I smiled. “But Linda, you said the toilet is a woman’s face. I thought you’d want to show us yours.”
Marcus made a strangled noise.
You expect me to clean that?
The comments went wild.
Claire: FACE REVEAL!
Bob: Somebody call a dermatologist!
Linda’s cheeks turned scarlet. “I will not scrub another woman’s bathroom!”
“Then Marcus can demonstrate. You’ve taught him everything, surely.”
The toilet is a woman’s face.
Marcus looked horrified. “Why am I involved?”
“Because you’re Mommy’s Little Helper.”
He picked up a brush. “Where does this go?”
“Marcus. It’s a toilet brush.”
“I’m asking which product to use!”
You’re Mommy’s Little Helper.
Linda snatched the brush away. “Stop embarrassing yourself!”
“Mom, you’re embarrassing us!”
“Me? I haven’t cleaned a toilet in twenty years!”
The room went silent.
She continued, apparently forgetting the camera.
Stop embarrassing yourself!
“I employ professionals! I have a housekeeper, a cook, and someone who handles my laundry!”
I lowered my voice. “Then why have you spent years telling me to do everything myself?”
“Because someone must maintain standards!”
“Why couldn’t Marcus help?”
“Because he’s a man!”
I haven’t cleaned a toilet in twenty years!
“Apparently, men can analyze financial markets but can’t recognize a toilet brush.”
Comments multiplied.
Linda pointed toward the phone. “Turn that thing off!”
“It’s your workshop.”
“I manage a household! Management is different!”
He’s a man!
“Then why did you criticize me for ordering dinner?”
“Because you should be grateful for my guidance!”
“So your staff does everything?” I asked.
“I supervise!”
“And that’s what you teach at your workshops?”
Management is different!
“I teach women how to run a proper household!”
“By doing everything themselves?”
“Exactly!”
Before I could answer, Patricia posted another comment.
Patricia: Linda, did your staff prepare the materials for our paid workshops?
Doing everything themselves?
Linda swallowed. “What materials?”
Patricia: Your recipes. Your household guides. The photographs you claimed were yours.
Another member wrote: I paid seventy-five dollars for your homemaking class.
Linda looked at the camera. “Those were professional presentations!”
“Prepared by whom?” Patricia asked.
Patricia posted another comment.
“My team helped organize things.”
“Your employees?” I asked.
“Obviously! Successful women delegate!”
“Then why shouldn’t I delegate it to my husband?”
“That’s entirely different!”
My team helped organize things.
“How?”
She was speechless.
Patricia: We’re suspending your upcoming workshop until the organizers review this.
Linda lunged toward the phone.
“Those women are jealous!”
“Of your burnt lasagna?” I asked.
That’s entirely different!
Marcus finally spoke. “Sarah, enough. You’ve made your point.”
I stopped smiling. “Have I?”
“Yes. Turn it off.”
“You wanted to embarrass Mom.”
You’ve made your point.
“I wanted her to experience the standards she imposed on me.”
Linda grabbed her handbag. “You ungrateful little girl!”
I looked directly at her. “I grew up without servants, Linda. My parents worked hard. I know how to clean. What I never understood was why you considered that my only value.”
Marcus sighed. “Can we discuss this privately?”
“We’ve discussed it privately for three years.”
You ungrateful little girl!
I ended the livestream.
Linda hissed, “You ruined my reputation.”
“No. You did that yourself.”
Marcus stood. “You owe her an apology.”
Then my husband said something that made my next decision easy.
I ended the livestream.
“You could’ve ignored her,” he muttered.
“I did. For three years.”
“She’s my mother.”
“And I’m your wife.”
“She means well.”
You owe her an apology.
“She humiliated me while you watched.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“And now you’re defending her again.”
He looked away.
Linda grabbed her purse. “Marcus, we’re leaving.”
I’m your wife.
“Good,” I said. “You should stay with her for a while.”
“Sarah, don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m not filing for divorce tonight. I’m asking for space.”
“This is my house too.”
“And we’ll discuss practical arrangements tomorrow. Tonight, please go.”
She humiliated me.
Linda looked delighted. “Come home, darling.”
Marcus grabbed his jacket. “You’ll regret this.”
“Maybe. But I won’t regret stopping.”
***
Three days later, Patricia called.
“We’ve reviewed Linda’s workshop materials. Her expert status is revoked, and her workshops are suspended.”
Don’t be dramatic.
“How’s she taking it?”
“She threatened to resign.”
“Over the suspension?”
“Someone suggested a lasagna class.”
Her expert status is revoked.
***
Marcus called that evening. “Mom’s driving me insane.”
“Really?”
“She criticizes my clothes, doesn’t cook, and makes me clean!”
“Sounds familiar.”
“Sarah, I’m serious.”
Mom’s driving me insane.
“So was I.”
He paused. “I didn’t realize how much you did.”
“Because you never had to.”
“I know. I let Mom criticize you because admitting she was wrong meant admitting I was too.”
I went quiet.
I’m serious.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve defended you.”
“Yes, you should have.”
“Can I come home?”
“Not yet.”
“What do you want?”
I should’ve defended you.
“A partner who shares the work and respects me.”
“I can change.”
“Then prove it. Consistently.”
He sighed. “Mom says you’re unreasonable.”
“Your mother thinks lasagna requires a photography department.”
A partner.
Marcus laughed. I didn’t.
“So, are we okay?”
“Not yet. You’ll have to earn that.”
***
That Sunday, I ordered pizza, left the dishes in the sink, and stretched out on the couch.
I was tired, and for once, that was reason enough to do nothing.
Mom says you’re unreasonable.
For three years, I’d tried to prove I was good enough for Linda.
Now I had nothing left to prove.
If I wanted to spend an entire evening doing absolutely nothing, I could.
And the best part?
Nobody was there to tell me otherwise.