We decided to visit my parents nearly half a year after the wedding. I knew it would be a challenge, but I never imagined how intense it would be. The moment we stepped through the door, Mum greeted us with a cold stare and words that sent a chill down my spine: “This is a working house, not a holiday retreat.” Her voice held a threat, as if we hadnt come home but stepped into forced labour.
My Emily, with her delicate hands and city refinement, suddenly seemed as fragile as a daisy in the grass. I felt her grip tighten on mine when Mum ordered her to clean the fish. “Henry, shes your wife, not a maid!” I wanted to shout, but I stayed silent. Silent because I knew any protest would only fan the flames.
The days we spent in the village became a nightmare. Emily worked until late, her fingers trembling from the cold as she washed 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!” echoed in my head like a curse. And I stood to the side, chained by invisible shackles to the earth where Id grown up.
Our dinners were boiled potatoes and fish, prepared by Emily, but Mum wouldnt even sit with us. She watched from the corner like a shadow, waiting for a mistake. At night, as we lay in bed, I heard Emily crying into her pillow. “Im sorry Im sorry for everything,” I whispered, but the words vanished into the dark.
When we got back home, I resolved to tell her, “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 into my heart like a knife.
The next time we went to the village, I was ready to fight. Dad had hurt his leg, so I had to tend to the cows. Emilys wellies rubbed her feet raw, and rain turned the fields into mud. She stumbled after me, and I stayed quiet, knowing any kindness from me would bring another wave of cruelty.
And thenthe lamb. Emily couldnt stand the smell, but Mum made it every day on purpose. “Eat if you want to be part of this family!” she yelled when Emily pushed her plate away. I took a fork, tore a piece of meat, and threw it on the floor. “Never again,” I muttered, but it was only the beginning of the war.
Now, with Emily expecting our daughter, I cant take any risks. “Come alone if you want,” I tell 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 wrapped my arms around Emily, 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.
