Free Housekeeper and CookMy Pregnancy Matters to No One
I am their unpaid housekeeper and cookmy pregnancy means nothing to them.
In a drowsy village near Manchester, where morning mist clings to old cottages like lingering ghosts, my life at 27 has become an endless service to others whims. My name is Emily, married to Oliver, and in a few months, well have a child. Yet my fragile world as an expectant mother crumbles under the weight of his grandmother and family, who see me only as an unpaid servant. We live in a three-bedroom flat owned by Olivers grandmother, Edith, and it has become my curse.
**Love Trapped in a Snare**
When I met Oliver at 23, he was tender, with a soft smile and dreams of starting a family. We married a year later, and I was over the moon. His grandmother, Edith, offered us her spacious flat while we got on our feet. I agreed, thinking it temporarythat wed build our own life. Instead, I found a prison where my purpose is to dust, cook, and stay silent.
The flat is roomy but thick with intrusion. Edith lives with us, and Olivers aunt, Margaret, visits nearly every day with her two children. They treat the place as theirs and me as part of the furniture. From the start, Edith made it clear: “Emily, youre youngyou can manage the house.” I thought I could earn their affection, but their indifference and demands only grow.
**Servitude Behind Closed Doors**
My days are an unbroken cycle of scrubbing and meals. Each morning, I mop because Edith cant abide dust. Then I cook breakfast for allporridge for her, eggs for Oliver, and when Margaret arrives, pancakes or toast. By afternoon, Im peeling vegetables, preparing shepherds pie or roast beef because “guests are hungry.” Evenings mean dishes and commands: “Emily, peel the potatoes for tomorrow.” My pregnancy, my nausea, my aching legsno one cares.
Edith barks orders like a sergeant: “The soups too salty,” “The curtains arent pressed right.” Margaret chimes in: “Emily, mind the children, Im swamped.” Her spoiled, noisy little ones scatter toys, stain the sofa, and Im left to clean because “family comes first.” Oliver, instead of defending me, whispers, “Dont upset Gran, shes old.” His words feel like betrayal. Im shackled in a home that will never be mine.
**Pregnancy Under Siege**
At six months along, my body rebelsnausea gnaws at me, my back screams, exhaustion drags me down. But Edith scoffs: “In my day, women worked the fields till they dropped.” Margaret sneers, “Oh, Emily, dont fuss, pregnancy isnt an illness.” Their coldness chills me. I fear for my babythe stress, sleepless nights, endless labour leave marks. Yesterday, I nearly fainted carrying a bucket of water. No one even blinked.
I tried talking to Oliver. Tears in my eyes, I begged, “I cant do this anymore, Im pregnant, its too much.” He held me but said, “Grans putting us up, just try harder.” Try harder? Until when? I wont let my child be born where its mother is a maid. I want peace, kindness, but all I get are scoldings and dirty plates.
**The Final Straw**
Yesterday, Edith thundered, “Emily, you should be grateful to live here. Earn your keep, or Ill throw you out.” Margaret added, “A good wife makes herself useful, not whines.” I stood there, clutching a dishcloth, feeling something snap inside. My child, my health, my lifenone of it matters. Oliver, as ever, stayed silent, and that hurt more than a slap. I refuse to be their drudge, their silent shadow.
Ive made my choice: Ill leave. Ill save what I can, rent a tiny flat, even a bedsit if I must. I wont give birth in this nightmare. My friend Lily urges, “Take Oliver and run before its too late.” But what if he chooses his grandmother? What if Im alone with a baby? Fear freezes me, but one things certainI wont survive more months of slavery.
**A Cry for Help**
This is my plea for the right to exist. Edith, Margaret, their endless demands are killing me. Oliver, whom I still love, has become complicit, and it tears me apart. My child deserves a mother who smiles, not one who weeps at the sink. At 27, I want to live, not just survive. Leaving will be hard, but Ill do itfor myself and my baby.
I dont know how to make Oliver see, or where Ill find the strength to go. But I know this: I wont stay in a house where my pregnancy is a nuisance. Let Edith keep her flat. Let Margaret find another servant. I am Emily, and I choose freedomeven if it breaks my heart.
