“You took my son from me, and I’ll take everything from you,” said the mother-in-law.
“Milly, why are you up so early?” asked Evelyn, peering out from her bedroom. “It’s half six in the morning.”
“I’ve got an early meeting at work,” Milly replied, hastily shoving papers into her bag. “Emergency briefing.”
Evelyn shuffled into the kitchen in her slippers and immediately started clattering dishes. Milly tried to sneak past, but not a chance.
“What about breakfast? My boy cant go to work on an empty stomach?”
“Oliver is a grown manhe can make his own breakfast,” Milly said, pulling on her jacket and hunting for her keys.
“Oh, is that so?” Evelyn turned to face her fully. “In my day, wives knew their duties. A woman looked after her husband.”
Milly took a deep breath. This exact conversation happened every morning, ever since Evelyn had moved in with them after her illness. Six months in, and she still hadnt adjusted to the constant scrutiny and nitpicking.
“Evelyn, Oliver and I decide these things together. Were a partnership.”
“Partnership!” Evelyn scoffed. “Under my roof, my boy never missed a meal. Now look at himskin and bones!”
Milly bit her tongue. Oliver was thirty, hardly a boy, but arguing with Evelyn was like shouting into the wind.
“Right, Im late. Olivers still asleepwake him at eight?”
“Oh, Ill wake him, dont you worry. I know *my* responsibilities, unlike some.”
At work, Milly couldnt focus. Her colleague Emily clocked her distracted expression by lunch.
“You alright? You look knackered,” she said, sliding into the chair opposite with a coffee.
“Same old. Mother-in-law issues. Every day its somethingI dont cook right, dont clean right, dont talk to Oliver right.”
“And he doesnt stick up for you?”
Milly gave a bitter laugh.
“Hardly. His mums practically a saint to him. Says shes been ill, shes fragile, we have to be understanding.”
“Right. So how much longer is she staying?”
“No idea. Doctors say shes fine on her own, but Olivers terrified somethingll happen if she leaves.”
Emily shook her head sympathetically.
“Rough deal, Mills. I cant stand mine, and she doesnt even live with me.”
That evening, Milly returned home tired and hungry. The flat smelled of roast beef and mash. Oliver was sprawled on the sofa with a plate, glued to a nature documentary.
“Hey love,” he said, not looking up. “How was work?”
“Fine. Whats for dinner?”
“Mum made roast beefproper lush. Theres some left in the kitchen.”
Milly walked in to find Evelyn scrubbing dishes.
“Evening, Evelyn.”
“Evening,” came the clipped reply, back still turned.
Milly lifted the lid on the pan. One sad slice of beef and a spoonful of mash sat inside.
“Is this it?”
“Problem?” Evelyn finally faced her. “Thought you were watching your figure. Always moaning about your jeans being tight.”
“I dont moan! I just said theyre snug sometimes.”
“Well then. Just looking out for you.”
Milly carried her plate to the living room. Oliver was engrossed in whales breaching.
“Ol, can we talk?”
“Course. Whats up?”
“Go look at how much food your mum left me.”
With a sigh, Oliver trudged to the kitchen and returned.
“So? Decent portion.”
“Decent for a sparrow, maybe. Oliver, Ive worked all dayIm starvingand I get one slice?”
“Mum!” he called toward the kitchen. “Whys there hardly any food?”
“Lovie, I thought Milly wasnt that hungry. Shes always on about diets.”
“See?” Oliver turned back. “Mum was trying to help.”
Milly felt something boil inside her.
“Oliver, your mum *deliberately* leaves me scraps. Every. Single. Day.”
“Dont be daft. Mums lovely.”
“Lovely *to you*. To me, she treats me like hired help who isnt up to standard.”
A loud sniffle came from the kitchen. Oliver shot up.
“Now youve upset her! Shes not well!”
“And Im some kind of superhero?”
But he was already off to console Evelyn. Milly sat alone with her cold beef.
Later, the kitchen quieted. Oliver returned, sheepish.
“Sorry, Mills. Mums really fragile. Says she feels like a burden.”
“Good. She *is*.”
“Milly!”
“What? Were a young couplewere supposed to have our own life. Instead, were under constant surveillance.”
