“I Didn’t Invite You,” My Daughter-in-Law Said Calmly – In the House I Built and At the Table I Paid For.

“The poor thing. There are days when it seems like she doesn’t quite understand where she is or what’s happening around her.”

The words fell on me like stones, each one heavier than the last. Disoriented. Confused.

The poor thing. She was telling everyone that I was losing my mind, that I was a senile old woman who didn’t understand things.

And the worst part is that some of them nodded. They nodded with that expression of false sympathy that people put on when they talk about someone who is no longer all there.

“It must be hard for you,”

said one of the guests, a young woman with big earrings.

“Taking care of someone who’s losing their memory. What a heavy burden.”

“It’s complicated,”

Chloe replied with a dramatic sigh.

“But she’s family. You do what you have to do even if it’s exhausting sometimes. There are days I have to repeat things to her five or six times, and other times she gets stubborn, insists on things that aren’t true. But well, it’s part of the process. They say it’s normal at this age.”

I stood there listening to them talk about me as if I weren’t present, as if I were a piece of furniture, an object with no feelings and no dignity. Dan still wasn’t looking at me.

His eyes were still glued to his plate, pushing the crumbs of cake from one side to the other with his fork. I walked to the kitchen.

A step took an enormous effort. My legs felt heavy as if I were walking through water, as if my whole body were fighting against an invisible current that wanted to drag me down.

I reached the kitchen. I leaned against the sink.

My hands were shaking so much I had to grip the edge to keep from falling. I closed my eyes and I breathed deep.

The air came in ragged, painful gasps. Behind me in the dining room, the conversations had resumed.

They had already forgotten about me. They had already moved on to another topic.

I heard laughter. I heard the clinking of glasses.

Everything had returned to normal. As if nothing had happened, as if I didn’t matter.

I turned on the faucet. I let the water run over my hands.

It was cold. So cold it hurt.

But I liked that pain. It made me feel like I was still alive, like I could still feel something.

I looked out the window. It was dark outside.

The lights in Sharon’s house were on. I could see her silhouette moving behind the curtains.

She was probably getting ready for bed, alone in her house. With no one to humiliate her, with no one to make her feel worthless.

For the first time in a long time, I envied her loneliness. I turned off the faucet.

I dried my hands on my apron. The same apron I had worn all night.

It was stained with sauce, with flour, with everything I had cooked for this party that wasn’t even mine. I heard footsteps behind me.

I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. I knew those steps; I had heard them all my life.

“Mom,”

Dan said in a low voice.

I didn’t answer. I kept looking out the window, looking at the lights of Sharon’s house, wishing I were anywhere but here.

“Mom, don’t be like this,”

he continued.

His voice sounded tired, annoyed, as if I were the one causing problems.

“Chloe didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just this is her party, her birthday. She has the right to decide who sits at the table.”

I turned around slowly. I looked at him.

At my son, the child I had carried in my arms. The child I had raised alone after his father died.

The child I had worked 18 hours a day for. The child I had given up everything for.

“In my house?”

I asked.

My voice came out stronger than I expected. Dan sighed.

He ran his hand through his hair, that gesture he made when he was frustrated.

“Mom, we’ve talked about this. This house belongs to everyone now. We live here. We pay the utilities. You can’t keep acting like it’s only yours.”

“Things have changed. You have to accept it. You have to adapt to the new family dynamic. Chloe and I are a marriage. We are a unit. And when she makes a decision about the house, about gatherings, about anything, I support her. That’s how relationships work. That’s how marriage works.”

Every word was a blow. But they didn’t hurt me like they used to.

Something inside me had hardened. Something had broken in a way that could no longer be fixed.

“I cooked everything,”

I said.

“I spent $200 of my pension. I stayed up all night. I worked 18 hours to make this party perfect, and I couldn’t even sit at the table. I couldn’t even eat a piece of the cake I made. And you’re telling me I have to accept it, that I have to adapt?”

Dan avoided my gaze.

“Nobody asked you to spend so much. Nobody asked you to cook all that. You decided to do it. And now you can’t use that as an excuse to make Chloe feel bad on her own birthday. She has guests. She has the right to enjoy her day without you making her feel guilty for not including you in everything.”

I just stared at him, searching his eyes for something of the boy he had been. The boy who hugged me when he had nightmares.

The boy who told me I was the best mom in the world. The boy who promised he would always take care of me.

But that boy wasn’t there anymore.

“Go,”

I told him.

“Go back to your party.”

“Mom, don’t be like this. Don’t be so dramatic. This isn’t as big a deal as you’re making it.”

“Tomorrow this will all be forgotten. You’ll see. You just need to calm down a bit. Maybe you should go to your room, rest. You’ve worked a lot today. You’re tired. And when you’re tired, everything seems worse than it really is.”

I didn’t say anything else. I just looked at him until he turned and left the kitchen.

I was left alone surrounded by the mess of the party: the dirty dishes piled in the sink, the empty pots on the stove, the crumbs on the floor, the stains on the tablecloth. All the work of 18 hours reduced to garbage that I would have to clean up tomorrow.

I looked at the clock. It was 10:30 at night.

The laughter from the dining room continued. The party went on, and I was here in my own kitchen feeling like a stranger.

I took my favorite mug from the shelf, the blue mug with white flowers that Robert had given me on our first anniversary. It was the only thing Chloe hadn’t thrown out, probably because she had never seen it.

I hid it in the back of the cabinet. I poured myself some water.