15April2025
Dear Diary,
This morning began with a clash that still rattles in my head. Emily burst into the hallway, her boots thudding against the floor as she stared at the open wardrobe door. Did you put my boots on again? she snapped. I told you not to touch my things!
My motherinlaw, Margaret, was polishing a silk scarf in front of the mirror. Darling, its pouring outside and I only have these fancy party shoes. Isnt it a bother to keep them safe? she replied, a hint of a patronising smile curving her lips.
Emily crossed her arms, irritation rising. It isnt about the shoes. Its about respecting my space. I dont wander into your room and I dont take your stuff.
Margaret pursed her lips, giving Emily the regal stare she halfcalls the queens gaze a slow sweep from above, eyes narrowed, a condescending grin. We were a lot more tolerant back in our day, she murmured. Eight people crammed into one room and nobody complained about personal space.
Emily muttered, Maybe you didnt mind then, but times have changed.
Margaret leaned forward as if she hadnt heard. Speak up, love. Im not a spring chicken any more.
I inhaled sharply, trying to stay calm. Living with Margaret for the past three months has been a trial. We had to give up the flat wed been renting to cover the mortgage on the new house, and while the build drags on were squeezed into her twobedroom flat in Manchester.
Emily forced a smile and said, Im off to the shop to buy you a pair of rubber boots, so you wont have to suffer.
Oh, no need! Margaret waved her hands. My shoe cupboard is already bursting. Better get yourself a pair, not my problem.
The word my lingered in Emilys mind not old or everyday but truly my. It underlined whose choice it was to share or not.
Alright, Margaret, Emily replied, Ill head to work now. Late meeting.
Margaret shook her head. Again? James will come home tired and hungry, and his wife will be nowhere.
Emily shrugged into her coat. James can heat his own dinner, she said. Everythings already in the fridge.
Stepping out, the damp spring air hit my face. The rain had stopped, but the slushy snow underfoot turned to a grey mush. I thought, She really does need those boots, as I walked to the bus stop.
At the office, the day crawled. Im a graphic designer at a printing firm, usually lost in my screens. Today, however, my mind kept looping back to the mornings argument, the missing box of expensive tea, and the time Margaret accidentally boiled my favourite sweater.
During lunch, my colleague Natasha slid into the seat opposite me. You look on edge today. Motherinlaw trouble again?
Just the usual petty things, I shrugged. Its adding up.
What about James? she asked.
James loves his mum, I get that. He tries to stay neutral.
Neutral wont last, Natasha warned. Soon hell have to pick a side, and itll be better if hes on your side.
I sighed. I remembered a friend whod split after five years because her husband always sided with his mother.
Well manage, I told myself. The new house should be finished soon, and things will settle.
Evening came, and I decided to surprise Emily with ingredients for her favourite carrot cake a Saturday treat. The flat was quiet, only the kitchen light glowing. I slipped into the kitchen and froze at the doorway. Margaret was at the table, happily tucking into a casserole Id made for breakfast, a dish meant for three.
Emily! Back already? Margaret exclaimed, startled. I thought youd be later.
The meeting was cancelled, I said, eyeing the almost empty casserole dish. Wheres James?
Hes out with friends, said not to wait, Margaret shrugged. I thought Id have a bite. Storebought chicken didnt appeal, so I tried your casserole. Its tasty, by the way!
I placed the grocery bags on the table, feeling the weight of another early morning to bake a new breakfast. I told Margaret, That casserole was meant for breakfast, for everyone.
She flapped her hands apologetically. Sorry, dear! I thought it was just sitting there. Ill cook something else tomorrow. Youre a star in the kitchen!
I clenched my jaw. Margaret knew the casserole was for breakfast Id mentioned it at dinner the night before when we were planning the weekend menu.
Fine, I muttered. Ill change.
While unpacking, I realised the chocolate for the cake was missing. I asked Margaret again, Did you see the chocolate? It should have been in the bag.
She gave a guilty smile. Oops, I took one bar for my tea. Thought you wouldnt notice.
A surge of anger rose, but it wasnt about the chocolate. It was about the constant, unaskedfor intrusions, the disregard for my boundaries.
Just buy another tomorrow, she said nonchalantly. The shops across the road.
I nodded, suppressing the sting. I didnt want a scene; what would it achieve? Margaret would simply pretend not to understand the issue.
