“If I’m the villain in your mother’s eyes, then let her live as she pleases. I won’t lift a finger for her again!”
Emily had always bitten her tongue when it came to Margaret. Her mother-in-law visited their London flat two or three times a week, and each visit was a fresh ordeal. The September days grew shorter, and Emilys patience wore thinner.
Margaret adored hosting. Shed arrive with bags of groceries, take over the kitchen, and cook enough for a small armyalways inviting neighbours, acquaintances, and sometimes total strangers.
“Now this is what I call hospitality!” Margaret would declare, arranging plates with a flourish. “Not like some people who cant even brew a proper cup of tea.”
Emily clenched her jaw and kept slicing bread. Margaret never named names, but everyone knew who she meant.
At the table, Margaret became a performer. Her eyes gleamed, her voice turned theatrical, and the show began.
“My nephews wifenow theres a gem!” Margaret would exclaim, hands fluttering dramatically. “Charlottes so talented! You should see her embroiderylike proper art! And she knits, sews, keeps their garden immaculate. Jams, chutneystheir homes a picture!”
The guests would nod approvingly while Emilys cheeks burned. Her husband, James, sat glued to his phone, pretending not to hear.
“And my cousins wife, Sophiesuch a sweetheart,” Margaret continued. “So respectful, never a cross word. Her mother-in-laws treated like royalty. Helps with everything, asks advice on the smallest things. Now thats proper upbringing!”
One neighbour turned to Emily. “What about you, dear? Any hobbies?”
Emily opened her mouth, but Margaret cut in.
“Oh, why bother asking?” Her tone dripped with mock innocence. “Our Emilys a modern woman. Office job, glued to a computer. No time for homemaking. Quite used to having things done for her.”
“Im a retail manager,” Emily said tightly.
“Oh yes, a manager,” Margaret nodded sagely. “And who does everything at home? My poor James comes back from work to cook and clean. Spoiled rotten, our daughter-in-law.”
Emilys jaw ached from clenching it. James didnt even look up.
After the guests left, Margaret cornered Emily with a saccharine smile.
“Emily, darling, would you mind taking me to the clinic tomorrow? Just to collect some test results. Id hate to go alone.”
“Of course,” Emily lied, though she had a client meeting.
“Oh, you angel! James is so busy, and your jobs so flexible.”
Emily wanted to argue but stayed silent. Easier to avoid a scene.
The next week, Margaret was back with another favour.
“Emily, love, could you pop to the chemist? The doctors prescribed new pills, and Im hopeless with these names.”
“Fine,” Emily muttered.
“And while youre out, the supermarket? I need washing powder and cereal. Cant carry heavy things with my back.”
Emily spent half a day hunting down prescriptions, then queued at Tesco. She returned exhausted.
“Howd it go?” James asked, eyes on the telly.
“Fine,” she snapped.
Days later, Margaret arrived with relatives in tow.
“Meet my daughter-in-law, Emily,” she announced. “And this is my sister-in-law, Patricia, and her daughter, Lucy.”
Lucy, Emilys age, surveyed the flat with a smirk.
“Heard you work in an office?”
“Yes, retail.”
“How fascinating!” Lucy gushed. “Im a stay-at-home mumthree little ones. The eldest plays violin. Such a prodigy!”
Margaret beamed. “Now thats a proper woman! Home, children, supporting her husband. Not gallivanting about offices.”
Emilys face burned.
Patricia chimed in. “Lucys so capable! Cooks, sews, even grows her own veg. Her husband says its paradise.”
Margaret turned to Emily. “Take notes, dear. Maybe James would stay home more if you tried harder.”
Emily froze. Jamess recent absences were private. How did Margaret know?
“Is James often out?” Patricia asked.
“He works late,” Emily said stiffly.
“Can you blame him?” Margaret sighed. “Empty fridge, wife always working. Any man would seek comfort elsewhere.”
