**Diary Entry**
*”Youll always be poor and stuck in rented flats,”* my mother-in-law used to say. Now, she rents a room in *my* castle.
*”Could we change the curtains?”* The voice behind me was as thick and heavy as the velvet drapes she so despised. *”This colour its oppressive. Makes the room feel gloomy.”*
Katherine turned slowly. Shed chosen that fabric herselfrich burgundy velvet, perfectly complementing the pale walls and antique dresser. It had been her small design victory.
*”You dont like them?”*
*”Oh, dont be silly, dear. Beggars cant be choosers, as they say. Just voicing my opinion. Dont I have a right to my own thoughts in my sons home?”*
Katherine studied her mother-in-law. The woman stood with thin arms crossed, surveying the room*her* roomwith faint disgust. The very room Katherine and her husband had given her in their new house. *Their* castle, as David had joked, eyeing the turrets Katherine had dreamed of since childhood.
*”Of course you do, Margaret.”*
*”Good. I was starting to think Id need permission just to breathe in here.”*
Twenty years. Two decades, and nothing had changedonly the scenery. Once, it had been a rented one-bed flat with floral wallpaper. Now, it was a spacious home, every inch earned through their hard work.
*”I just want a bit of cosiness,”* Margaret added, running a finger along the polished dresser. *”Dust. Needs wiping. Then again, youre used to ityou and David spent years in other peoples places.”*
Something tightened inside Katherine. Not pain. Familiarity. Like phantom aches in a long-amputated limb.
She remembered.
She remembered the day theyd moved into their first flat. Tiny, on the outskirts, with a leaky tap and creaky floorboards. Theyd been giddy with happiness. Then *she* arrived. Took one look at their modest life, pursed her lips, and delivered her verdictnot to her son, but to Katherine.
*”Youre poor, and youll drag him down with you. Mark my wordsyoull never have anything of your own.”*
Katherine had said nothing then. What could she say? A twenty-year-old girl, in love, convinced love would conquer all.
And it hadbut it cost her twenty years. Twenty years of relentless work, sleepless nights, two engagement rings pawned, and one risky IT venture that finally paid off.
Meanwhile, Margaret lost everything. First her husband, then her central London flatsunk into a scam recommended by a “very classy lady.” The hunger for easy money and status left her with nothing.
*”David says you gave me the best guest room,”* Margaret mused by the window. *”With a view of the garden. So I can watch you toiling with the roses and remember my place, I suppose.”*
*”Your place is here now,”* Katherine said firmly.
*”My *place* was in my flat. This is a temporary shelter. A generous gesture, so everyone sees what a kind wife my son has. Not one to hold grudges.”*
She turned, and in her eyes, Katherine saw the same cold, venomous disdain from twenty years ago.
*”Just hope your castle isnt built on sand, Katherine. Falling from this height would hurt.”*
That evening, Margaret circled back to the curtains over dinner, addressing only David. *”Darling, your status nowyour own company, clients visiting. The house should reflect that. These dark rooms theyre depressing.”*
Katherine set down the salad. Her hands didnt tremble. Shed learned that long ago.
*”Mum, we like them,”* David said gently. *”Katherine chose everythingshes got brilliant taste.”*
*”Practical taste,”* Margaret corrected, bestowing a patronising smile. *”Shes used to things being hard-wearing. A fine trait for lean times. But now now you can afford lightness. Ive a wonderful decorator friendjust a few suggestions?”*
Katherine felt cornered. Refuse, and shed be stubborn. Agree, and shed admit her taste was lacking.
*”Ill think about it,”* she replied evenly.
*”Nothing to think about, dear. Before the whole house sinks into this middle-class dreariness.”*
The next morning, Katherine froze in the kitchen. Her spice jarscollected from travels over years, arranged just sohad been shoved aside. In their place stood Margarets china, the only relic of her old life.
*”I just tidied a bit,”* Margaret said behind her. *”Everything was so chaotic. A man needs order at homeit calms him.”*
Katherine wordlessly returned the jars.
*”You neednt have.”*
*”Of course not. You always do everything yourself. Strong woman. But its women like you who make men weak. You carried everything, so David never had to. He shouldve been the head from the start.”*
The blow stole her breath.
Every late night coding beside him, every investor hunt, every failure weatheredall erased by one sentence.
*Apparently, shed made him weak.*
That night, she tried talking to David. He listened, hugged her.
*”Love, come on. Shes elderly, lost everything. She just wants to feel useful. Are the jars really that important?”*
*”Its not the jars!”* she whispered. *”Its her erasing everything I am!”*
He didnt understand. He loved her, but he didnt see the poison in his mothers wordsonly her tragedy.
By Saturday, the breaking point came. Returning home, Katherine overheard Margaret on the terrace with a strangerthe decorator.
*”an alpine rockery here. These old-fashioned roses must go. A lawnopen, airy!”*
Something inside Katherine snapped. Silently. Finally.
This was *her* garden. Every rose planted, every path designed. And theyd decided its fate without her.
*Enough.*
She didnt confront them. Just turned, drove away, and called an estate agent. *”Oliver, I need a flat. VIP rental. Immediate.”*
Three hours later, she returned. David was home; tense voices filled the kitchen. She laid keys and a contract on the table.
*”Good evening. Margaret, Rachel. Glad youve time to redesign *my* garden.”*
Rachel flushed. Margaret straightened. *”Just sharing ideas, dear. For everyones benefit.”*
*”Of course,”* Katherine said, turning to David. *”Ive solved Mums discomfort. Shes rightshe needs her own place.”*
She opened the contract. *”A new-build flat. Ten minutes away. Spacious, bright. Well view it tomorrow.”*
Silence. Then Margaret paled. *”Youre throwing me out?”*
*”Giving you freedom,”* Katherine smiled coldly. *”From my curtains, my spices, my roses. Decorate as you likeour treat.”*
A flawless move. Refusing would admit it was never about comfortonly control.
David tried laughing it off. Margaret understood. *”Youll let her do this? To your own mother?”*
*”Its my home too,”* Katherine said. *”And Im offering better.”*
That evening, David pleaded for compromise. Katherine packed Margarets things.
*”This was too harsh. We couldve talked.”*
*”I did,”* she said, meeting his eyes. *”For twenty years. You didnt hear. To you, it was curtains and jars. To memy life, trampled daily.”*
She faced the window, her garden beyond. *”Twenty years, David. Twenty years of her calling me worthless. I worked. I built this house to prove her wrong. And she came to take that too. I wont fight her. Ive just removed her from the battlefield. Now choose.”*
His silence said it all.
The move took three days. Margaret never spoke, only glared.
Two months later, the air at home lightened. Katherine hummed while cooking. They laughed more. The castle was no longer a fortressjust home.
They visited Margaret weekly. Her flat was pristine, beige-curtained. No cosiness. Only sterile order. She spoke to David, ignored Katherine.
One day, overhearing Margaret complain about a broken tap (*”The council said wait three days! Your father wouldve fixed it in a second!”*), Katherine understood.
It was never about her. Only control. Margaret, powerless, had tried ruling Katherines world instead.
But Katherine wasnt that girl from the rented flat anymore.
*”Well call a plumber, Margaret,”* she said calmly. *”Dont worry.”*
No gloating. No pity. Just clarity
