Did you really say that? I asked, my voice shaking. Grace stared at me, her eyes wide, as if shed thought shed heard something else. Max let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand across his face, as though trying to wipe the fatigue away.
My mum sold the little cottage up in the country, he repeated more quietly. She only has enough from the sale to cover part of her flat. Shell be moving in with us for a while until she figures out what to do next.
I froze, mug still in my hand, the coffee cooling unnoticed. One thought thumped in my head: how could she possibly move into our tiny twobed flat? Into the little loft we share?
Max, you remember were renting a flat, right? We only have the lounge and that cramped bedroom left free, I said, trying to keep my tone even.
Max turned to me sharply, his face tight, his eyes holding a sort of resigned pleading.
And what am I supposed to do? Throw her out onto the street?
I set the mug down on the table.
Im not talking about that at all. We just need to sort out how to make it work. Its not a weeklong thing, is it?
He started babbling, a flicker of hope slipping through his words.
For three or four months at most. Shell sort something out and well be clear.
I fell silent, remembering how my motherinlaw always found something to criticise the soup too bland, the dress too short, the job not respectable enough. Now shed be under the same roof as us.
Max stepped closer and took my hands. His fingers were cold.
Grace, think about it. Shes my mother. I cant just leave her in that mess.
I looked into his eyes and saw a desperate plea, almost hopeless. I nodded, even though every part of me was screaming against the decision.
Fine, I exhaled. But no more than four months. Agreed?
Agreed, he said, relief evident in his nod.
Three days later Margaret Evans shuffled into our flat with three massive suitcases and two duffel bags. The moment she crossed the threshold she glanced around, pursed her lips as if tasting something sour.
This flat is tiny, and its rather gloomy in here, she muttered.
Max hurriedly grabbed the suitcases, trying to smooth over the awkwardness.
Mum, youll sleep in the bedroom. Grace and I will take the sofa. Itll be fine.
I stood in the doorway, stunned. Hed decided without consulting me, handing over our bedroom without a word.
Max, maybe we should discuss this? I asked quietly as she disappeared to unpack in the spare room.
He waved his hand lazily, not even meeting my gaze.
Grace, whats there to discuss? Mum cant sleep on the sofa; her back aches. Well manage for a bit, its only temporary.
I nodded silently and started pulling out the bedding. A knot of anxiety grew inside me, but I pushed it away. Just a few months, I told myself, and shed find somewhere else.
But Margaret seemed determined to test my patience. Every morning she launched a barrage of complaints, as if they spilled from an endless horn.
The porridge isnt right, shed say, frowning at the bowl. It should be fluffier. Add more milk, a pinch more sugar.
I clenched my teeth and ate my breakfast in silence. It was my husbands mother, after all. I forced myself to repeat, like a mantra, that Id endure.
One evening she leafed through a magazine and, without even looking up, asked, Are you still working as a marketer? Thats a strange job. A accountant or a teacher makes sense; what does a marketer even do?
I answered calmly, I develop promotional strategies, help companies boost sales and attract customers.
She smirked. Well, as long as its useful somehow.
I pressed my fists under the table until my nails dug into my palms, repeating to myself that a couple of months and shed move out. I needed to hold on.
When the rent was due, Max lowered his eyes and muttered apologetically, Grace, I cant pay my share this month. I gave my salary to Mum; she needs the money more.
I froze, slowly setting my phone down. She still has the money from the house sale.
He stared at the floor, avoiding my gaze. She doesnt want to spend it. Its for her future home, you know?
I nodded and covered the whole rent from my own wages. I could afford it, but the bitterness lingered like a bad taste.
The next month was worse. Max contributed nothing. Food vanished twice as fast Mum ate a lot and was picky, constantly asking for pricier cottage cheese, yogurts, and other bits. Cleaning supplies disappeared at a terrifying rate.
I lugged heavy bags from the shop myself, while Max never offered a hand, busy attending to his mother, driving her anywhere she wanted.
When the month ended, we sat down to dinner three of us: Grace, Max, and Margaret. The borscht on the stove was already under fire from her for lacking herbs and garlic.
I set my spoon down, took a deep breath.
Max, we have to pay the rent tomorrow.
He tensed. I saw the muscles in his cheeks tighten.
No money, he said.
Anger flared inside me.
How can there be no money? Thats the second month in a row, Max!
Margaret scowled. Why are you nagging? Why are you demanding money from him?
My patience snapped like a stretched rope.
Im demanding because Im fed up paying everything alone! Rent, bills, groceries all on me! Three people live here, and Im carrying the load by myself! By myself!
Margaret leapt from her seat, her face flushing.
You should understand my situation! Im in a tight spot!
You have the money! I snapped back, standing up. Buy a room elsewhere and live peacefully! Stop leeching off us!
I need a proper flat, not a cramped room! she shouted, her face turning beetred. And you could take a loan to cover the shortfall! Youre young, healthy, you both work!
I stood frozen, the world tilting. I glanced at Max, who stared at the floor, silent, not daring to argue with his mother.
Did you talk to your mum about this? I asked.
He nodded without looking up, not even trying to lie.
Everything fell into place, like the final piece of a puzzle. Theyd been biding their time, waiting to hang a loan on my shoulders too to make her pay everything and then pile debt on us, all while she never once thanked anyone.
Ive had enough! I shouted, gathering my things into a suitcase. A fire roared inside me, but I kept filling the bag.
Max lunged after me, trying to grab my hand. Grace, wait. We need to talk!
I pulled free. Let me go. I have nothing left to say to you.
You know my mum really needs help right now! he pleaded.
I turned to him, my stare making him step back involuntarily. Your mum needs the money, not me! Youre ready to wreck our future for her!
I slammed the suitcase shut, grabbed my coat, and headed for the door. Margaret stood in the doorway, looking victorious, as if shed just won a prize.
Well, good luck leaving, she said coldly. Max needs a proper wife who understands, not a selfish one.
I passed her without a word, reached the staircase, and breathed deeply.
My mother popped up the stairs, no questions, just an arm around my shoulders, ushering me into her bedroom.
Rest, love, she whispered. Well talk in the morning if you want.
The next day I filed for divorce. Max called, texted, begged me to come back, promising things would change, that his mum would move out, that hed finally get it.
But I saw the truth: there was no future with him. Hed chosen his mother and her endless demands over me, over us.
The divorce went through quickly. In the final hearing Max looked exhausted, his voice barely a whisper.
Im sorry, he said.
I nodded, left the courtroom, and walked out onto the street. A lightness settled over me, as if a heavy weight had lifted, letting me breathe again.
I was free from Max and from his mother. And for the first time in ages, I could start living for myself, not for anyone else.