Lucy tutted. “A man needs pampering. Home-cooked meals, a tidy house. My husband refuses business tripssays nothing beats home.”
An hour later, Emily snapped.
“James, did you hear your mother?”
“Whats the fuss? Just women chatting.”
“She humiliated me!”
“Dont be dramatic. Mum just shared examples.”
“So you agree Im a terrible wife?”
“I didnt say that. But maybe prioritise home more.”
“Who cooks? Cleans?”
“We take turns.”
“Turns? You microwaved pizza last week!”
James scowled. “No need to shout.”
“Im tired! Tired of your mothers jabs and your silence!”
“Mums not criticising. Just advising.”
Emily stormed off.
Next day, Margaret called.
“Emily, darling, could you fetch a special cream? Only Boots in Chelsea stocks it.”
Emily checked her watch. A meeting in three hours.
“Margaret, I cant today”
“Oh, it wont take long! My skins unbearable!”
Trapped in traffic, Emily missed her meeting and got a warning.
James shrugged that evening. “One late day wont kill you. Mum needed help.”
“And if Im sacked?”
“Youll find another job.”
Emily stared, stunned.
A week later, Margaret hosted again, comparing Emily to “perfect” daughters-in-law.
“My nephews wife holidays with her in-laws, buys gifts! Like a real daughter!” She eyed Emily. “Some think marriage means ignoring their husbands family.”
“Margaret,” Emily said coldly, “if youve issues, say them outright.”
Margaret feigned shock. “Im merely observing how some treat elders.”
Afterward, as Emily washed up, Margaret sidled up.
“Tell me, Emilyare you good for anything?”
A plate shattered.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing,” Margaret said lightly. “Just wondering what skills you have beyond typing.”
Emilys hands shook as she picked up shards.
“If Im the villain in your mothers story, let her fend for herself. Im done being her servant!”
Silence. Margaret gaped. James finally looked up.
“Emily, whats got into you? Mum meant no harm!”
“No harm? She just asked what Im good for!”
Margaret recovered fast. “You misunderstood! Id never insult you!”
“Then why call me spoiled? Useless? Why compare me for months?”
James sighed. “Fine, Mum wont comment. Right, Mum?”
“Of course!” Margaret simpered. “I didnt realise you were so sensitive.”
“Sensitive? I want respect in my own home!”
A week later, Margaret called again.
“Emily, dear, could you nip to Sainsburys?”
“No.”
“What?”
“No. Ask Charlotte or Sophie. You adore them.”
She hung up. James called, furious.
“Youve gone too far! Mums in tears!”
“Her choice.”
“Emily, shes elderly! You owe her respect!”
“Respect goes both ways. She gave none; I owe none.”
“She treats you like family!”
“Families dont call each other useless.”
“Drop it! Youre fetching Mums shopping tomorrow!”
“Try making me.”
She blocked him.
Next day, Margaret arrived red-eyed.
“James, control your wife! Shes vile to me!”
“Mum, calm down. Emilys just stressed”
“Stressed! My joints ache, my pressures sky-high, and she refuses to lift a finger!”
“Emily, apologise,” James demanded.
“For what?”
“Rudeness. Refusing to help.”
“No.”
Margaret wailed. “See how she is? No manners!”
“Emily, Im serious. Apologise.”
“You firstfor letting your mother insult me.”
James flushed. “Pack your things. Go to your parents till youve sense.”
Emily smiled. “Brilliant idea. But youre leaving.”
She fetched his suitcase.
Margaret shrieked. “This is our home!”
“No. Its mine. Grandma left it to me. Youre a guest. Out.”
James spluttered. “But were married!”
“Husbands defend their wives.”
Margaret wailed about disrespect. Emily called the police.
Two officers arrived.
“These people wont leave my home.”
The senior officer checked Emilys deed.
“Youre the owner. Theyll leave.”
Margaret clutched her chest. “My own son, thrown out!”
“Maam, youre not
