Youll always be living in a rented flat, dear, Evelyn Grayson chided, her voice as heavy as the velvet drapes that lined the windows drapes she detested. And now youre squatting in a room in my manor.
Can we change the curtains? Emily Whitaker asked, her tone as thick as the plush fabric that clung to the walls. This colour feels oppressive. It makes the room look gloomy.
Emily surveyed the room. She had chosen the deep burgundy velvet herself, a rich fabric that matched the light walls and the antique sideboard a tiny triumph of her own interiordesign ambitions.
You dont like it? Evelyn prompted.
Oh, my dear, you know what they say about a gift horse Im merely offering my opinion. After all, I have a right to my own thoughts in my sons house, dont I?
Emily stared at her motherinlaw, arms folded, a faint smirk playing on her lips as she took in the space. This was the very room she and David had handed over to Evelyn in their new home their castle, as David liked to joke, looking out over the turrets Emily had dreamed of as a child.
Of course, MrsGrayson, David said.
Good, because I was halfexpecting youd make me file a report just to breathe here.
Twenty years had slipped by, and nothing essential had changed; only the décor had. What was once a cramped studio with floral wallpaper had become a spacious house, every square foot a testament to the hard work Emily and David had put in together.
I just want a bit of cosy, Emily murmured, running a finger along the polished sideboard. Theres dust. It needs a wipe. But youre not used to that, are you? You and David have been making a home out of other peoples corners for ages.
A strange tightening rippled through her, not painful but familiar, like the phantom ache of a longlost limb. She remembered.
She recalled the day they moved into their first flat: tiny, on the edge of town, with a leaky tap and a squeaky parquet. They were thrilled to bits.
Then Evelyn arrived. She scanned their modest abode, pursed her lips, and delivered a verdict, looking not at David but straight at Emily.
Youre poor and will always drag him down. Remember my words: youll never have anything of your own.
Emily stayed silent. What could she possibly say? She was a twentyyearold, headoverheels in love, convinced that love could move mountains.
And it did at a cost. Twenty years of relentless work, sleepless nights, two engagement rings pledged to a bank, and a risky IT startup that finally took off, allowing them to afford everything. Meanwhile, Evelyn had lost everything: first her husband, then her flat in the city centre, after she put money into a dodgy scheme suggested by a very highstatus lady.
The hunger for quick cash and status left her with nothing.
David says youve given me the finest guest room, Evelyn said, stepping to the window with a view of the garden. Presumably so I can watch you frolic among the roses and not forget your place.
Our place is right here, Emily replied firmly. And yours, too.
My place, dear, was my flat, Evelyn snapped. This is just a temporary shelter, a generous gesture so everyone can see what a good wife my son has. Not a grudging one.
She turned, and in her eyes Emily saw the same cold, poisonous disdain shed glimpsed twenty years ago.
The main thing is your manor doesnt turn out to be a house of cards, Emily. Falling from that height would hurt quite a lot.
Later, at dinner, Evelyn revisited the curtain issue, addressing David only.
David, youve got a new status, your own company. Clients will be coming over. The house must reflect that. These dark rooms give a gloomy impression.
Emily set a salad on the table, her hands steady. Shed learned long ago not to tremble.
Mom, we like it, David said softly. Emily chose everything herself; she has a brilliant eye.
Emilys taste is practical, Evelyn replied, flashing a patronising smile. Shes used to things being cheap and lasting. Thats a good trait for lean times.
But now we can afford a touch of lightness. I know a brilliant decorator who could give us a few tips.
Emily felt the squeeze tightening. Refuse, and shed be called stubborn; agree, and shed be admitting her own taste was worthless.
Ill think about it, she said evenly.
Thinking wont do, love. You need to act before the house becomes too bourgeois.
The next morning Emily entered the kitchen and froze. All her spice jars collected over years from trips abroad and arranged just so had been pushed into a corner. In their place stood Evelyns old teacup set, the only thing shed managed to take from her former life.
I just tidied a bit, Evelyn said from behind her. Your place looks chaotic. A man likes a tidy home; it calms him.
Emily silently gathered her spices and began to put them back.
Dont bother, I could have done it myself.
Of course you could, Evelyn sighed. Youre always doing everything yourself. Strong women make men weak. Youve taken everything on, and David has grown accustomed to that. He needed to feel like the head from the start.
The words landed like a punch to the gut. All those years of coding late into the night, supporting David after failures, hunting investors for their first project all reduced to a single sentence. Apparently, she had been making him weak.
That evening she tried to talk to David. He listened, hugged her, and said, Emily, shes an old lady whos lost everything. She just wants to feel useful. Shes trying to help in the way she knows how. Do those spice jars really matter?
Its not about the jars, David! Its that she devalues everything I am, everything I do!
She just doesnt know you yet, he replied calmly. Give her time. Shell see how wonderful you are.
Emily stepped back, exasperated. He didnt get it. He loved her, stood by her, but he couldnt see the poison seeping from every word his mother uttered. He only saw her tragedy, not her essence.
That night Emily stared out of the bedroom window at her garden. She had planted every rose, designed every path. The house was her fortress, proof that Evelyn was wrong.
But now the enemy was inside, and he wasnt going anywhere. He intended to strip her of this victory, to turn her castle into his own domain.
She realised pleading and compromise were futile. There would be no peaceful life.
The point of no return came on a Saturday. Emily returned from town, and before she even reached the front door, a unfamiliar female voice floated from the terrace, echoing Evelyns enthusiastic tone.
On the terrace, in her favourite chair, a impeccably dressed lady gestured toward the garden.
and here, Fiona, I see a lovely alpine slope. Those oldfashioned roses could be cleared. Lets make a lawn, give it space, give it air!
