Chapter 5 - WHY MAYA KEPT COOKINGThis question came from relatives later.
Why didn’t she sit back down?
Because coercion does not always look like force.
Maya had been physically weak.
Sleep-deprived.
Hormonal.
In pain.
Scared she was failing at motherhood.
And my mother knew exactly which sentence would reach her.
“You’re making Michael do everything.”
That was the sentence.
Maya told me later:
“I knew it wasn’t true.”
I had changed diapers.
Fed expressed milk.
Cleaned bottles.
Handled laundry.
Got up at night.
But postpartum guilt is not rational accounting.
Mom continued:
“He’s working, shopping, doing the house, taking care of the baby, taking care of you.”
Maya said:
“He’s my husband.”
Mom:
“He’s not your servant.”
Then:
“Michael won’t say it because he’s too kind.”
That was manipulation through my imagined voice.
Mom made herself my translator.
The same thing I had done for her for years.
Maya stood.
Prepared food.
Sat down twice.
Mom told her the chicken would dry out.
The rice needed watching.
The vegetables needed finishing.
Every task was small.
Together they became almost ninety minutes upright.
No water except half a glass.
No proper lunch.
No rest.
Then the headache worsened.
Vision flashing.
Maya told Mom:
“I don’t feel right.”
Mom answered:
May you like
“You’re exhausted because you haven’t moved in days.”
That sentence would matter later.
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