James arrived home late, finding me lounging with a book.
Hey sunshine, he kissed me. How was your day?
Okay, I replied. And yours?
Great! Met the lads, had a pint at the pub. Long time since weve done that.
I hesitated, unsure whether to bring up the eaten casserole and the missing chocolate. I didnt want to seem petty.
Is Mum still up? James asked, pulling his sweater over his head.
No, shes in her room watching TV.
Ill pop in to say hello, he said, heading out.
Through the thin wall I heard Margarets muffled laughter. I wondered if shed told James about the casserole, probably embellishing the story to look better.
James returned about twenty minutes later, relaxed.
Your mum ate the casserole, he said, slipping under the covers. She says its fingerlicking good.
Yes, I know, I replied dryly. It was for breakfast.
What now? he asked. Make something else. At least Mum liked your cooking.
I turned to him, my patience fraying. James, it isnt about the casserole. Its about your mum constantly taking my things without asking, eating food I set aside for special occasions, ignoring my opinions.
He waved a hand. Come on, its just a casserole. Mum was hungry.
The chocolate for your cake? She just took it.
What chocolate? he asked, frowning.
I bought it for your surprise cake tomorrow. Your mum ate it just because.
He sounded irritated. Did she regret it?
No, its not about the chocolate, tears prickling my eyes. She does this to test my limits, to prove who runs the house.
Its nonsense, James snapped, sitting up. Youre overreacting. She just wanted a bite.
Its not a bite, I snapped back, counting the incidents yesterdays tea, the day before that my boots, today the casserole and chocolate. She always takes my stuff without asking.
James stared at me, bewildered.
Are you serious? Youre turning everything into a mine vs. hers battle? Were a family!
Family means respecting each others boundaries, I said quietly. It means asking before you take something, not just assuming its yours.
He laughed harshly. You should be grateful my mum eats your food. Its a compliment to your cooking!
I stared at him, mouth open. A compliment? So if I prepare dinner and your mum devours it while were not there, thats a compliment? Not a violation?
He shrugged, pulling the blanket over himself. Im exhausted. Ive had a hard day. Lets drop this.
He got up, plopped onto the sofa, and announced hed sleep there, as he had to get up early. Goodnight.
I was left alone, tears finally spilling. I hadnt expected him to side with his mother so readily, without even trying to understand my feelings.
The next morning the smell of pancakes filled the kitchen. Margaret was bustling about, and James sat at the table with a grin, as if yesterdays argument never happened.
Morning, love, he said, offering me a seat. Mum wanted to treat us.
I hesitated, then took a fork. Just coffee for me, thanks.
Not hungry? Margaret exclaimed, waving a spatula. Ive made eggs too. Dont be rude.
James watched me, waiting for my reaction. Refusing the food felt like declaring war.
I ate a few bites, feeling the house no longer felt like my home.
After breakfast, when Margaret left for the shop, I finally sat James down on the sofa.
James, we need to talk about your mum, I began. Im not against her, Im against the lack of respect for my space.
He sighed. Shes my mother. Shes used to running the household. Give it time; well move into the new place soon.
What if she still comes over and keeps taking my things? I asked.
He avoided my eyes. Shell visit now and then. Shes my mum, after all.
Do you see the problem? I pressed. Im not asking you to choose sides, just to recognise my boundaries.
He replied, Sharing is part of being a family.
Sharing with consent, not with assumption, I clarified.
He seemed stuck, unable to grasp why I felt so cornered.
Im going to stay at Natashas cottage for the weekend, I said finally. I need space to think.
What? Over a casserole? he asked, surprised.
Its not the casserole, I said, shaking my head. Its that you wont listen to me.
He asked, What should I tell my mum?
The truth, I answered. That Ive left to consider our future and that you should think too.
I walked out with my bag, feeling an odd lightness. Maybe the decision was impulsive, but it felt right. Sometimes you have to step back to see the whole picture.
The phone buzzed with a text from Natasha confirming the key to the cottage was with a neighbour. I inhaled the crisp spring air, ready for a quiet weekend to sort my thoughts.
Tonight, as I write this, I realise that a family isnt about sacrificing yourself for others; its about mutual respect and acknowledging each persons feelings, even over something as small as a breakfast casserole.
Lesson learned: love thrives when boundaries are honoured, not when theyre silently trampled.
