Mrs. Parsons was screaming too, her voice shrill enough to rattle the walls.
"Look at the wife you brought home! She's completely out of control! What kind of daughter-in-law acts like this?"
Jonathan's younger brother and his wife chimed in right on cue.
"Exactly! How can she treat Mom and Dad like they don't even exist?"
"Bro, you really need to set some rules for her. She's practically walking all over our parents. How is that okay?"
Jonathan sighed and knocked on my bedroom door.
"Flora, just come out and apologize to Mom and Dad. Then we can put this whole thing behind us."
"We're their children. We can't treat them like this."
Same as always. Playing mediator. Telling me to swallow it.
I'd lost count of how many times he'd said the same thing. Just bear with it. It'll pass.
But all that bearing with it had cost me my child and my career.
And now they were about to take the house, the only thing my parents had left me.
This time, I was done bearing with it.
I didn't go back out that night. I stayed in my room, closed my eyes, and let myself rest.
The living room was a circus of noise. A child crying. Jonathan's sister-in-law complaining. Mrs. Parsons cursing.
"Jonathan! You'd better take a good look at this wife of yours! She's doing this on purpose, going against me at every turn. She won't even cook dinner. Does she want to starve me to death?"
"I told you from the start she was trouble, but you wouldn't listen. And now look. She can't even give you a son, and she fights us on everything."
The wailing and shouting gave Jonathan a headache. His knocking grew harder.
"Flora, that's enough. Mom and Dad haven't eaten. Stop making a scene."
"Open the door, Flora."
I opened my eyes and looked at the woman in the mirror. Sallow skin. Dark circles. A deep crease between her brows.
His words drifted through the door, and all I felt was a bitter, hollow amusement.
To take care of his parents, I'd quit the job I loved and spent three years drowning in grocery lists and grease-splattered stovetops.
Three years didn't sound like much. But it was enough to grind every last spark of life out of me.
I used to turn heads. I used to have a career I was proud of, a face that was young and bright.
Now all I had was wreckage.
The bitter smile hadn't left my lips when I heard a key turning in the lock.
The next second, Mrs. Parsons stormed in, her face twisted with rage.
She raised her hand and slapped me across the face.
"Who do you think you are? My son calls you and you pretend you can't hear?"
My head snapped to the side. My cheek burned and swelled, and the taste of iron flooded my mouth.
She kept her finger jabbed in my face, still screaming.
"My son works himself half to death earning money for you to spend, and you can't even give him a boy! Fine. But now you won't even listen to him?"
"Go ahead, go out there and find me one daughter-in-law who acts the way you do. One!"
The fury over the caregiving agreement I'd refused to sign, combined with the missed dinner, had finally sent her over the edge. Her eyes bulged, her nostrils flared, as if I'd committed some unforgivable crime.
I turned my head and looked past her, at Jonathan.
Head bowed. Silent. As always.
All these years, that was all he'd ever done. Hide behind his mother. Watch me get pushed around, insulted, humiliated. And then offer that weightless little line:
Just bear with it. It'll pass. Just bear with it and everything will be fine.
Countless rounds of "bearing with it" had worn away every last shred of feeling between us.
Now, looking at him, all I felt was exhaustion.
Mrs. Parsons took my silence for fear. Her voice climbed louder.
"Every cent you spend comes from my son's pocket! I ask you to look after us in our old age and you refuse. Now you won't even cook a meal. So tell me, what exactly did my son marry you for?"
