Dawn barely painted the sky gray when I woke at five in the morning. Beside me, Krzysztof snored softly, his arm flung over his headthe familiar pose of a man perpetually short on sleep. Tiptoeing to the kitchen, I turned on the light and gathered cake ingredients from the fridge: sponge layers, cream, fresh berries. Today, little Maciej turned five, and I wanted his birthday to feel truly magical.
„Nie za wcześnie?” came a voice from the doorway. My husband stood there, squinting against the light, his hair tousled.
„Idź się przespać,” I smiled, kneading butter into the dough. „If I dont start now, I wont finish before the guests arrive.”
He nodded but didnt leave. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing his cheek to my neck.
„Czasem myślę, iż nie zasługuję na ciebie,” he murmured.
I chuckled, setting the bowl aside. „Mówisz o tym awansie? Teraz ty jesteś szefem, a ja wciąż tylko nauczycielką w podstawówce.”
„Ewa, przestań,” he turned me to face him. „Dzisiaj wszystkim powiemy. To będzie najlepsza niespodzianka.”
I nodded, swallowing my nerves. Six years of marriage, and his touch still sent shivers down my spine. Though once, no one believed wed last.
By eleven, the cake stood assembled, garlands hung, gifts hidden in the cupboard. The doorbell rang. I smoothed a loose strand of hair and opened the door.
„Helena Stanisławówna! Dzień dobry, tak wcześnie!”
My mother-in-law stood on the threshold, clutching a massive wrapped box. Her immaculate updo (weekly salon visitsnon-negotiable) and flawless makeup starkly contrasted my rumpled robe and messy bun.
„Ewuniu,” she air-kissed my cheek. „Przyjechałam wcześniej, żeby pomóc. Wiesz, jak ważne, by wszystko było w porządku.”
Silently, I took her coat and led her to the kitchen. Her „help” always meant micromanaging my every move, especially if it involved something her refined tastes could „improve.”
„Ojej, a to co?” She pointed at the cake Id just refrigerated. „Sama zrobiłaś? Dlaczego nie zamówiłaś w dobrej cukierni?”
„Chciałam to zrobić dla niego sama,” I replied evenly, fetching plates. „Maciej uwielbia, gdy mama piecze.”
„Ależ on jest mały, co on wie?” She wrinkled her nose. „A goście? Jak to ocenią? Nie gniewaj się, ale cukiernia to poziom. A to no, domowe.”
I bit my tongue, focusing on table settings. Six years of these jabs. Six years of failing her „proper daughter-in-law” standards.
„Gdzie Krzysztof?” She glanced around. „Śpi jeszcze? Jego ojciec też nie lubił wstawać wcześnie.”
„Poszedł z Maciejem do parku. Zaraz wrócą.”
She opened a cupboard, pulled out a cup, and grimaced. „Wciąż ta sama tania zastawa? Przecież dałam wam porcelanowy serwis na Nowy Rok. Nie podoba się?”
That set cost half my monthly salary. I saved it for special occasionstoday, with kids running around, wasnt one.
Every holiday, the same script. Every visit, a trial.
I remembered our modest wedding. Helena had leaned into Krzysztofs ear, whispering, „Mogłeś znaleźć lepszą.” She thought I hadnt heard.
Six years later, had I grown used to it? No. But Id learned to swallow the hurt, like bitter medicineunchewed, chased with a smile. For Krzysztof. For Maciej. For peace.
The door burst open, flooding the apartment with laughter.
„Mamo, patrz!” Maciej charged in, waving a paper kite. Krzysztof followed, arms full of grocery bags.
„Babciu!” Our son hurled himself at Helena. She beamed, scooping him up.
„Moje słoneczko! Jakie duże już jesteś! O, prezent od babci.” She nodded at the box.
„Super! Mogę otworzyć?” Maciej turned to me.
„Po świeczkach, kochanie. Tak się robi.”
„Ale ma-a-mo!” He whined.
„Ewuniu, po co te zasady?” Helena cut in. „Krzysiowi zawsze pozwalałam otwierać od razu.”
Krzysztof cleared his throat. „Mamo, trzymajmy się tradycji. Maciek, poczekaj chwilę, goście zaraz przyjdą.”
The doorbell ended the debate. Soon, the flat buzzed with guests: my parents bearing homemade pie, friends, Krzysztofs colleagues with their kids. Mama quietly helped in the kitchen, Tata buried himself in a newspaperunassuming, gentle, the antithesis of Helena, whose presence alone seemed to suck up all the air.
„Zofia Antonówno, a ciśnienie jak?” Helena boomed at my mother. „W waszym wie
