Did you drive her away? Sam hiccuped, his voice breaking.
Does Mum not love us anymore? Is she leaving because were a burden? he sobbed, eyes wide.
Tom stared past the boy at Claire, who was pulling clothes from the wardrobe with such a weary sigh that anyone could have shed tears for her. She froze, caught between the crushing weight of guilt and sheer exhaustion.
It had all begun with a harmless joke from her husband. The night before, Claire had announced she wanted to spend International Womens Day alone, away from the family. The house erupted. Tom couldnt forbid her, but he blurted every thought that bubbled up, then began teasing the kidsfiveyearold Sam and sevenyearold Arthur.
Did you hear, lads? Mums about to up and leave us. Weve worn her out, havent we? Tom said, his tone light as if it were a casual quip, yet a hidden accusation lurked underneath.
The boys froze in terror. Arthurs brows knitted, Sams eyes widened.
Shes leaving forever? the younger asked, voice trembling.
Dont know, Tom replied, shrugging. Maybe shell get used to it and go for good.
For Tom it was just banter. For the children it was a catastrophe. Sam erupted into a fullblown tantrum, and Claireyes, Clairespent the whole evening trying to calm him. She hoped Tom had finally learned his lesson, but the next day the same pattern replayed.
Come on, Sam, dont cry. Dad still loves you. Im not going anywhere, just off to work, Tom said, careless.
Claires composure cracked. Only the tears in Sams eyes held her back from shouting. She knelt beside her youngest, brushed his cheek gently.
Sam, love, its not what you think. I just need one day to be alone, she began, echoing yesterdays words. Look, Dad spends every Sunday with Uncle Paul and his mates. Mum needs a break too.
Once, Claire could never have imagined feeling weary of the people she adored. She and Tom had seemed the perfect pair: cycling together, cinema trips, long talks about books. They kept a tiny traditioneach Sunday trying a new café, tasting unfamiliar dishes.
Now Sundays belonged entirely to Tom. Their conversations shifted from literature to vaccination schedules and nursery fees. The only outings they shared were childrens fairs and grocery runs.
When Arthur was born, things held together by a thread. Either Tom or one of the grandmothers would sit with the baby, giving Claire occasional moments to breathe. The arrival of a second child tipped the balance. With two toddlers, only Claire could manage.
My dear, I love them both, his motherinlaw June sighed, trying to justify herself. But Im barely coping with one. The two together made a ruckus last timeremember that rocking horse by the TV? It survived seven kids, but these rascals shattered it trying to sit together.
The grandmothers visits grew sparse, mere appearances as moral support. She stopped collecting the grandchildren, claiming shed already done enough.
Tom treated time with his boys like a snack with a pintoccasional and only when it suited him. When he felt tired, he barricaded himself in the spare room, spending the evening there.
Whats the problem? Im just sitting quietly, not bothering you, hed say when Claire complained. Its not me, its you. You cant relax. Youre always wiping, cleaning, scrubbing. Calm down, have a rest. Youre too tense.
It came easy for him to speak; he never lifted a finger around the house. Claire knew that if she ever rested, the house would sprout moss.
She felt emotionally burnt out. Over time she began to shout more, snapping at the children who, for the fifth time in two minutes, refused tomatoes. She despised Toms habit of slamming the front door after work. Everything seemed to set her nerves on fire, yet she held on.
Then Sams birthday arrived.
For three days Claire had been cleaning and cooking. Sam wanted to invite his nursery friends, which meant also inviting their parents. Claire scrubbed the flat from top to bottom, baked two cakes, prepared salads, marinated the meat, planning everything so she could finally get a few hours of sleep.
But the house had other plans.
Sam woke first, rummaging for his mother.
Sleep! Claire barked at him. Or sit still until Im up. Let me finish sleeping!
Sam whined, complaining of boredom and hunger.
Patience, his mother snapped.
Claire was so drained she could barely stand. Sleep eluded her as Sams cries kept her awake.
