Gwen suppresses her heartache and continues on when her husband declines to assist her sick mother. However, Gwen is forced to decide between maintaining harmony and regaining her authority when an unexpected inheritance brings up previous obligations and entitlements. Everyone is stunned by what she does next.
Sam once assured me that I wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again. He meant everything, it turns out, with the exception of my mother.
Standing in the center of a living room that I maintained immaculate, with my in-laws staring at me as if I owed them something I didn’t, is something I never thought my life would look like.
Gwen is my name. Even though I wasn’t making a lot of money, I had my own office, my own schedule, my own salary, and respect when I worked as a marketing executive. I had a great job.
However, after giving birth to our son, Lucas, four years ago, I took a step back to become a stay-at-home mother. Sam, my spouse, insisted on it even though it wasn’t an easy choice.
“Your only job now, Gwen, is raising our son,” Sam had stated. “Let me take care of everything else, sweetheart.”
I therefore had faith in him. We were a team, I thought.
Sam makes $12,000 a month, which is more than plenty to support us all. I took care of Lucas’s requirements, the house, the appointments, the food, and the mental strain of it all.
Bills were paid by Sam.
Surely it was fair? Until it wasn’t.
Debbie, my mother, had a dramatic change about nine months ago. She had worsening diabetes. She required gadgets that weren’t entirely covered by insurance, many trips to the expert, and medicines. Jeremy, my younger brother, and I attempted to devise a strategy.
“Gwen,” he said, “we can split the cost,” “I’ll make it work, but it will be tight. Anything for Mom.
I said, “I’ll ask Sam to help,” hoping my husband would step in and save the day. “Even half would be manageable for us.”
I gently brought it up after supper that evening. Sam sat on the couch, browsing through his phone, while Lucas was stretched out on the rug in the living room, watching cartoons with his tiny legs kicking about to the music.
“Sam,” I said, maintaining a composed tone. “Mom’s medical care is becoming costly. The new drug is expensive, and the insurance only pays for a portion of it. Would it be possible for us to contribute to just half of the expenses?
“She’s your mom, Gwen,” he added without raising his head. “Not mine.”
I stopped, surprised.
Although she is my mother, Samuel, she is also a member of this family. When Lucas was born, she was of assistance. She spent three weeks here, cleaning, cooking, and keeping an eye on him so we could sleep. Doesn’t that make a difference?
“I apologize. Still staring at his phone, he added, “But that’s not my responsibility.”
I gazed at him, anticipating the chuckle or the glimmer of compassion. However, there was none. Only the monotonous buzz of the television and the blue glow of his screen were audible.
I said, “I’m not asking for all of it,” and made another attempt. “All I’m requesting is assistance. “Please, Sam, even a few hundred dollars a month would make a difference.”
“Gwen, I said no. “What do you not comprehend?” My spouse murmured, glancing at me at last. “Jeremy and you can manage it. Isn’t that the purpose of siblings?
Something inside of me splintered as I stood there. How could this be the same man who kissed my forehead and assured me that I will always be at ease?
“You’ll never carry the heavy stuff alone,” he’d stated.
That night, I sobbed in the bathroom while holding a towel to my mouth to keep Lucas from hearing.
Everything was covered by Jeremy. He sold his instrument, spent all of his meager money, and even put off a long-planned move to Portland in search of a better career.
However, he never voiced any complaints. Not once.
And Jeremy was the one who stood next to me at the funeral when our mother died last month, holding my hand and supporting me while I broke down. Sam was merely discussing the value of financial preparation with an uncle while standing at the rear of the chapel.
It was unbelievable to me that thinking about my husband made me feel ill.
The surprise—the inheritance—came a few weeks later.
Mom had secretly clung to four former residences, it came out. They were dilapidated, largely abandoned houses on the outskirts of the city. They weren’t very fancy, but they could be fixed and given the proper care.
Mom didn’t mention them at all. After the will was read, the lawyer told us everything. I divided them equally with Jeremy.
Sam’s whole face brightened up like a kid seeing candy when I informed him. In fact, he set down a lamb chop and focused entirely on me.
