Craving the Wrong Brother

“ Can you ever do something right in your life, Isabel?” 

The food in my mouth immediately turned sour at the sharp criticism. Looking up from my food, I could see the disgust that was sharply etched on my mother-in-law’s face.

A quick glance at the other two plates showed  they had cleared half of the plate, but they too dropped their spoons and were now looking at me.

 “The chicken is too bland and the pasta,” she scrunched her nose in disgust,  “what on God’s Earth did you make it with? You spend the whole day doing nothing at home, yet you can’t make a simple meal for 3 people to eat and enjoy?”

My hands dropped from the table to my thighs where they instantly balled into fists. 

I spent the day doing nothing? 

This was a 10 bedroom mansion with 4 people living in it, and no house help, well, except me. I cleaned, cooked, served, every single day, with no break, yet in the eyes of Eunice, my mother-in-law, I do nothing. 

To the public, I was the pampered daughter-in-law to the famous Blackwell family, but in reality, I was a maid, heck, I was a slave.

Three years of marriage and all I have done was slave away in hopes that the people that were now my family would one day fully accept me and love me.

“Cat cut your tongue, Isabel?”

This time, it was the biting voice  of my husband that snapped me out of my thoughts and I looked up to three pairs of eyes glaring down at me.

“I uh… I’m sorry about the meal.

“An apology isn’t going to fill our bellies now, is it?”

I could feel tears brimming, I was used to her constantly talking down on my efforts, but today, today I was exhausted.

It was my birthday, I expected -despite knowing better - a molecule of rest, or appreciation, but not only did nobody,including my husband remember, I was also being ridiculed.

Standing up, I began clearing the dishes without looking at anyone.

“Maybe you guys should eat out tonight, I’ll…”

“What you will do,” Eunice cut in and I froze, “is that you are going to go back into that kitchen and you’re going to make a fresh meal, one that we all can eat without feeling like barfing.”

“What?” My eyes darted to the clock, it was 8 PM. I immediately turned to Scott, blindly hoping he’d be of some help but he just brought out his phone and channeled all of his attention on it.

“Do I still need to repeat myself?”

The tears that I’d been holding back instantly blurred my vision, and I lowered my head.

“Not at all. I’ll be right back.”

My hands trembled as I packed the dishes away and dropped them in the sink. For a couple of minutes, I just stood, bent over the sink as I took deep breaths trying to keep the tears from falling.

“Are you seriously going to throw a tantrum right now because you have to cook?”

I turned around fast and Scott was by the door with his arms crossed, looking very annoyed.

“I’ve been working all day, Scott, and there was nothing wrong with what I prepared. You can at least attest to that.”

He shrugged. “Mum still didn’t like it. Look, I don’t get what you’re fussing over, you can just make another meal and get this over with. I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway.”

I opened and closed my mouth so many times, yet not a single sound escaped. I was exhausted. Completely exhausted from living like this, but my hands are tied.

Swallowing whatever I was going to say, I just nodded and turned to the stove.

“I’ll be out with the meal soon.”

He  hummed in response, then I heard his footsteps fade away. 

I spent the next hour cooking a fresh meal, while ignoring the painful throbbing at the right side of my head and the nauseous feeling that was only increasing by the seconds. 

“I hope you like this,” the words left my mouth before I could reel it in, and I did not miss the nasty glare Eunice shot my way.

“I will, if you didn’t make a mess of it.”

Dishing out everyone’s portion but mine, I stood awkwardly by the side, watching them through my blurry vision and praying that this would be acceptable.

“And why are you not eating?” She eyed me suspiciously, then subtly pushed her plate away, “did you poison the food?”

“Of course not!” I bellowed in exasperation, “I’m just full.”

“You barely touched the last meal, how are you full?”

“I… I just am. I can taste the food if you want me to, but I won’t be eating, I’m full.”

For a few seconds, she just stared at me while tapping her wrist.

“You can clear the dishes. We will eat out.”

My knees buckled and I thought I was going to sink to the floor as I processed what she just said to me. Grabbing the nearest thing, I supported my weight with it, and with my eyes closed, I took 3 deep breaths trying to wave away the dizziness from the raging headache, and the ever increasing nausea.

“You cannot blame me for prioritizing my family’s health. If you won’t eat…” the doorbell cut her off, and she raised a brow.

“Is anyone expecting a guest?”

From my blurred vision, I saw the confused look the family shared and the way they all shook their heads.

“Well, go get the door, or do you need to be reminded?”

Taking a deep breath, I forced my legs, which suddenly felt like jelly to move my body to the door.

 On getting there, my breathing got more labored and I rested my head against the door for a few more minutes to catch my breath.

When I finally did, I pulled the door open and it felt like breath was knocked out of me all over again.

Desmond Blackwell, the eldest son of the Blackwell family and my husband’s half-brother, stood in front of me, arm in arm with my twin sister, Evelyn, who happens to be my husband’s first love.