My Mother-in-Law Invited Me Over ‘Just for Two Hours’ to Help with Her Big Birthday Bash—and Expecte…

My mother-in-law summoned me for two hours to help out with an anniversary and expected complete obedience.

Her voice floated down the line, oddly sweet and syrupy:
Come round, help out a bit, honestly just for two hours, love.
I didnt suspect any trapI thought, a bit of chopping, a salad, some tea and a chat. But when I stepped into her kitchen and saw the cauldrons, the endless lists, and heard, Guests arrive in four hours, it was clear: I wasnt a guestI was conscripted for a shift.

She stood by the cooker, stirring a pot that seemed bottomless, and turned round with a smile that suddenly seemed to have grown extra teeth.

Oh, here you are! Fancy you getting here on time. Listen, turned out therell be more guests than expected. About twenty. We need to roast the salmon, three different salads, roast beef, lay the tables…

I froze in the doorway, still wearing my coat.

Twenty? You said just two hours

Yes, two hours! she waved my words away as if dusting crumbs. Itll take half as long with both of us. Come on, coat off, aprons by the side. Well start with the salads, then

Hang on. I put down my bag but left my coat on. I thought you needed a hand with something little. I had plans tonight.

She turned; her eyes sharpened, as if squinting into the sun.

What plans? Your family is your plans. This is an anniversary, and youre thinking about yourself.

That tone againthe one which brooks no reply and assumes my only answer is Yes, maam.

Id have gladly helped if Id known. But you told me something else.

Oh, forgive me for not detailing every last crumb! she bristled. I figured you knew, an anniversary is a proper business. Or do you think at my age I should slave alone?

I pressed my lips together. I knew this tune: guilt, pressure, accusation.

You could have asked others. Or at least warned me.

She spun round. Why ask others, when I have a daughter-in-law? Or have you forgotten what family even means?

Meanwhile, my husband sat in the lounge with his phone, the telly a distant hum. He knew exactly what was happening, but didnt budge.

Im not refusing to help, I told her, but youve misled me. Its not fair.

Misled! She threw her arms up. You hear this? I misled her! Asked for a bit of help, and now its drama. Modern young people, honestlythink the world owes them, no sense of duty.

Something shrivelled up inside me. If I lefta row. If I stayedId chop and lug and listen to more digs.

All right, I exhaled. Ill help with the salads. But I wont be staying to greet or serve the guests.

She shrunk slightly.

So youll leave me to run about with the platters on my own, then?

Im saying you could have organised differently. Or asked your son.

Hes a man! She sounded almost offended. He doesnt belong in the kitchen, thats not his department.

And what is? Sitting on his phone?

None of your business! Her voice was sharp now. You came to help, or just to argue?

I took off my coat, slipped on the apron. Started dicing the veg. She nodded, satisfied, and returned to her bubbling pots.

After a while she piped up, Youll get changed when the guests arrive, wont you?

I wont be here then. Ill finish up and go.

She set down her ladle.

How do you mean, leave? Wholl greet the guests? Wholl serve?

You. Or your son.

Hell entertain the guests. Hes the host.

The host whod never lifted a plate in his whole life.

So, the men entertain and the women serve?

How else? Her eyes narrowed. Bit of a feminist now, are we?

I just dont see why I have to be the unpaid helper.

Unpaid?! She nearly shouted. Youre the daughter-in-law. This family helped you get your house, or have you forgotten?

There it was. The money wed repaid ages ago, which for her was an eternal debt.

Weve paid it back, I said calmly.

And what about gratitude? Morality? You owe us that.

I put down my knife.

Do you want me to be in your debt for life?

I want you to behave humanly. Like part of the family, not some hired staff.

But thats exactly how you treat me. Just without the wages.

She flung down her kitchen towel.

DO WHAT YOU LIKE! But dont you dare leave until youve laid the table!

I looked at her and realised: no matter how much ground I gave, nothing would change.

No, I said softly. I wont.

She stared. What did you say?

I said no. Im leaving.

I took off the apron, picked up my bag, slipped into my coat.

You wouldnt dare! Her voice shook, almost shrill.

My husband finally emerged from the lounge.

Whats going on?

Shes leaving! His mother jabbed a finger at me.

What are you doing? he asked.

Ask your mother why she summoned me for two hours, then tried to set me to work for twenty people.

She said itd just be a bit

Help means helping, not slaving all afternoon, she put in. Not poking about at lettuce for half an hour!

This happens every time, I said. And every time, you bring up the money.

Just help, will you? he waved a hand, exasperated.

And you? Why arent you chopping? Or laying out plates?

Thats not a mans job.

I laugheda tired, aching sound.

Right. You two can manage on your own.

I headed for the door.

If you go, dont bother coming back! she called after me.

All right.

And I left.

In the car, my hands shook. My phone kept ringing, but I didnt answer.

Later, a message pinged in:
Come back at once.

I replied:
Im not your unpaid servant.

That evening I sat at home with a cup of tea. I didnt care what stories they were spinning about me.

My husband came home late.

Happy now? Everyone thinks badly of you.

And what about you? What do you think?

He fell silent.

You could have stood up for me, I said quietly. But you didnt.

After that, silence settled.

For two weeks, no one called. And I realised something:
Sometimes its more important to leave than to stay.

Even if their voices ring behind you, shouting youre in the wrong.