“Shes not *spying*, she cares!”
“Cares? She critiques how I *breathe*! My laundrys wrong, my cookings wrong, my *tone* is wrong.”
Oliver sat beside her.
“Look, just hang in there a bit longer. Shell settle. Then well find her a nice flat nearby.”
“When?”
“Dunno. But we will, promise.”
Next day, Milly left work early to make dinner herself. She bought ingredients, hoping for a peaceful evening.
But as she opened the door, Evelyns voice carried:
“Yes, Lovie, I get your wifes young. But my patience isnt endless.”
Milly froze in the hall. Oliver murmured somethingshe caught:
“Mum, dont say that. Millys great.”
“Great, but not for you. Look how thin youve got! And that temper of hersnever happy, always complaining.”
“Millys just tired from work.”
“Work, work! What about *home*? Priorities all wrong. Honestly, Lovie, I wonder if you rushed into this.”
A chill ran down Millys spine. She quietly toed off her shoes and walked into the kitchen.
“Evening,” she said, steady.
“Ooh, Millie, didnt hear you!” Evelyn didnt even pretend to be flustered. “Work alright?”
“Fine. Thought Id cook tonight.”
“No need, Ive done beef stewyour *favourite*,” she said to Oliver.
“Ta, Mum. That alright, Mills?”
“Perfect,” Milly lied.
Dinner was stilted. Oliver chatted about work, Evelyn oohed and aahed, and Milly ate silently. The stew *was* good.
“Millie, any weekend plans?” Evelyn asked suddenly.
“Not really. Why?”
“I need Ollie to take me to the GP. Some tests.”
“Course, Mum. Sorted.”
“Good. Was worried your wife had dibs on him.”
The faintest smirk laced Evelyns voice. Milly looked up, meeting her eyes. Triumph glittered there.
After dinner, Milly feigned a headache and retreated to bed. She stared at the ceiling. Evelyn had declared war. And Oliver was oblivious to his mothers campaign.
He came in late, as she drifted off.
“Hows the head?” he asked, perching on the bed.
“Better.”
“Mills… Mums been acting odd.”
“How?”
“Just… saying stuff. One minute shes uncomfortable here, next she wont leave.”
Milly propped herself up.
“Like what?”
“Today she said… she worries our marriage was a mistake.”
“And you said?”
“That we love each other and can handle anything.”
“Oliver, your mum *hates* me. Shes trying to split us up.”
“Dont be ridiculous. Shes just protective.”
“She wants me *gone*.”
“Milly, youre overreacting. Mum says daft things sometimes, but shes not malicious.”
“If you believe that, watch her tomorrow. *Properly*.”
Next day, Oliver worked from home. Milly asked him to observe his mother.
That evening, his face said it all.
“Well?” she asked once they were alone.
Oliver exhaled hard.
“You were right. Mums… off.”
“What happened?”
“She spent all day slagging you off. Said youre messy, rude to me… Then outright said I shouldnt have married you.”
“And you said?”
“That I love you and wont let anyone interfere.”
“And she?”
A pause.
“She cried. Said Id chosen a wife over my own mother.”
“Classic guilt trip.”
“Milly, shes *ill*. Surgery messed with her head.”
“Oliver, how long do we excuse her behaviour with *illness*? Shes *actively* trying to break us up!”
“Alright, Ill talk to her. Tell her shes out of order.”
Next morning, raised voices woke Milly. Oliver and Evelyn were arguing.
“Son, you dont see what shes *really* like!”
“Mum, *stop*! Millys my wifeyou *will* respect her.”
“Respect? For *what*? Turning you against me?”
Milly got up and hovered at the kitchen door.
Evelyn stood red-faced. Oliver had his head in his hands.
“You took my son, and Ill take everything from you,” Evelyn spat, spotting Milly.
“Mum!” Oliver yelped.
“Take *what*?” Milly asked calmly.
“Youll see. Think I dont know how to handle your sort? Forty years Ive seen women like you. I know every weak spot.”
“Are you *threatening* me?”
“Warning you. My son lives how *I* say. Cross me, and youll regret it.”
“Mum, what the *hell*?” Oliver stood. “How can you talk to my wife like that?”