“So,” he remarked with a Cheshire cat smile. “When will you sell your share of that outdated bullshit? Gwen, I could finally get a new automobile! Or perhaps we might go on that trip to Bali you’ve been about.”
“Excuse me?” I looked at him as I asked.
When my husband said, “Come on, sweetie,” he chuckled. “You have not been employed for a considerable amount of time. This is your opportunity to help others. I’ve taken care of you over the years.”
Return the favor.
Those were harsh statements. Sam’s voice clung to my skin like a horrible, sticky substance. It seemed like giving up my beloved work, parenting Lucas alone, and running our home every minute of the day wasn’t enough.
As I was folding laundry, packing Lucas’s lunch for the following day, and standing at the sink cleaning dried oatmeal off breakfast bowls, the words kept coming back to me.
Sam pretended that I didn’t make a difference in our lives. As if I had been twiddling my thumbs for the past four years while he “handled everything.”
Then the calls began.
“You should do something nice for Sam, Gwen,” remarked Rosie, my sister-in-law. “That inheritance is your chance to repay my brother for everything he’s ever done for you.”
“Repay him?” I let out a gasp. “What do you mean?”
It was “Yes, Gwen!” she said. “You’re not employed. For years, you’ve survived on him. The entire family has been borne by him.
Silently, I whispered, “I carried this family too,” “Just not in dollars, Rosie.”
But unfazed, Rosie continued.
Her words, “He’s never asked for anything,” The time has come for you to give back. Why you don’t comprehend this is beyond me.
It was Sam’s mother, Charmaine, the following day. When Lucas was finally asleep and I got 10 precious minutes to myself during nap time, she called.
“I thought maybe you could help us with the house repairs, honey,” she said pleasantly. Gwen, you are aware that the roof has been leaking. Additionally, the garage door is a mess and barely opens partially. If you made a contribution right away, Sam would feel a lot less strain.
With a flat “I see,” I said. “So the inheritance is now a home improvement budget?”
According to Charmaine, “Oh my goodness,” “Gwen, stop being so dramatic. It’s just… equitable.
Then Sam’s opportunistic elder brother, Ian, called.
“You know, Sam’s been talking about upgrading his car,” he stated. “I assume you could assist with it. Keep it a secret! You know he deserves it?
He is deserving.
None of them yelled at me. I also didn’t argue. I remained silent. I silently took in each word as I listened to them one by one. I maintained a journal in the rubbish drawer where I wrote down everything.
Every call, every inference, every time someone implied that I owed Sam something—it was all there.
I also took a count. Five times. There were five ways they had used the word “owe.”
I invited my in-laws around for tea three days later. On the dish I typically left for birthdays, I spread out muffins and pastries. To keep Lucas busy, I even arranged his LEGO bricks in the corner.
Expectations were high when they came. They most likely believed they had prevailed. Their eyes were optimistic and their grins taut.
As the kettle boiled, I stood before them. Despite my heart hammering fiercely against my ribs, my voice remained unwavering.
I said, “I’ll give you guys the money,” neutrally. “My entire inheritance.”
They all four leaned forward. In fact, my husband grinned sweetly as if I were the obedient wife giving him something he had been eagerly anticipating.
By saying, “Thanks, babe,” “You’re doing the right thing!”
“I’m not finished,” I added, meeting my husband’s eyes. “I’ll give you the money but under one condition.”
Everyone’s smugness wavered as the room changed.
I wasn’t scared of the release, but I could feel the tension build around us like the string of a pulled bow.
No more.
When I asked, “Tell me where you were,” “Back when my mother needed assistance. I remember pleading for several hundred dollars to cover her checkups and meds. When Jeremy spent all of his money… “Where were you?”
Nobody said anything. As though the truth were too heavy to allow words to rise, the air became dense.
I went on, “Explain to me,” and sat down on the couch. “Describe how you and your family are entitled to her fortune in some way. Describe how it relates to your vacation, Charmaine’s roof, or your new car. Describe the connection between any of you and the money my mother left behind after a lifetime of sacrifice.
