I PAID A VISIT TO MY EXPECTANT SIBLING, AND UPON WITNESSING THE MANNER IN WHICH HER SPOUSE BEHAVED TOWARDS HER, I RESOLVED TO IMPART SOME INSTRUCTION — HE RETURNED, HUMBLED AND SEEKING FORGIVENESS, WITHIN A DAY. What is one to do when they go to see their sister, in her ninth month of gestation, only to observe her being handled as a servant? This very scenario unfolded for me during a work trip when I was obliged to lodge at my sister’s residence for several nights. On the inaugural evening, I observed her partner voice dissatisfaction with the dinner’s temperature and remove his plate to the upper floor to engage in gaming whilst consuming his meal. Simultaneously, my weary sister was engaged in tidying, attending to the washing, managing preparations for childbirth, and applying paint to the baby’s room unassisted. I endeavored to converse with her spouse in private, proposing he might at least manage some dishwashing or assemble the nursery furnishings. “You are quite the melodramatic individual… Lily delights in caring for me, precisely as she will delight in caring for our offspring. Refrain from introducing your modern notions into my domicile. My wife is merely executing her designated role.” My temper flared, yet instead of instigating a confrontation, I conceived a strategy! The subsequent morning I ⬇️⬇️began my day with deliberate action. Awakening before dawn, I descended to the kitchen and commenced breakfast preparations. I brewed a pot of strong coffee, whipped up a hearty batch of pancakes, and laid the table with care. When Lily eventually emerged, heavy with child, she was met not by the usual chaos, but by the aroma of freshly cooked food and a serene, organised kitchen. Her eyes widened in surprise. “What’s all this?” she asked, a faint smile gracing her lips.
“Breakfast,” I replied simply, gesturing for her to sit. As she settled into a chair, relief evident in her posture, I continued, “And I’ll be handling the dishes afterwards. In fact, consider me your personal assistant for the duration of my stay. Nursery assembly? Done. Laundry? Managed. Anything you need, just ask.”
Her smile broadened, a genuine expression of gratitude. “You really don’t have to…” she began, but I cut her off gently.
“I want to. You need to be resting, Lily. Not running a household single-handedly at nine months pregnant.”
The husband, let’s call him Mark, strolled in some time later, yawning and expecting his usual routine. He stopped short, taking in the scene – his wife relaxed at the table, a fully prepared breakfast, and myself, calmly flipping pancakes. A flicker of confusion crossed his face, quickly replaced by a familiar arrogance.
“What’s going on here?” he demanded, directing his question at Lily, though his gaze flickered dismissively towards me.
Lily, however, met his gaze directly, a newfound steadiness in her eyes. “My sibling is making breakfast. It’s very kind of them.”
Mark scoffed. “Kind? Or interfering?” He turned to me. “Look, I appreciate the… gesture, but we have things handled here. Lily knows what to do.”
I maintained a calm demeanor, my tone even. “Indeed, Lily knows exactly what to do. And what she should be doing right now is resting and preparing for the arrival of your child, not waiting on you hand and foot. Perhaps you could join us for breakfast? Or would you prefer to take yours upstairs and game?”
He flushed slightly, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his bravado. He sat down heavily at the table, picking at a pancake with forced nonchalance. He remained silent throughout the meal, observing me as I cleared the table and began washing dishes with methodical efficiency.
The day unfolded in a similar manner. I took over every household task I could find. I assembled the nursery furniture, meticulously following the instructions. I sorted and folded laundry. I even offered to help Lily with the painting, which she gratefully accepted, relieved to have assistance. Mark, meanwhile, hovered around, increasingly ill at ease. He attempted to reassert his dominance, issuing curt instructions to Lily, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. He saw, perhaps for the first time, the sheer volume of work Lily was undertaking, and he saw, undeniably, that it could be shared. He also witnessed his wife’s quiet contentment and relief at being supported, a stark contrast to the weary resignation I had observed the previous evening.
Later that evening, as I was tidying the kitchen after dinner, Mark approached me, a sheepish expression on his face. He shuffled his feet, avoiding eye contact. “Look,” he began, his voice low, “About… everything. I… I may have been out of line.”
I turned to face him, maintaining a neutral expression, allowing him to continue at his own pace.
“I… I didn’t realize… how much Lily was doing,” he mumbled, still not meeting my gaze. “And… and how tired she is. You… you showed me.” He finally looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of shame and something akin to understanding. “You were right. It’s not… it’s not her ‘designated role’. It’s… it’s our responsibility. Both of us.”
He paused, then added, almost in a whisper, “I’m sorry. To you… for being rude. And… and to Lily. I’m going to apologize to her properly.”
And he did. That evening, I witnessed a different Mark. One who sat with Lily, not barking orders, but listening. One who offered to rub her swollen feet. One who genuinely seemed to see her, not as a servant, but as his partner, the mother of his child, deserving of care and respect. He had, in his own way, been humbled. And while I knew it would be a process, a shift in ingrained behaviour doesn’t happen overnight, I felt a profound sense of relief. Perhaps, just perhaps, my sister and her child would have a better, more balanced, and more loving home after all.