It was a quiet Sunday morning when Elise flipped the eggs in the pan, the smell of coffee wafting through the kitchen. She wore her cozy fleece robe and hummed softly to herself, enjoying the calm start to her day.
“Morning,” came a familiar voice behind her—groggy but expectant.
She turned with a smile. “Morning, Theo. Omelet with mushrooms and tomatoes. And fresh coffee, just how you like it.”
He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. “You really are the lady of the house,” he murmured.
Elise stiffened. There was something in Theo’s voice—a warning sign she’d come to recognize over the years.
“What’s going on?” she asked, not turning around.
He hesitated, then said lightly, “Mom and Alisa are coming for lunch. Around one or two. Alisa’s bringing the twins.”
Elise inhaled sharply. Lunch. Again.
Alisa’s twin boys were whirlwinds of destruction. After their visits, the apartment always looked like a tornado had danced through it. And Theo’s mother, Marta, was never shy about pointing out everything Elise supposedly did wrong—too much salt, not enough flavor, messy presentation.
Still, Elise nodded and reached for the frying pan.
“I’ll need to run to the store. There’s not enough food for guests.”
Theo smiled, unaware or unwilling to notice the shift in her mood. “You know how much Mom loves your cooking.”
Loves criticizing it, you mean, Elise thought, but said nothing.
By the time the doorbell rang at 2:15, the apartment gleamed. A beef and potato bake roasted in the oven, and Marta’s favorite lemon cream cake chilled in the fridge.
“Elisey! Sweetheart!” Marta stormed into the apartment like royalty returning from exile, arms outstretched, her fur coat still hanging from her shoulders.
Alisa followed, twins in tow. The boys ran full-speed through the hallway, stomping their muddy shoes right onto Elise’s ivory carpet.
“Shoes off!” Elise called.
“Oh, let them be,” Marta waved dismissively. “Kids need to run.”
Elise gritted her teeth. She glanced down at the brown stains appearing on the rug and inhaled deeply through her nose. Don’t start a war. Not yet.
In the kitchen, Alisa poked her head in. “Casserole, huh? I made one last week. It was amazing. Mom said it was better than hers!”
“Oh, she’s got real talent,” Marta gushed. “Elise, you could learn a thing or two from your sister-in-law.”
Elise set the table in silence.
Moments later, a loud crash rang from the living room. Elise turned to Theo, who was pouring wine for himself.
“Theo, can you please check what your nephews broke this time?”
He waved her off. “They’re fine. Let them play.”
“Exactly!” Marta chimed in. “You’re too uptight, Elise. Always so obsessed with neatness. A home should be lived in!”
Elise forced a polite smile. “I like order.”
Marta clicked her tongue. “Good luck with kids, then. You’d probably chase them around with a mop.”
Elise said nothing. Her heart throbbed. She and Theo had been trying to conceive for two years. Two miscarriages later, the doctors had advised her to wait before trying again.
Lunch proceeded with the usual chaos. The twins knocked over a vase, Alisa boasted about her new air fryer, and Marta offered relentless commentary on how Elise should run her home.
Then, as Elise poured tea and Marta helped herself to a second slice of cake, the bomb dropped.
“You know,” Marta said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin, “Alisa and I were thinking… how lovely would it be to have lunch here every Sunday?”
Elise froze mid-pour.
“Every Sunday?” she echoed.
“Yes!” Alisa clapped. “It’s perfect here! I can bring a dish or two, Mom can share recipes, and the boys love playing here!”
Elise opened her mouth, but Marta rolled on.
“Next Sunday, I’ll bring my cherry pie. Elise, maybe you could make a roast? And don’t forget your Olivier salad—the boys adore it!”
Elise finally stood, her hands trembling as she set the teapot down.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly but firmly. “Next Sunday, I’m resting.”
Marta looked up, stunned. “Resting?”
“I work all week. I cook. I clean. And I’m exhausted. I need a break.”
Alisa snorted. “From what? You’re home all the time!”
Elise met Alisa’s eyes, her voice calm but firm.
“Being home doesn’t mean I don’t work. It means I don’t clock out.”
Alisa rolled her eyes. “Wow. Okay.”
Theo finally looked up from his plate. “Elise, come on. They just want to spend time with us.”
“No,” Elise replied, her voice cracking slightly. “They want to spend time in my kitchen, eat my food, trash my home, and leave me to clean it up. That’s not spending time. That’s freeloading.”
“Elise!” Marta gasped. “How dare you speak like that to family?”
Elise folded her napkin slowly, placing it beside her untouched slice of cake. Her hands were steady now.
“You know what’s funny?” she said softly. “I used to pray for a big family. I used to dream about having a house full of laughter and chaos and kids running around. But this? This isn’t that. This is just me being taken for granted.”
Theo stood up, his brow furrowed. “You’re overreacting.”
“No,” Elise said. “I’m finally reacting.”
She walked toward the sink, removed her apron, and hung it on the hook by the fridge—the one she always used, the one no one else even noticed.
“I love you, Theo,” she said without turning around. “But I’m done being your family’s unpaid maid. I’m done letting people call me a wife while treating me like a ghost.”
“Elise, sit down,” Theo said, his tone more commanding than concerned.
She turned then, eyes blazing. “No. I’ve been sitting down for years—swallowing every comment, every insult, every stain and scrape on my sanity just to keep peace.”
Marta stood up too, her voice rising. “This is outrageous. You’re supposed to be a wife, not a guest in your own home!”
Elise walked to the doorway and held it open. “Exactly. And that’s why I won’t be your servant anymore.”
Silence.
The twins, for once, stood still.
“I think it’s time you all left,” she said quietly.
Marta sputtered. “Theo, are you just going to let her—?”
But Theo said nothing. His silence spoke volumes.
One by one, they filed out. Marta muttering. Alisa clutching her purse. The boys still barefoot and confused.
When the door clicked shut behind them, Elise leaned back against it and exhaled. Deeply. Slowly.
For the first time in years, the house was quiet. Really quiet.
She walked to the living room, curled up on the couch, and picked up a book she hadn’t touched in months.
And for once, she read in peace—not as a hostess, not as a wife, not as anything but herself.
Epilogue:
Three weeks passed.
The first Sunday, Elise spent alone. She slept in, made herself French toast with fresh berries, and drank coffee while watching the rain tap against the windows. No casserole, no cake, no chaos. Just quiet. And for the first time, it didn’t feel lonely. It felt like healing.
Theo came home late that evening with wilted tulips and an awkward silence.
“I didn’t know they’d take it that far,” he said.
“You didn’t stop them either,” Elise replied.
He didn’t have an answer for that.
The second Sunday, she met her sister for brunch downtown—just the two of them, laughing over mimosas and memories. When Theo asked where she’d been, she said, “Out. Living.”
By the third Sunday, the apartment had changed. The apron hook was gone. The ivory rug, once covered in muddy footprints, had been replaced with a colorful woven one she bought on a whim. A small bookshelf now sat by the kitchen—filled with novels and recipe cards she actually wanted to try, not ones Marta approved of.
That morning, Theo asked carefully, “Should I call them? Invite them over?”
Elise looked up from her journal.
“You can,” she said, “but I won’t be here.”
He blinked. “Where will you be?”
“Somewhere I’m not expected to serve,” she said with a smile. “Somewhere I can just be.”
And with that, Elise picked up her tote bag, her keys, and walked out the door—light on her feet, free in her heart.
She didn’t know exactly where she was going.
But she knew she was never going back.