Arthur soon followed, trying to be the responsible older brother. He grabbed Sams hand and led him to the kitchen. Claire exhaled, hoping for a moments peace, when a clang of dishes shattered the silence.
She leapt up as if the children had smashed not just a plate but her last nerve. The boys scurried around the kitchen, hurriedly sweeping up shards. A box of cereal and a bottle of milk lay on the counter; a chair toppled from the cupboarda halfbaked attempt at making breakfast on their own, misjudged and chaotic.
I asked you to wait! Claire screamed. How many times must I say it? Cant you survive five minutes without me? If you dont start appreciating what I do, Ill! Her voice raged for three long minutes, words spilling out in a frantic torrent. Sam pressed his head into his shoulders. Arthur crossed his arms, eyes downcast. Claire finally stopped when Sam began sobbing, rubbing his eyes with clenched fists.
Alright, alright, settle down Ill clean up, then well go out for a walk and pick up some toys.
In that instant Claire truly feared she was losing control. Yes, a plate was broken, but shed exploded as if the whole house had collapsed. It wasnt normal.
The next day she called her friend Lily for advice. Lily, a mother of three, still seemed to have her sanity intact, a clear authority on family matters.
Honestly, love, youre carrying the whole world on your shoulders. Let me guessInternational Womens Day is looming, and youll be hosting the motherinlaw and your own mum again. Another marathon of cooking for two days? Lily said.
Exactly. What else can I do? Claire replied.
Wake up, Claire! Womens Day was created for us, not to turn us into machines for the family. My sisters let me off work for a day out in the countryside. Come with me? Ive rented a cottage, plenty of room.
After a moments hesitation, Claire agreed. It sounded sensible. She ordered the two novels shed been longing to read, packed a grocery basket, and told the family her plans had changed.
Her mother took it calmlyGood, get some rest. The motherinlaw was surprised but didnt judge. Tom, however
So youre running away from us? People spend the day with family, not abandon it.
Claire spent a long time explaining it wasnt betrayal, just a need for a breather. Tom didnt agree, but he didnt stop her either.
Fine, go wherever you like, even to the moon, he tossed out.
Ill be off to the next one then, she snapped back.
Later, Tom resumed teasing the boys, which finally tipped Claire over. When Sam and Arthur finally fell asleep, she slipped into Toms study to talk.
Listen, cut the jokes. Because of you, the kids think I dont love them. Did you see Sams eyes this morning? she asked.
Come off it, Claire. Its nothing. Kids forget everything by sunrise. And why are you wrong? You should be home, not off gallivanting.
Claire sighed slowly. He brushed her off again, deaf to her pain.
You know what, love? All your evenings are quiet because dads tired, and Sunday is your day. Ive been on the front line for seven years, no days off. Im not fleeing; I just need a moment to collect myself, so I dont lash out at the kids. Its you theyre angry with, not them. Ive shouted at you a thousand times, and you never hear me. Lets try this differently. Sunday is your day? Fine. Saturday is mine. Spend at least one day a week with the children. After all, theyre yours too.
He resisted, then finally relented, because the alternative was each of them taking a child alonesomething Claire couldnt manage.
International Womens Day passed in an oddly quiet way. Theyd driven to Lilys cottage the night before, so Claire awoke not to childrens cries but to the soft light of morning. She lingered in bed, book in hand, reluctant to rise. Later, she and Lily laughed over university stories, plotting how to coax the other girls into a weekend hike with no WiFi.
By evening, Claire sat on the cottage veranda, breathing in fresh air, watching ants haul away a crumb of bread shed left out. Her mind was empty, yet brightlike a room freshly cleared of clutter, windows flung wide. For the first time in seven years, no one tugged, no one called, no one demanded, no one criticized.
Lily raised her glass, clinking it against Claires.
So, Happy International Womens Day, love. Finally, youre not just a mum, she smiled.
Claire returned the smile. It was only for a day, but she finally remembered what it felt like to be herselfnot a mother, not a wife, but a person with wants and the right to a breath of peace.
