In a small town near Seville, where morning mists envelop the old houses, my life at 27 became an endless service to the whims of others. My name is Leonor, I’m married to Javier, and our son will be born in a few months. But my fragile pregnant world is crumbling under the weight of my mother-in-law and her family, for whom I am nothing more than an unpaid servant. We live in a three-bedroom apartment belonging to Javier’s grandmother, and it has become my curse.
The love that caught me
When I met Javier, I was 23. He was affectionate, with a sweet smile and dreams of family. We married a year later, and I was in seventh heaven. His grandmother, Carmen González, offered us the chance to live in her spacious apartment until we became independent. I accepted, thinking it would be temporary and that we would build our lives. But instead of shelter, I fell into a trap where my role is to clean, cook, and keep quiet.
The apartment is large, but crowded. Carmen lives with us, and her daughter, Javier’s aunt Pilar, comes almost daily with her two children. They consider this house theirs and me part of the furniture. From day one, my mother-in-law made it clear: “Leonor, you’re young, so move.” I thought I could please them, win their affection, but their indifference and demands grow every day.
Slavery within four walls
My life is an endless cycle of cleaning and cooking. In the morning, I mop the floor because Carmen can’t stand dust. Then I make breakfast for everyone: porridge for her, scrambled eggs for Javier, and when Pilar comes over with the kids, pancakes or sandwiches too. In the afternoon, I peel vegetables, make stew, and fry croquettes, because “the guests” are hungry. At night, a mountain of dishes and new orders: “Leonor, peel potatoes for tomorrow.” My pregnancy, my nausea, my tired feet… no one cares.
Carmen gives orders like a general: “The soup is too salty,” “You didn’t wash the curtains properly.” Pilar adds: “Leonor, could you watch my children? I’m busy.” Her children, unruly and spoiled, throw toys and stain the sofa, and I clean up after them because “it’s family.” Javier, my husband, instead of supporting me, says: “Honey, don’t argue with Grandma, she’s grown up now.” His words are a betrayal. I feel like a slave in a house that will never be mine.
Pregnancy under pressure
I’m six months pregnant, and my condition is fragile. Nausea torments me, my back aches, and I’m overcome with fatigue. But my mother-in-law looks at me reproachfully: “In my day, we gave birth in the fields and worked until the end.” Pilar laughs: “Oh, Leonor, don’t exaggerate, pregnancy isn’t an illness.” Her indifference kills me. I fear for my son: the stress, the lost sleep, the endless work… they don’t happen in vain. Yesterday I almost fell while carrying a bucket of water, but no one asked how he was.
I tried to talk to Javier. Tears streamed down my face as I told him, “I can’t take it anymore. I’m pregnant, it’s hard.” He hugged me, but replied, “Grandma gave us a roof over our heads. Hang on a little longer.” Hang on? Until when? I don’t want my child to be born into a home where his mother is the maid. I want peace, care, but all I get is reproaches and dirty dishes.
The straw that broke the camel’s back
Yesterday, Carmen blurted out: “Leonor, you should be grateful for living in my apartment. Get a job, or I’ll kick you out.” Pilar agreed: “Yes, a daughter-in-law should wake up, not complain.” I stood still, clutching the rag, and felt something break inside me. My son, my life, my health… they mean nothing to me. Javier, as always, remained silent, and that devastated me. I don’t want to be his cleaner, his cook, his shadow.
I’ve decided I’m leaving. I’ll save up, I’ll find a place to rent, even if it’s just a room in a nursing home. I can’t give birth in this hellhole. My friend Lucía says, “Take Javier and escape now.” But what if he chooses his grandmother over me? What if I’m left alone with the child? Fear paralyzes me, but I know I can’t endure more months of this slavery.
My cry for help
This story is my cry to be treated as a person. Carmen, Pilar, their demands… they destroy me. Javier, whom I love, is part of this system, and it breaks my heart. My son deserves a mother who smiles, not one who cries over dirty dishes. At 27, I want to live, not survive. My escape will be hard, but I’ll do it for me and my baby.
I don’t know how to convince Javier, or where to find the strength to leave. But I do know one thing: I won’t stay in this house where my pregnancy is a hindrance. Let Carmen live in her apartment, let Pilar find another maid. I am Leonor, and I will choose freedom, even if it breaks my heart.
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