Chapter 3
Michael had already gotten ready and was sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone.
He was wearing a crisp, ironed shirt, his hair neatly combed back. He looked put together.
"Morning," Michael said, giving her a quick smile before his eyes dropped back to his phone. "Oatmeal and scones again, huh? Mom, can we change it up tomorrow? Maybe make some pancakes or eggs or something?"
Margaret walked over with a jar of marmalade, and when she heard that, she shot Michael a look.
"What is wrong with oatmeal and scones? They stick to your ribs. You have been spoiled by all that greasy fast food you grab on the way to work. Pancakes do not compare."
Margaret set the jar of marmalade in the middle of the table and took a seat next to Michael.
"Anna, do not just stand there. Sit down and eat. When you are done, wash the dishes and wipe the table.
"I made plans with Mrs. Cooper from next door. We are heading to the market later. The grocery store has eggs on sale today, and we need to get there early before they are gone."
Anna quietly sat down and took the bowl of oatmeal in front of her.
The oatmeal was thick and creamy, just the right warmth.
But she could not bring herself to eat.
Her mouth was dry and bitter, her stomach tight.
She took tiny spoonfuls, barely tasting any of it.
Michael finished his first scone and polished off his oatmeal. He then reached for another.
"Hey, Anna," Michael said, chewing as he remembered something.
"My mom was saying the living room curtains are way too dark. Kind of gloomy, you know? She wants to switch them out for something brighter. Are you free this weekend? Can you take her to the home goods store?"
Anna paused, her spoon hovering over the bowl.
"This weekend... My team might have to work. We have a new release going live," she said quietly.
"Working again?" Margaret tapped her spoon against the rim of her bowl, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
She did not look at Anna, just stared at her oatmeal. Her voice was calm, but the weight in it was unmistakable.
"Anna, I am not trying to pick on you, but why are you working late every other day? You cannot make all the money in the world. Are you even thinking about this family?
"Look at Michael. He is busy too, but he still puts family first. And you? You are hardly ever home, and things around here just pile up. Is that how it should be?
"A wife has to put her family above everything else, in the end. Right now, you think it is no big deal because you are young, but wait until you have children. Then you will see."
"Mom," Michael cut in, forcing a small, helpless smile. "That is just how Anna's company is. Things move fast. She is working hard for her job, and for us two."
"For your two?" Margaret shot Michael a look and then turned back to Anna.
"I have been here for two weeks, and I have barely seen her come home at a reasonable hour. She does not lift a finger around the house. Is that what you call taking care of you two?
"Michael works himself to the bone every day, and when he gets home, there is no proper meal waiting. He has to settle for takeout. Is that how a wife should take care of her husband?"
Anna's fingers tightened around her spoon.
She looked up at Margaret.
"I do things. When I get home from work, I am the one mopping the floors and doing the laundry. I hand-washed your bedding just last weekend," she said.
Her voice was calm, but there was a faint tremor underneath.
"It is just... Work has been a lot. And all these rules you have set. Making breakfast every morning, doing nearly all the chores, and being forced to go to bed by eleven. I am exhausted."
"Exhausted?" Margaret let out a short laugh, like she had just heard something ridiculous.
"Who is not exhausted? When I was your age, I worked, raised two children, and kept the house running. Did I ever complain?
"Young people these days cannot handle the smallest inconvenience.
"Why do you think I have you get up early to cook and look after the home? Is it not for both of you? So Michael can work without worry, so this household stays together?
"But you are not even grateful. You think I am just here to make your life difficult?"
She set down her spoon, picked up her napkin, and wiped her mouth slowly.
"Anna, I am going to be clear with you. Since you married Michael, you are part of this family. And in this family, there is a way things are done.
"Back when it was just the two of you, and I was not here, I did not care how you lived. But now that I am here, this house runs a certain way.
"If you feel wronged, if you think I am just some old woman who nags too much, that is on you. But if you want me gone, that only happens if Michael himself tells me to leave."
Her gaze settled on Michael's face.
Michael's expression froze.
He looked at his mother, then glanced at Anna, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
He lowered his head, avoiding Anna's eyes, and muttered, "Mom, can you just ease up a little? Anna... She really is trying."
"Trying?" Margaret scoffed. "Everyone is trying. What makes her so special?"
"Alright, I am finished." She stood up, carrying her bowl and spoon to the kitchen. "Just leave the dishes for now, Anna. You can do them later. I need to change and head out."
The bedroom door closed, and her footsteps faded.
The living room fell into a thick, suffocating quiet.
Only the faint sound of an early bus outside broke the silence.
Anna sat frozen, not moving.
The spoon in her hand slipped slowly to the bottom of the bowl.
The oatmeal had gone cold, a thin skin forming on the surface.
She stared at that skin, and the longer she looked, the heavier her chest felt.
She could barely breathe.
Michael glanced at her cautiously and then reached out, trying to take her hand.
"Anna..."
Anna pulled her hand away.
The spoon clinked softly against the edge of the bowl.
"I am done," Anna said, her voice rough as she stood. "I will go wash the dishes."
"Let me do it. You still have work today, right? Go get ready," Michael said, his voice suddenly eager to help.
"No, it is fine." Anna picked up her bowl and walked toward the kitchen, her back straight. "Mom already said the dishes are my job. I do not want her saying I am breaking the rules again."