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!”
Theo shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. “Let’s just talk later, okay, hon?”
“There’s nothing to discuss,” Elise replied. “I need space. And Sundays are all I have.”
Marta’s lips tightened into a scowl. “You’re spoiled. In my day, wives served their families without whining.”
“Mom,” Theo muttered, “please.”
Later that evening, after the guests had left and Elise was cleaning the shards of a broken figurine from Florence—the one the twins shattered—Theo came into the kitchen.
“Did you have to make such a scene?” he sighed.
“I just said I wanted to rest,” Elise said, not looking up.
“From the family? Elise, come on! Sunday lunch is tradition! It matters to Mom and Alisa!”
“And I don’t matter?”
“Don’t be dramatic.”
She turned to him, voice shaking. “You really think I’m just overreacting?”
“You’re my wife, Elise. Not a guest. You have responsibilities to the family.”
His words rang in her ears. Wife, not guest. Responsibilities. Not love. Not partnership.
“I see,” she whispered.
The next morning, Theo muttered while pouring cereal. “Mom’s coming tomorrow at two. They’re expecting lunch.”
“Fine,” Elise replied. “But I won’t be cooking.”
Theo dropped his spoon. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“You’re being petty.”
“No,” she said calmly. “I’m being honest.”
That Sunday, Elise stayed in the bedroom with a book. Theo clanged pans around in the kitchen. When the doorbell rang, Marta’s voice boomed.
“Elise! Come out here! The family’s waiting!”
Elise turned a page.
“She’s lying in bed while we starve?” Marta yelled. “What kind of wife is this?”
“She’s tired,” Theo muttered.
“She’s lazy,” Alisa snapped. “If my husband’s family came over, I’d serve them with pride.”
An hour passed. There was no lunch, no smiling hostess. The guests, huffy and indignant, finally left.
Elise emerged from the bedroom to find Theo glaring at the mess in the kitchen.
“Are you happy now?” he asked. “You humiliated me in front of everyone.”
“No,” Elise replied, her voice quiet but strong. “But I finally understand something.”
“What’s that?”
“That I mean less to you than they do. And I won’t live like that anymore.”
She walked past him, packed a small suitcase, and called her best friend.
“Jess, is your offer still open?”
“Always.”
Theo stood at the doorway, stunned. “You can’t just leave!”
“I already did,” she said, and shut the door behind her.
At Jess’s apartment, Elise felt like she could breathe for the first time in years.
Her phone buzzed. Missed calls from Theo. Angry texts from Marta. Guilt-laced rants from Alisa.
Elise silenced it all and curled up with a cup of tea.
The next morning, her boss raised an eyebrow when she walked into work with a glowing complexion.
“You look… lighter,” he said.
“I am,” Elise smiled. “I’ve finally started living for myself.”
A week later, Theo showed up at her office, flowers in hand and a trembling voice.
“Please, come back. I’ll talk to them. Things will be different.”
She tilted her head. “Different how?”
“We’ll make boundaries. They’ll visit less.”
Elise shook her head. “You still don’t get it. I’m not asking for less of them. I’m asking for more of you.”
And with that, she walked away.
Three months later, Elise moved into her own apartment. A modest one-bedroom with a sunlit kitchen and walls she painted herself. As she unpacked her dishes and set up her new space, she realized she was finally home.
Later that night, her phone buzzed. A message from Theo: “I miss you. Can we try again?”
Elise stared at it for a moment… and deleted it.
Her tea steamed quietly as she looked out the window, the city lights twinkling like freedom. She smiled—not for anyone else, but for herself.
Her life had just begun.
