22October2025
Im writing this while the kettle whistles in the kitchen and the rain drums against the windows of our flat in Manchester. The house is a disaster zone: dishes piled up in the sink, the fridge empty, the floor sticky with something that might be milk or something else. In the corner of the balcony hangs a broken dryer, and on its arm still drapes my old hospital gownthe one I wore when I was taken to deliver the twins a month and a half ago.
Theres no bouquet on the table, no note, not even a single drop of consideration. Only my husbands indifferent stare, as if I were just the neighbour who slipped in without knocking.
They say women become overly sensitive after childbirth, but I know it isnt the hormones. Its the way were met, the words were spoken, the embracesor the total lack of them.
You joking? I whisper, looking at him. I just got back with the triplets. After the operation.
What then? he snaps. Cesarean, as you called it. All under anaesthetic. You didnt actually give birth; you just lay there. Stop pretending. Youre milking? Fine, do it. But it doesnt stop the house from needing a clean.
At first I thought he was teasing, then that hed lost his mind, and finally that perhaps I was the one whod gone off the rails. After all, I had loved him once, hadnt I?
My heart thuds in my ears. I stand clutching the overnight bag that holds nightgowns, sanitary pads and two pairs of slippers I managed to knit while pregnant. He talks to me as if Im a lazy housewife fresh from a holiday.
You didnt even pick us up from the hospital, I exhale. I had to ask the nurse to call a cab myself.
You wanted to be independent! he shouts. All the pregnancy months you ran away from me. All on your own So now you have to keep going on your own.
Carrying a child isnt about weakness. Its about faiththat someone will back you, that you wont be left alone, that a loved one will stand by you. If not
If you cant manage, Ill call my mother, he mutters and stalks off to the bathroom. Shell turn you into a proper lady of the house.
Oh, the simple cruelty of that. His motherMartha Whitakerwas a woman whose stare could fry an egg. Even the alley cats seemed to give her a wide berth. She always wore a grey coat, a short haircut, and a voice that sounded like metal on a forge. Nobody argued with her, not even the boss.
I braced myself for a tyrant, for beratings, for a broom in hand. But she entered silently, without fanfare.
There was something in her eyessomething different.
She took in the mess, the empty cupboards, my haggard look.
Are you cleaning? she asked suddenly.
I barely managed a nod.
After a Caesarean? Get down on your knees right now!
I fell silent. She slipped off her coat, donned an apron, grabbed a rag and a bucket, and began scrubbing the floor.
Sometimes kindness arrives in the most unexpected guisehere, a sharpvoiced, stern woman.
Within half an hour the kitchen smelled of shepherds pie. I lay on the sofa, propped up on pillows, while Martha rinsed towels and muttered, Triplets now thats something.
When James returned, phone in hand and a grin on his face, she lunged at him like a storm.
Have you lost your mind? You brought three babies into this world! Surgery, pain, recovery! And youre the one washing floors?
Mum, but you said
I? You promised youd cope. You said you loved us, that everything was under control. I believed you!
She sighed, looked at me, and said quietly, Monster. Youre a monster in a human shell.
When a mother sides with another woman, it feels like a victorybitter, but necessary.
Who planted this idea in your head? she demanded.
James shrugged. A colleague Paul. He said a Caesarean isnt a birth, that milk is a myth, that women make everything up.
MUMBLE! she shouted.
He fell silent.
That very afternoon trouble brewed at his office. Colleagues overheard his remarks, and Tanya the same friend whod stood by me through the pregnancy had had enough.
Youve seen a woman after a Csection? Watched her lie awake for weeks? Felt her pain?
The manager called James in and put him on immediate leave, no return until an inquiry cleared things up. Paul, the inspirer, was later investigated for harassment and abuse of power.
Karma moves slowly but hits precisely.
Martha took the twins to stay with her for two weeks. When they came back, James was different: quiet, clutching a book on parenting, and carrying a pot of stew.
Forgive me, he said, kneeling. I was selfish, selfish. Give me a chance. One.
I stared at him for a long moment, then replied, One. But if you do it again
No, he cut in. I swore to my mother. And swearing to her scares me more than swearing to you. Im sorry.
Sometimes a fall is needed to recognise the error. Not everyone changes, but fate showed me mercy, while he was handed a second chance.
Since then things have shifted. Not overnight, but they have shifted.
Hes learning how to swaddle, make porridge, get up for night feeds. He apologisesevery day, for every ache.
Martha visits every Saturday with fresh scones and the words, Youre not alone now. Remember that.
And I am no longer alone. I have children, support, a family, and a husband who now flips pancakes and hisses at neighbours who make a ruckus while the littles snooze.
One phrase has become my talisman: Youre not alone now.
