No, my dear, I am not a nursemaid! Anastasia hissed through clenched teeth. With all due respect to Mrs. Whitmore, she is not my mother, and she has her own childrenthree of them!
Anastasia, whats gotten into you? Gerald replied, baffled. We wont manage Mums care if we take that attitude. The doctor said much depends on us now.
Yes, *us*, Anastasia shot back. Meaning *you*not me!
She listened uneasily to Geralds muffled voice as he spoke on the telephone with his sister. She stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for a salad, while he paced the sitting room with the receiver pressed to his ear. Something in his tone unsettled heror was she imagining things?
No, her instincts seldom led her astray. A minute later, Gerald appeared in the doorway, his face ashen, hands trembling.
Whats happened, love? she cried, rushing to him.
Its Mum, he said hoarsely. Shes had another attack. Theyve taken her to hospitalmight need surgery. Thats what Nina said, anyway. Shes beside herself, hardly making sense.
I understand, Anastasia murmured, recalling how frightened shed been when her own mother fell ill last winter. Bedridden for weeks, she and her sister, Eleanor, had taken shifts caring for her.
She offered to drive Gerald to the hospital, knowing he was in no state to take the wheel himself. But he refused, insisting his sister would collect him in the morning.
For a week, Mrs. Whitmore remained under the doctors care. Gerald visited daily, as did his elder sister, Nina, and his brother, Thomas, with his wife, Margaret.
Anastasia cooked for her mother-in-law. Mrs. Whitmore despised hospital meals, craving instead a clear broth, steamed chicken cutlets, and fresh salads. After work, Anastasia would stop at the market, selecting the ripest tomatoes for her.
Sometimes she accompanied Gerald to the hospital, though she never entered the wardno need to crowd the other patients.
Theyre discharging Mum soon, Gerald announced one evening. We can breathe easier now.
Yes, the worst is over, Anastasia sighed, but shell need a long recovery. Constant attention.
That wont be a problem, he said lightly. Ive already told Nina youll managecooking in the evenings, stopping by before work, then again after. Bathing her, feeding her, medicinesyoull sort it out.
He spoke so casually that it took Anastasia a moment to grasp his meaning. When she did, her breath caught.
Gerald, she said softly, I *work*. Caring for your mother isnt a weekly errandits daily. *Twice* daily, at least.
Of course I understand! he replied cheerfully, as if pleased with his own cleverness in solving the matter.
Anastasia rose and paced the room, her nerves fraying. Though gentle by nature, she would not suffer such injustice.
Dearest, last year when *my* mother was ill, she reminded him, you recall how Eleanor and I took shiftscooking, bathing, massages. It was exhausting!
I know, darling, Gerald said warmly, which is why Im certain youll manage. I told Nina and Thomas as muchmy wife is a treasure, practically a professional carer.
The compliment stung. So this was how her beloved husband saw herand his siblings had eagerly agreed?
No, my dear, I am *not* a carer! she snapped. I respect Mrs. Whitmore, but she is *your* mother. She has three children*you*, Nina, and Thomas. And Thomas has a *wife*!
Anastasia, really, Gerald protested. We wont manage if we take that attitude. The doctor said
that *you* must step up, she finished coldly. Not me.
Gerald shook his head. I never expected such indifference from my own wife! Nina has a ten-year-oldhomework, mealsand she works. So do Thomas and Margaret.
*I* work too, Anastasia said evenly. And need I remind you of our *own* son? Have you forgotten Henry?
Ive forgotten nothing, he muttered, displeased by her defiance.
To shame her, he reminded her that his mothers stomach ailments required careful mealsno instant noodles. Who else would prepare her chicken soup with vermicelli? Or her porridge?
Im sure Nina and Margaret can manage soup and porridge, Anastasia said. Ill even print the recipes for you and Thomas.
She was livid. When *her* mother had returned from hospital, she and Eleanor had shouldered the burden without complaint. Why couldnt Geralds family do the same?
Tired of arguing, Gerald waved her off. Weve already settled this. Nina wont stand for this nonsense!
Anastasia smiled bitterly. She drafted a fair schedule, accounting for everyones commitmentseven learning, to her dismay, that Nina had a seaside holiday planned.
She printed the roster in cheerful colours and handed it to Gerald.
Whats this? he scowled.
Your mothers care schedule. Fair sharesmorning and evening visits, bathing rotations.
*My* name is here! he spluttered. And Thomass! And Margarets!
Yes, Anastasia said calmly. Her *children* come first. And since Margaret isnt her daughterjust as *Im* notwhy should I bear the brunt?
Gerald glowered. Nina wont abide by this. She has *plans*.
Then shell have to cancel them, Anastasia said. This isnt a favourits a month of care.
Disgust twisted inside him. Under this schedule, *he* would have to tend to his mother daily. No more of her pies, no cosy evenings in his fathers old armchair, basking in her doting.
He wanted to ragebut the schedule *was* fair.
Nina erupted when the roster was shared in the family group. I wont dance to your tune! I have a child, a job, *plans*!
Dance to your own, then, Anastasia replied. But this is the only way forward.
The relatives scorned her, even threatened divorce. Yet when Mrs. Whitmore came home, *someone* had to make the broth. Gerald fell silent.
Nina swore shed never speak to Anastasia again.
A pity. Theyd only made things harder for themselves.
Anastasias fingers itched to helpbut she held firm. Offer a finger, and Geralds family would bite it clean off.
Did she do right? Who was in the wrong? Share your thoughts below.