Charmaine averted her gaze and became engrossed in her scarf’s flowery design. Rosie’s face was pale with remorse as she opened her mouth and then shut it again. Ian’s keys clinked as he fidgeted, adding to the uneasy silence.
Sam replied, “You’re making a scene, Gwen,” as he shifted in his chair. He spoke in a low, harsh tone that he typically used to chastise Lucas for misbehaving.
I answered, “No, darling,” with a lot of sarcasm. “I’m just drawing a line.”
He stood with his hands clinched at his sides and yelled, “You think you can humiliate me like this in front of my family?”
Calmly, “No, Sam,” I said. “When you refused to assist my mother, you did that to yourself. You know… when you clearly demonstrated to me that you only take action when it benefits you.”
“Gwen, that’s not fair,” Rosie attempted to say. “Sam provides—”
“Sam provides?” I said it again. Yes, he gives this house the essential necessities. But Rosie, what about my family? When my mom was having trouble breathing, did your brother sit next to me? Did he inquire about my well-being or Jeremy’s coping mechanisms? Did he ever show compassion when it mattered? Or was he too preoccupied with planning for his next vehicle and asking me to prepare chicken tacos and lasagna?
She fell silent, although her face still had a pout.
Charmaine stated, “We didn’t know how bad it was,” while standing erect.
“How bad what was?” I inquired. “My union? Charmaine, you certainly raised a terrific one. That’s the point, though. You didn’t care to know, so you didn’t ask.”
Ian sighed profoundly and remarked, “Gwen, this is becoming a personal attack.”
“It’s not an attack, and if you believe it to be, Ian, you’re not seeing the whole picture. This is the reality. And perhaps it’s time for everyone to look in the mirror if the truth feels like an assault.
Heads bowed, their outrage turning to discomfort, they departed one by one. As she left, Charmaine muttered something about unappreciative daughters-in-law. Sam and his brother went.
Jeremy brought takeout over that evening. Thai cuisine is our go-to comfort food. Lucas was tucked in between us, munching on a spring roll while we sat on the floor with plates perched on our knees.
I said, “I think so,” even though my eyes were watering. “I simply had to express it. Everything. I needed them to understand Sam’s absurd behavior.
Silently, “You did the right thing,” he said. “Your mother would be pleased with you. She always was, particularly when you sacrificed your job to care for Lucas. Your career will always exist, she added, but those times you spent with him are invaluable. Additionally, she wouldn’t want you to be coerced into giving away the things she has fought so hard to get.”
When I said, “Thank you for that,” “Jer, I mean it. I needed to hear that.
“Always,” grinned my brother. “Now pass the noodles, please.”
We chuckled. The tightness in my chest slightly subsided when I heard a faint, weary laugh.
I filed for divorce the following morning.
It wasn’t spiteful. Clarity was the key. As well as the realization that I had already lost something far more precious than a marriage. I no longer felt respected, trusted, or safe in my own house.
There was no turning back.
In order to launch my own modest marketing firm, I sold one of the houses. Initially, it was intended to work from home with a small number of clients. My goal was to recreate my world, not to conquer it.
Mom left us one of the smaller homes, which Lucas and I moved into. It was near a library and a decent school, in a more tranquil area. On weekends, Jeremy stopped around to assist with housework.
Together, we fixed up Mom’s beloved rocking chair, which now stands proudly on the front porch, cleaned the yard, and repainted the living room.
I occasionally enjoy a cup of tea while I watch my son play in the backyard. His hair catches the late afternoon sun as he laughs while running barefoot through the grass. Sam visits him once a week, but when he does, Lucas’s smile doesn’t seem to be as bright.
And I don’t feel bad about it in those situations. I’m not feeling self-centered.
I feel liberated.
Because manipulation, guilt, and control are not the foundation of a true partnership. Presence is the foundation of it. Being available for difficult times as well as opportune ones is the foundation of it. And on consistently selecting one another, particularly in trying times.
Sam also turned away from me when he turned away from my mother. I simply didn’t notice it for a little while. But I will always remember it now that I have