I Don’t Want To

I cant do any more! Rebeccas exclamation is fraught with frustration.
Her husband, Simon, remains silentlike always, hes buried his head in the sand, hoping everything will somehow work itself out. Of course, it never does. Problems usually land squarely on Rebeccas lap to sort.

She works from home as a freelance designer, her hours flexible. She started out on modest pay, but after she levelled up her skills, her income far surpassed Simons. Her salary covers the car loan, holidays, household appliances, clothing, all the extras. Then came maternityRebecca powered through, unwilling to let go of her strong earnings. It was exhausting, of course, but losing that income wasnt an option.

Eventually, their son started nursery. Life became easier and Rebecca, feeling buoyed, took on even more. Theyd selected a lovely private nurserynothing but the best for her boy. As usual, Simon left such decisions up to her; he did in most things.

Theyd always lived in a flat that Rebecca inherited from her gran. Simon had nothing to bring; before marriage, he lived with his mum, Frances, and his niece, Emmathe orphaned daughter of his late elder sister. Frances, rattled by tragedy, has never really recovered; her health declined, blood pressure soaring dangerously high.

By the time Simon married Rebecca and moved out, Emma was old enough and off at university, living her own lifesocialising, travelling, dating, rarely at home.

For years Frances has relied on Simons familymore precisely, on Rebeccafor help. No use asking Simon or Emma. Still, Frances never forgets Emma: she spoils her rotten, fulfilling every wishher daughter was a single mum, and thats all Frances ever says about Emmas parentage. Best leave the subject well alone, nothing good follows.

So thats how its been: Rebecca handling everything for both families, until Frances landed in hospital after a serious spike in her blood pressure. Three weeks on, she was discharged, but still unable to walk. Prognosis: unknown.

Simon, as always, steps aside and leaves Rebecca to deal with it.
Women are better at care work, he shrugs.
In what way? Rebecca stares at him.
Yknow all that looking after people, recovery and so on Simon scratches his head.
Im a designer, Simon. Not a nurse, she sighs. Still, Ill go hear what the doctors recommend.

Rebecca has never been fond of her mother-in-law; their relationship rests on a polite truce. They used to disagree openly, but since living separately, they keep the peace out of courtesyRebecca for Simons sake, Frances for Rebeccas financial contribution to the family. After all, she knows her son brings in little.

Frances rarely saw her grandsonalways a migraine or high blood pressure at the crucial hour. Relying on her was never an option for Rebecca.

Now, though, everyones counting on Rebecca. She collects Frances from hospitalworking from home means shes flexible, while Simon cant get time off, you know. Its decided: the family will temporarily move in with Frances to help care for her.

Once settled, Rebecca loses weight rapidly, burning energy on her work, childcare, and now nursing Francespreparing soups, pureeing veg, feeding her, bathing and shifting her in bed. Emma, the cherished granddaughter, scurries to her room at every opportunity, only emerging once everyones asleep, then off to her studies or out with friendsLife goes on. Shes my gran, not my responsibility.

Simons little help. Shes your mum! Rebecca pleads.
I I just cant Its womens work, he mumbles. I went shopping for food, what else do you want?

Womens work, indeed. Frances is irritable, demanding, and critical. Rebecca discovers that, apparently, shes luckylucky to have had a good education, lucky to have a fine job working from home for not inconsiderable sums, lucky to sit indoors whilst Simon has always had hardship. He had poor teachers, didnt get into university first time, then scraped through on a loan Frances took out for his fees, nearly being kicked out more than oncenever his fault, of course.

Rebecca listens to this for the thousandth time, reaching her limit. It seems everyone does well, except hershe just got lucky.

Yes, lucky Rebecca thinks sadly, especially with a husband like Simon. What did I ever see in him?

One day, she suggests hiring a carer for Frances so they can move back to their own flat.
A carer? Simon is shocked. Theyre expensive, you know! I havent the means for that Its up to you. If you want one, you pay for it.

Their arrangement is that Simon covers utilities and basicsRebecca, everything else. Of course, a carer would come out of Rebeccas wages. Its obvious, really. But how he says it! Do I owe everyone everything? No, youve taking too much. Im exhausted. I barely recognise myself, and no one cares.

At breaking point, Rebecca snaps. She tells Frances shes popping out for groceries, picks up her son from nursery, and escapes to her own flat.

Oh, thank heavens, Rebecca sighs, stretched out on her comfy double bed, gazing at the ceiling. Home at last. I just want to lie here. Im so tired

She calls her little boy, Ben, for dinner. As they eat, Rebecca imagines the commotion back at Frances. She hasnt abandoned Francesshe made sure she was fed and comfortable, and in about an hour, Simon will be in. She leaves him a note: she cant and wont keep living like this, wishes Frances a swift recovery, and asks not to bear a grudge.

Rebeccas phone is off.

Simon rushes round that night, but she doesnt let him through the doorspeaks to him on the doorstep. Theres nothing left to say. Simon isnt worried about Rebecca or why she left. Love isnt mentioned, neither for her nor Ben. He only cares how hes going to cope without her.

Get a professional carer. Theyll do a much better job, Rebecca says quietly. Also Im filing for divorce. Im done being the family workhorse. Goodbye.

Simon leaves empty-handed. Rebecca eventually switches her phone back onwork might call.

Frances rings. She begs Rebecca to come back, to help her and Simon, apologises for things said in anger. But theres a coldnessalmost as if she expects Rebecca to forgive and resume her duties.

Rebecca explains she owes nobody anything. Frances has a son, and a clever granddaughter. They owe her plenty.

Frances hangs up.

The divorce goes through.

And so, unexpectedly, Rebecca finds herself single. Surprisingly, nothing changesshe still handles everything herself, only now her burdens are far lighter. For that, shes gratefulfinally recognising how her family truly treated her.

Frances recoversthanks to a brilliant carer who not only cared for her but helped with specialist exercises. Simon found himself a side job (turns out he could, Rebecca hears from Emma, whom she runs into by chance) and could afford to pay for the carer after all. In the meantimebefore the carerEmma had, quite capably, nursed her gran, feeding and supporting her. So, all turned out well.

It worked out for everyone, Rebecca reflects, taking a new client order at her computer. I should have cast them all off my shoulders long ago. Next time, Ill be wiser.She closes her laptop, the steady hum of contentment filling the room. Ben giggles beside her, stacking his toy blocks higher and higher. Its quietthe good kind; the kind that feels earned.

Outside, evening slips in around the curtains. Rebecca rises, crosses to the window, and lets in the warm glow of streetlights. She can see her reflectiontired eyes, yes, but something new too. An unmistakable spark. Freedom, perhaps.

She kneels by Ben, helping him steady his wobbly tower, and feels a lightness spread through her. This was always what courage looked like: not grand gestures or outbursts, but the small, firm decision to claim spacefor herself, for her son, for the life they deserved.

Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but for now, the weight was gone. She smilesgenuine and unburdenedas Ben claps, blocks tumbling everywhere. She laughs, scooping him into her arms, and together they watch the city lights blink on, one by one.

It turns out liberation is quiet, simplea mother and son at home, the future wide open, and at last, every heartbeat finally her own.