Emily paused in the shade of an ivycovered arch, unseen, hearing every word.
Brilliant idea, Ally, Fiona, the decorator, replied. The garden needs a bit of London chic. David will love it.
Inside Emily, something cracked not with a bang, but a quiet, final snap. This was her garden, her creation, her sanctuary. They were ripping it apart without asking.
Enough.
She didnt confront them. She simply turned, got into her car, and drove away. No anger, no theatrics, just a clear, cool calculation the same that had saved their business before. She dialled her commercial property agent, Serge, good morning. I need a rental flat immediately. Status: VIP client. Ill send the terms.
Three hours later she returned. David was in the kitchen, midargument. Emily placed a set of keys and a folder on the table.
Good evening, MrsGrayson, Fiona. Im glad youve found the time to discuss my gardens design.
Fiona flushed, while Evelyn sat up straighter.
We were just sharing ideas, love, for the common good, Evelyn said.
Of course, Emily nodded, turning to David. Ive solved the problem.
He looked puzzled. Which problem?
My mothers discomfort. Shes right she needs a place of her own, where she can be the lady of the house without compromising anyones taste.
Emily spread the folder.
Ive arranged a flat for Evelyn in a new development, concierge service, ten minutes from here, spacious, bright, topnotch décor. We can view it tomorrow at ten. Everythings already agreed.
A heavy silence fell. David glanced between his wife and his mother, speechless. Evelyns face went pale.
What does that mean? Youre evicting me?
What youre doing, Emily smiled, a smile that held no warmth, is what youve always wanted freedom. Freedom from my curtains, my spices, my roses. Youll be able to buy any furniture, hire any designer, and create the cosy home youve imagined. All on our dime.
It was a flawless move. She wasnt kicking anyone out; she was giving a gift that came with a condition: accept it, or admit that this was never about comfort, but about power over her domain.
David tried to defuse the tension with a nervous joke, Emily, youre a mastermind. Why make it so complicated? Mum didnt mean it like that.
But Evelyns face hardened. Youll let her treat me like this? Push me out of my own home?
This is my home, Emily said firmly. Im not evicting. Im offering better terms.
The rest of the evening David tried to smooth things over. When Fiona hurried away, he entered the bedroom where Emily was packing Evelyns belongings.
It was too harsh. We could have just talked, he said.
I spoke many times, Emily replied, meeting his gaze. You heard only the curtains and the jars. To me, they were my life, trampled daily, proving I was nothing.
She walked to the window, beyond which her garden faded into dusk.
Twenty years, David. Twenty years of being told I was worthless. I kept quiet, worked, built this house our house to prove I mattered. And she came to snatch it away. I wont let that happen. This house is our fortress, not a battlefield where I have to fight for a breath.
Im not fighting your mother, David said. Im just clearing the line of fire. Its your call now.
He fell silent, and in that silence Emily saw he finally understood: her patience and love had limits, and that limit had been reached.
The move took three days. Evelyn never spoke to Emily again, only casting spiteful glances as the movers silently carried her belongings. When everything was gone, Evelyn stood in the bright, empty flat that was now hers.
I hope you enjoy it, Emily said, parting.
No answer came.
Two months later the house felt different lighter. Emily sang while making breakfast. She and David laughed more, reminiscing about trivial things. The manor was no longer a fortress to defend; it was simply a home, theirs.
Every Sunday they visited Evelyn. She had redecorated her flat in her own taste, hung light curtains, but the cosy feel was missing. It was more like a sterile hotel. She chatted with David, barely noticing Emily.
One day Emily overheard Evelyn complaining to David about a broken tap: called the council, they said wait three days. Imagine that! If only your father could have fixed everything in one go.
Thats when Emily realised it wasnt about her poverty or wealth. It was about loss of control. Evelyn was desperately trying to reclaim authority by managing even the smallest part of her daughterinlaws life.
But Emily was no longer the girl in that rented studio. She walked to David, took his hand, and faced her motherinlaw.
Well call a plumber, Evelyn. No need to worry.
There was no triumphal glee, no spite, just a quiet emptiness. The woman who had sentenced her twenty years ago now lived in the room that was Emilys life, and the rent for that room was paid with Emilys own peace of mind the best deal shed ever struck.
A year passed. Golden autumn bathed the garden in warm light. Emily sat on the terrace, wrapped in a blanket, watching her roses fade gracefully.
David appeared with two cups of tea and sat beside her.
Cold? he asked.
No, Im fine, she replied, leaning into his shoulder. Their relationship had also shifted; the old resentment toward his mother had dissolved. They were simply a team.
Mother called, David said gently.
Emily stayed calm. Anything?
She asked if we could move the wardrobe, said there was dust building up.
They exchanged a look a new routine of tiny requests to keep Evelyn involved in their life.
Tell her well call the movers, Emily said. Well cover the cost. We have a trusted firm.
David nodded, dialled the number, and the evening passed without argument.
The next day Emily leafed through old photo albums and found a picture of the two of them, young and beaming, in front of the peeling wall of their first flat. She stared at their faces, remembering how terrified she once was of Evelyns verdict of eternal poverty.
Now she understood that Evelyns only accurate observation was that true poverty is a state of mind. Her own poverty had been temporary, a catalyst that propelled her forward. Evelyns poverty, however, lived in her soul an inability to rejoice at others success, a constant search for scapegoats, and a need to diminish others to feel powerful.
Emily closed the album. She no longer felt like a victor in some ancient war. There had been no war, only the tragedy of a woman trapped in a cage of envy and rage.
And her manor with its towers wasnt a trophy or a fortress. It was simply a home, scented with apples from her garden, a place where she and David could sit in silence, handinhand, finally finding the peace she had chased for so long.
