My Mil Slapped Me For Choosing My Dying Mother Over A Thanksgiving Turkey. My Husband Watched And Did Nothing. I Just Cut The Power And Canceled Their Feast, So Why Do I Feel Like The Villain?

The Confrontation

She stood up. Her knees creaked. 32. Her body was already warning her in various ways that she wasn’t young anymore. The suitcase wheels rattled against the hardwood floor as she walked to the entryway and reached for her coat hanging on the wall.

The television in the living room abruptly went silent.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

Eleanor’s voice shot out from the direction of the sofa. It wasn’t a question; it was an interrogation. Emily was all too familiar with that tone: the slight upward inflection at the end of the sentence, the way she scanned you from head to toe like a cat inspecting a mouse that had invaded its territory, her displeasure palpable.

Emily didn’t turn around. She gripped the sleeve of her coat tightly, then let go.

“Eleanor, my mother has been hospitalized. She had a brain hemorrhage. I have to go to the hospital.”

She tried her best to keep her voice even. The formal tone that came from her throat was so perfectly polished there was no room for criticism. For five years, she had perfected the art of hiding her anger and sorrow beneath a shell of politeness.

A rustling sound came from the sofa. Eleanor was getting up. The stare boring into her back felt like two cold, heavy stones.

“A brain hemorrhage?” There was a sneer in her voice. “Isn’t that one of those things where they have to lie in bed for a long time? What’s going to change just because you go?”

Emily turned around. Her mother-in-law was dressed in a lavender silk lounge set, her hair tied up in a neat bun revealing a smooth, elegant neckline. At 62, her skin was smoother than that of her 32-year-old daughter-in-law because she never lifted a finger to do housework, because she went for skin treatments twice a week, and because her daughter-in-law’s mother sent $2,000 to this house every month under the guise of support.

“She’s in surgery, Eleanor. She’s in critical condition,” Emily said again.

She wasn’t sure why she repeated it. Perhaps she hoped the weight of the word “critical” might finally register with her mother-in-law.

Eleanor’s brow furrowed slightly. It wasn’t with worry, but with disgust.

“Thanksgiving is in two days,” her mother-in-law said.

Emily stood there stunned.

“The turkey isn’t even prepped, the stuffing isn’t made, and I haven’t even taken out the good silver.” Eleanor walked towards Emily as she spoke. The thud of her slippers on the floor sounded like a relentless, oppressive beat. “If you go now, who’s going to do all that?”

“Eleanor, my mother might die.”

Emily heard her own voice. It was dry and hoarse, like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing against each other. Eleanor stopped. A strange expression crossed her face. It wasn’t shock or sympathy; it was the fury of someone who had been insulted, as if Emily hadn’t just said her mother might die, but that she refused to serve her.

“What did you say?”

“I’m just saying my mother…”

“I heard you!” Eleanor’s voice suddenly shot up, sharp and grating like nails on a chalkboard. “What does your mother’s life or death have to do with me? You married into the Davis family. Thanksgiving is the most important day of the year and you dare to run away at a time like this?”

Emily’s fingers trembled. She looked down and saw her fingertips were pale and bluish, as if frostbitten.

“Eleanor, I’m not running away. I just…”

“So your mother is more important than our family traditions? You just want to embarrass the Davis family in front of all the relatives? Your Uncle Richard and Aunt Susan are coming. You want to show them we can’t even put a proper Thanksgiving dinner on the table?”

Spittle flew from Eleanor’s mouth, landing on Emily’s face. Emily didn’t move. She didn’t even blink. She just stood there listening like a wooden plank nailed to the wall.

“Are you showing off just because your mother sends a little money every month?” Eleanor’s voice grew shriller, a vein throbbing on her forehead. “You think the Davis family would starve without that money? Your mother seems to enjoy buying people with her cash. I only allowed this marriage in the first place because I heard she had some money. And what’s the result? Five years and you haven’t even produced a single child, and now you’re going to abandon Thanksgiving dinner too?”

A roaring filled Emily’s ears. Not a single child. She had heard those words a hundred, a thousand, a million times. Every time, it felt like someone was grinding their heel into her stomach.

She and Kevin had been married for five years, but they were childless. It wasn’t Emily’s problem. The doctor had said her body was perfectly normal. The problem was Kevin: low sperm motility, medically termed asthenospermia. But Eleanor didn’t know that fact. Kevin had forbidden her from telling.

“Are you trying to disappoint my mother? You want to let her know her only son is practically sterile?” Kevin had asked, his tone cowardly and pathetic, as if he were the victim.

And so, for the past five years, all the blame had fallen solely on Emily, a barren hen trying to end the Davis family line. “You’re useless.” Each and every one of those words was a dull blade slicing at her heart again and again until it was shredded to ribbons, but never quite enough to kill her.

“I’m not doing it on purpose, Eleanor.” Emily realized she was speaking. Her voice was very small, as if coming from far away. “I just want to see my mom’s face just for a few days. I already ordered all the Thanksgiving catering; it’s arriving tomorrow.”

“Ordered?” Eleanor scoffed. “Do you think Thanksgiving is a takeout holiday? The turkey has to be roasted by hand, the pies have to be baked from scratch. You’re going to serve our family legacy with store-bought food? Do you think your late father-in-law would rest in peace? This is disrespectful! It’s a disgrace!”

It felt like a wad of cotton was lodged in Emily’s throat. She wanted to open her mouth and say something, but no words came out.

She wanted to say, “Your son is holed up in the bedroom playing video games right now, so why don’t you call him disgraceful?”

She wanted to say, “Is your idea of devotion just standing over me, dictating and criticizing while I cook from 5:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m.?”

She wanted to say, “With the $2,000 my mother sends every month, how many spa treatments have you gotten? How many gold necklaces have you bought? And yet, is a simple ‘I hope your mother will be okay’ too much to ask?”

But she said nothing. It had been five years. She was used to silence. Silence was the safest option. Silence didn’t create bigger problems. Silence was the only shield she had in this house.

“I’m going to get Kevin. He needs to see this for himself.” Eleanor turned toward the master bedroom. “Let him see just how immature his wife is.“