I Don’t Want To

Im so tired of it all. It feels like everything just falls to me, as always. How much more can I possibly take on? I told Edward as much, but, true to form, he just kept quiet. He has this habit of doing an ostrich, pretending that if he ignores things long enough, theyll sort themselves out. They never do, of course its always me who picks up the pieces.

I work from home as a graphic designer, which, in theory, gives me a flexible schedule. My pay wasnt much at first, but after extra courses and a fair bit of hard work, my salary went up. Ive been earning a fair bit more than Edward for some time now. My paycheques cover the car loan, our holidays, most of the gadgets, and new clothes. Then came maternity leave. I didnt really slow down at work I couldnt afford to, not with such a healthy income.

When our son, Jamie, started nursery, I thought things would let up. Finally, I could work and breathe a little, although now we had the fees for nursery and it wasnt just any place, Id picked the best one I could find. Edward left all of that to me, as with so many things.

We had our own flat; my late grandmother left it to me. Edward, meanwhile, never had a place to call his own. Before we married, he lived with his mum, Helen Price, and his niece Charlotte, the daughter of his late older sister. His mothers health took a real turn when his sister passed three years ago her blood pressure was through the roof. Charlotte was already at university and had her own life. Shed be out with friends, away with boyfriends hardly ever at home.

All Helens questions and worries fell to us, or really, to me. Neither of the others were of any practical use, but she still spoiled Charlotte, paying for anything her granddaughter desired. The girl was an orphan, after all, born out of wedlock an awkward subject Helen always avoided.

Life was manageable until Helen was hospitalised after another extreme spike in blood pressure. When she was discharged, she was bedridden and the doctors werent making promises. True to form, Edward left it for me to solve. Women are just better with this sort of thing, he told me, shrugging, when I asked for help.

Im a designer, Edward, not a nurse, I told him, biting back my frustration. I dont know any more about this than you do. Still, I agreed to meet with Helens doctor.

Helen and I never really liked one another, but wed achieved a sort of diplomatic ceasefire hardly surprising, given we didnt live together. We both just kept our opinions to ourselves. I respected her as Edwards mother; she tolerated me because, honestly, she knew I was a far better wife than she thought her son deserved. She knew our whole familys finances came from me.

Helen rarely saw her grandson. Whenever we needed a babysitter, a migraine would strike or her blood pressure would surge always bad timing. I learned not to count on her for help.

But this time, everyone fell back on me. I picked Helen up from hospital (I work from home, so I can nip out. Edward cant leave his job so easily) and brought her to her place. The plan: we’d move in for a while to help.

We moved into Helens flat. After three weeks, Id dropped so much weight I looked like a coat hanger. Somehow, I still managed my job between feeding and washing Helen, spooning her puréed soups, and shifting her in bed.

Charlotte, the golden granddaughter, would wrinkle her nose, slip into her room, and vanish until bedtime. The moment she heard any talk of help, she vanished, only showing up for university and nights out. To her, it was just life moving on. Helen was her granny, sure, but not her duty.

Edward was as much help as a chocolate teapot. I pleaded with him, Shes your mum! Help me, please. I cant do this alone. He muttered, Well I just cant This is womens work. His proudest achievement: a weekly shop.

The womens work was gruelling. Helen showed no signs of recovery, nagged and snapped at us, and seemed determined to take out years of frustration on me. I learned all sorts of things about myself apparently, Id lucked into a cushy life: posh education, good job. According to Helen, I sat around clicking a mouse in my pyjamas for a small fortune. Poor Edward was just a victim of bad teachers, bad luck at university, wrong everything. Helen even took out a loan for his tuition, but he scraped by, nearly flunked out more than once, but her view was he just had unlucky teachers.

Her daughters death nearly broke her. All the responsibility, all the missed opportunities. At least Charlotte, clever girl, got into a top university on a scholarship a source of endless pride (and proof, in Helens mind, that teachers make or break a child). Apparently, her late daughter paid for Charlottes private schooling, not that I ever dared comment.

I listened to all this for the hundredth time and realised, I cant do this anymore. Everyone had an excuse for why they couldnt cope except me.

What did I ever see in Edward? Why didnt I think twice? I even suggested we hire a carer for Helen, and move back to our own place. A carer? Edward gasped. But thats so expensive! Id never afford it. You sort it, if you want one out of your money.

Wed always split things: he paid bills and basic groceries, I did the rest. So obviously, paying for a carer would fall to me. Nothings changed, I muttered, why am I the only one who owes everyone something? I want to live my own life, not be everyones workhorse. I look like a ghost, and nobody cares

One day, I snapped. Id had enough. I told Helen I was going to the shops, scooped up Jamie from nursery, and never went back. Sitting on my own bed that first evening felt like heaven. I just wanted to lie there, staring at the ceiling, utterly drained. Jamie and I had tea together, and all I could think was that by now someone at Helens would realise Id left. I hadnt abandoned her I made sure she was fed, clean, and Edward would be home from work within an hour or so. I left him a note saying I couldnt and wouldnt carry on, and I wished Helen a swift recovery, asking her not to bear me too much of a grudge.

I turned off my phone.

Edward turned up that evening. I talked to him, but through the crack in the door I didnt even let him in. He didnt ask how I was, or why Id gone, or even talk about our son. He just wanted to know what on earth hed do without me.

I really think you ought to hire a professional carer. Theyll do a better job than I ever could, I told him, calm but firm. Im filing for divorce. I refuse to be everyones beast of burden. Goodbye.

He left with nothing resolved. Later, I switched my phone back on in case work phoned.

Helen called, asking me to come back, apologising, but with that same slightly patronising tone, as if expecting me to forgive and return to my duties straight away.

I told her I owed her nothing. She had Edward. She had Charlotte, clever and capable. Shed have to rely on them after all, they owed her plenty. Then she hung up.

The divorce went through.

So, just like that, I was single again. But nothing really changed. I did everything myself before, I do everything myself now except theres less to do. And Im grateful for that wake-up call, for forcing my eyes wide open to what those people really thought of me.

Helen recovered, helped by an excellent carer Edward finally managed to hire (news I heard from Charlotte, who I bumped into by chance and who dropped the tidbit that Edward picked up extra shifts after all so it was possible, just not when it meant helping me). And Charlotte stepped up, too, looking after her grandma and keeping her company.

Funny, really. Everyones happier, better off, now that Im not carrying them. And so am I. Ive learned my lesson: never again.