“How does *she* talk to *me*? Think I dont see her sneers? Her whinging about me?”
“Oliver, I never”
“*Quiet*!” Evelyn cut in. “Youre *blind*, son. Cant see what this girls doing to our family.”
Millys patience snapped.
“Evelyn, I didnt *take* anyone. Oliver *chose* me. If you dont like it, move back to *your* flat.”
“Oh-ho!” Evelyn drew herself up. “Kicking out a sick woman from her sons home!”
“Im not *kicking* you out. Im suggesting we *all* live our own lives.”
“Millys right, Mum,” Oliver said quietly. “Maybe it *is* time you moved out.”
Evelyn looked at him like hed stabbed her.
“So. Thats it,” she hissed. “You choose *her*.”
“I chose my *wife* when I married her. Ill always love *you* as my mum.”
“Fine. Lets see how you feel when she *leaves* you.”
“Mum, whats *that* supposed to mean?”
But Evelyn stormed out, slamming the door.
Oliver and Milly stood in silence. He rubbed his temples.
“Christ, Mills. Didnt think shed go this far.”
“Oliver, your mum *hates* me. I think shell actually *do* something.”
“Like what? Shes all talk.”
Milly hugged herself.
“I dont know. But that look in her eyes… That was *real*.”
Oliver pulled her close.
“She wont do anything. I wont let her.”
But Milly knewthis was just the beginning. Evelyn had declared war, and she wouldnt back down.
At lunch, her friend Jess called.
“Mills, did you know your mother-in-law rang *my* mum?”
“*What?* Why?”
“Asked all sorts about you. School, exes, if you ever had problemsher words.”
Millys skin prickled.
“Whatd your mum say?”
“Just that you were normal. But *whys* she asking?”
“Dunno. Nosy, I guess.”
But Milly knewEvelyn was digging for dirt. Anything to use against her.
That evening, the flat was tense. Evelyn ignored Milly, lavishing Oliver with sickly-sweet attention.
“Lovie, made your favourite pie,” she cooed. “Eat up, darling.”
“Cheers, Mum. Proper lush.”
“And *you*, Milliesteamed veg. Watching that waistline.”
Milly stared at her plate. A sad pile of unseasoned broccoli.
“Thanks, but Im not dieting.”
“Oh, come off it. Girls your age are *always* dieting.”
Over dinner, Evelyn prattled about neighbour gossip. Milly tuned outuntil she heard:
“Linda from number twelve says her daughter-in-law came home drunk again. *Hit* her husband! Can you imagine?”
“Awful,” Oliver agreed.
“Thank *goodness* my boy knows how to pick a *proper* girl.”
Milly locked eyes with Evelyn. The message was clear: *I can say anything about you.*
After dinner, Oliver showered while Milly cleared up. Evelyn sidled up behind her.
“You know, Millie, I spoke to your old schoolmate today. *Fascinating* things I heard.”
“Who?”
“Lucy Carter. Told me all about your Year 11 prom. How you got *wasted* and snogged some boy behind the sports hall.”
Milly turned.
“And?”
“And my boy thinks he married Little Miss Perfect. Funny, that.”
“Evelyn, I was *seventeen*. Whats your point?”
“No point. Just… Oliver doesnt know. *Might* not ever… depends on you.”
“Is that a *threat*?”
“An *opportunity*. Leave now, before I tell him what you *really* are.”
“And whats that?”
Evelyn leaned in.
“A *slut* who trapped my boy. Think I didnt know you slept together before marriage? Think I dont see how you *manipulate* him?”
Milly stepped back.
“Youre *sick*.”
“Sick, but not *stupid*. Ive seen your type. Pretty, cunning. Suck men dry.”
“I *work*. I pay my own way.”
“For *now*. Have kids, quit work, and youll leech off my son *like the rest*.”
Oliver walked in.
“Girls chat?”
“Oh, just work talk,” Evelyn trilled, sweetness instant.
That night, Milly lay awake. Evelyn had fired the first shot. And shed play *dirty* to win.
Milly knew she should tell Oliver everything. But would he believe her? To him, his mother was a saintand wives? Replaceable.
Tomorrow would bring fresh attacks. And right now, Milly felt like she was losing a war shed never signed up to fight.
