. Did you do this?
I froze. It wasnt me. Most likely little Molly, her fiveyearold granddaughter, whod been playing on the kitchen floor that morning. But to tell the truth would put the child in my motherinlaws crosshairs.
Im not sure, Mrs. Anderson, I said quietly. Perhaps I nudged it by accident while washing up.
She pursed her lips, a thin smile flickering in her eyes.
Of course! Always the same excuse. Twenty years youve lived under my roof and you still cant show a bit of respect. Do you know what that set meant to me?
I could try to glue it, I offered. It would be almost invisible.
Dont touch it! Youll only make it worse.
Victor, my wife Emmas husband, stepped into the kitchen, rubbing his forehead. Hed just finished a night shift as head of security at the town centre, and the constant din was giving him migraines.
Whats happened? he asked, looking between his motherinlaw and Emma.
Your dear wife has broken my tea set, Mrs. Anderson said, wrapping the cracked cup in a towel. The very set my late husband gave me.
I waited for Victor to defend me, or at least to downplay the incident, but he merely sighed.
Emma, how many times have I asked you to be careful with my things?
I didnt I began, but stopped. There was no point arguing.
Victor fetched a bottle of kefir from the fridge and disappeared into the back room. Emma was left alone with her mother, who dabbed at a stray tear.
Whats the point of all this? Mrs. Anderson wailed. Ive spent my whole life caring for my familykeeping the house, raising my son. And now this?
Emma wiped her hands on a towel, fighting the urge to cry. She knew tears would only give her mother more ammunition. Twenty years under this roof had taught her to swallow her feelings. In Mrs. Andersons house, her tears meant nothing.
Ill go hang the laundry, Emma said, hurrying out to the garden.
That evening, when their daughter Olivia returned from college, Emma was sitting on the veranda sorting beans. Olivia tossed her bag onto the bench and sat down beside her.
Mum, why so glum? Olivia asked.
Just tired, Emma replied, forcing a smile.
Olivia was perceptive for an eighteenyearold. Shed already sensed the strain in their family.
Grandma again? she said bluntly.
Emma stayed silent, which said enough.
How long are you going to put up with this? Why dont you ever stand up for yourself? You saw Molly playing with the set this morning, didnt you?
Enough, Emma whispered, glancing around. Dont make a fuss. Shes just a child; she doesnt need Grandmothers lectures.
And you? Ready for a lecture? Olivia snapped, flicking a stray blonde lock from her forehead. Sometimes I feel youre nothing more than a servant in this house.
Emmas heart sank. Olivia had voiced the thought Emma had kept hidden for years: she felt like a stranger in her own home, despite two decades of marriage.
Dont be foolish, Emma said sharply. Were family. It just happens that we live in Mrs. Andersons house. Shes an elderly lady who needs our care.
Dont you need care either? Olivia retorted, standing. Im off to change.
When Olivia left, Emma set the beans aside and stared at her calloused hands, skin cracked from endless housework. Shed once been a nurse at the local clinic, dreaming of a medical career, until Victor came along, they married, and she became pregnant. After the birth, Mrs. Anderson insisted Emma stay home. Your son has a good job, why bother with the clinic? Theres plenty to do here, shed said. Emma had given up her ambitions, and when little Alex was born, the question of work simply vanished.
That night dinner was quiet. Only Molly, Mrs. Andersons granddaughter, chattered away with Marks daughter, the younger sister of the son who lived elsewhere. Mark and his wife Irene lived in a separate house, but Molly often stayed with her grandmother.
Today Aunt Irene bought a new dress, Molly bragged. Its pink with lace! I feel like a princess!
Of course, dear, Mrs. Anderson cooed. Youre our prettiest little princess.
Grandma, why does Aunt Emma never wear pretty dresses? She always looks the same, Molly asked, spoon halfway to her mouth.
Emma froze, a lump forming in her throat.
Sweetheart, thats not proper to say, Mrs. Anderson scolded gently, though her tone held a hint of amusement.
Its just that Aunt Emma has other worries, she added. She doesnt have time for fancy clothes.
Later, Olivia suggested, Mum, why dont we go shopping after my classes? I can get you a new dress. Ive got a scholarship.
Emma shook her head. I dont need to spend money on new clothes.
Spend it on textbooks, Victor muttered. Exams are coming, not dresses.
Olivia glared at him. I have all my books. Why does Mum never buy anything for herself? She always feels sorry for herself.
Dont start, love, Emma said, trying to keep the peace. Lets just eat.
I want to know! Olivia pushed her plate aside. Why does Grandmother have a new TV, why does Dad have a new phone, why does Molly have a mountain of toys, and why does Mum not even have a decent dress?
Watch your language, Victor snapped. Are you speaking to your father like that?
And how would you speak to your mother? Olivia retorted. She lives here like a maid!
Victors face flushed. Apologise to Grandmother at once! This is her house, and shes let us stay.
Enough! Emma rose, her voice shaking. Olivia, go to your room, please.
But Mum
Go, Emma repeated firmly.
When Olivia left, Mrs. Anderson shook her head. Shes become a spoiled girl. No respect for elders.
Emma said nothing, mechanically clearing the table while a heavy weight settled in her chest. Twenty years in this house, and she still felt like Cinderella who never became a princess.
That night, lying beside Victors snoring form, Emma thought back to her youthhow shed fallen for Victor, the tall, disciplined man with a military bearing, whod courted her with flowers and protected her from bullies. Shed lived with her parents in a nearby village, a modest girl from a teaching family.
Their wedding had been held in Mrs. Andersons parlour. Victors father, Peter Anderson, was still alive then and warmly welcomed Emma. Ive always wanted a daughter, he had said, and now I have one.
For the first few years, while Peter was alive, Emma felt happy in that house. He defended her against his wifes criticisms, often saying, Emmas a gem; you cant find a better wife for Victor.
When Peter passed away, everything changed. Mrs. Anderson took the opportunity to tighten her gripconstant nagging, subtle hints that Emma wasnt good enough for her son. Victor initially stood up for Emma, but over time grew weary of the endless quarrels and began to withdraw.
Emma turned on her side, staring into the dark. Maybe Olivia was right. Maybe she truly was a stranger in this family. But where could she go? She had no job, no savings. Her parents were gone, the small cottage theyd left her with had been sold at Victors urging to fund renovations on Mrs. Andersons home.
Morning came with a resolve. Today she would speak to Victor alone, without her motherinlaw, and try once more to explain how hard it was for her.
At breakfast, Mrs. Anderson dropped a bombshell.
Irene called. Theres an emergency at work, they need Molly for a week. Ive agreed, of course. Emma, could you put her in my spare room?
Maybe she could stay with Olivia? Emma suggested. The girls would keep each other company.
No way! Mrs. Anderson snapped. Ol
