My things are already packed, my motherinlaw announced, setting a suitcase by the door.
Excuse me! Emily snapped, fighting to keep her voice from rising further. This is my home too, you know!
My? Margaret Whitaker smirked, dabbing her hands on her apron. James is my son; the flat is in his name, so watch your tone.
I’ve lived here eight years! Eight! And you have no right
Yes, dear, I have every right I need. Hand me that pot, Im about to start lunch. Dont stand there as if Im a guest in your kitchen, not the lady of the house.
Emily snatched the pot so quickly she almost tipped the beetroot soup onto the floor. Her hands trembled, her temples throbbed. Margaret had arrived three days ago, and in three short days the flat had been turned upside downat least, the way Margaret liked it.
Margaret, I understand youre worried about James, but
Im not worried. I know what Im doing. You, love, only think of yourself. James is in the hospital and youre busy stirring pots.
I visit him every day! Emily burst. Just now he cant be seenprocedures!
Procedures, right. And you stay at home, cooking. A wife ought to be by his side all the time.
Emily placed the pot back on the table, exhaled slowly, and tried counting to ten as a therapist once taught her. One, two, three It never got past three.
Do you know what? she whispered. Do whatever you like. Im going for a walk.
She grabbed her coat, slipped her feet into boots without even tying the laces, and fled the flat. Outside she pressed her forehead against the cold wall of the courtyard, breathed deeply, counting each inhale and exhale. Inside her head a tiny but furious volcano rumbled.
James had been admitted a week earlier for a routine appendectomy that developed complications. He was now recovering, and Emily was sleepless, torn between work and the hospital. Then Margaret, like a storm, arrived from her small town in Yorkshire, claimed the bedroom, and pushed Emily onto the sofa in the living room. And the chaos began.
Emily trudged down the stairs into the garden. The November wind tossed her hair and lifted the cuffs of her coat. She sat on the bench by the entrance and lit a cigarette. Shed already had three, but the nerves kept her reaching for another.
Emily, whats got you so pale? called Agnes Clarke, the neighbour, as she passed with a basket of groceries. Heard your motherinlaws here. Is she helping?
Emily managed a weak smile. Shes helping. In her own way.
Agnes, a spry woman in her sixties whod raised three children on her own, sat beside her. You know, motherinlaws come in all flavours. My own late mother liked to boss people around, but I learned early that it was her way of showing lovemisguided, heavy, but thats how she knew how.
Margaret only cares about James. She tolerates me.
Maybe shes scared of losing control. James is her only child, shes seventythree now. She fears becoming a burden, especially with him in the hospital.
Emily stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. Living with her feels like madness. Shell drive me nuts.
Youll get through this. James will be discharged, and shell go back.
If she goes.
Agnes patted Emilys shoulder and walked on, leaving Emily to stare at the flat and recall how everything began.
Shed first met James at work. Hed come into their office to sort some paperwork, and she was carrying a stack of files. Their collision sent papers flying; he helped pick them up, flashed a grin, and invited her to coffee. He was tall, handsome, with a dimple on his chin, and courted her with flowers and compliments. Emily, thirtytwo and never married despite a few proposals, fell for his attentiveness. She worked long hours, leaving little room for romance, and James seemed a steady, caring presence.
He rarely talked about his family, saying only that his mother lived far away in a small town and he visited a couple of times a year. His father was long gone; his mother was alone. Emily brushed it offshed later regret that.
Margaret had first appeared at their wedding, a petite, wiry woman with her silver hair pulled tight. She examined Emily as if she were inspecting livestock at a market, her comments always edged with a jab.
The dress is lovely, but a bit too full.
Hold the bouquet correctly, dear, or itll look like a broom in your hands.
James, are you sure? Isnt it a bit early?
James laughed it off, saying his mother was just nervous. Emily smiled, endured the day, and when Margaret left, she finally breathed a sigh of relief.
But the phone rang daily. Margaret called, asking James about everything, offering advice, whining for hours. James listened politely, Emily grew angry but stayed silent, avoiding drama.
Then Margaret started staying over more oftenfirst for holidays, then just to visit. She rearranged furniture, cooked only the dishes James liked, ignored Emilys efforts, and criticised every aspect of her life.
James, look at those curtainsdirty! Id have washed them yesterday.
Emily, havent you thought of changing your haircut? Its a bit out of date.
Again the pasta? You dont like pasta, James! Ill make the mince now.
James would retreat to another room, leaving Emily to fend for herself.
Margaret, I know how to cook for my husband, Emily pleaded.
Dont be angry, love. I only want the best.
There was something cold and sharp in Margarets eyes that made Emily want to run. It felt as if Margaret tolerated Emily merely out of politeness while considering her a useless extra.
Eight years passed. No children. Doctors blamed stress and age. Margaret hinted that Emily was to blame for Jamess lingering health issues. James stayed silent. Emily wept into her pillow at night, hoping no one would hear.
Eventually Margarets visits grew less frequent. Emily learned not to react to the barbs. Life was not perfect, but it wasnt a living hell either.
Then James fell ill again, and Margaret showed up within three hours, suitcase in hand, pots at the ready.
Im staying for a while. James cant be left alone.
Emily rose from the bench, shook off her coat, and headed back home. In the hallway stood a familiar blue suitcase, its corners scuffed.
Margaret emerged from the bedroom, wiping her hands.
Your things are already packed, she said, nodding toward the suitcase. You can take them.
Emily froze, the world buzzing in her ears.
What? she managed.
You understood me perfectly. James needs peace, not your tantrums. He called me himself, saying youre always on edge. While hes recovering, its best you live elsewhere for a while.
James said that? Emily gasped, breathless. Thats not true.
Its true, dear. He asked me to send you away. Not forever, just until he gets better. Find a friends place.
Emily walked to the suitcase, opened it, and saw her clothes haphazardly thrown togetherdresses, sweaters, underwear.
You have no right, she whispered.
I have every right. Im Jamess mother, and I know what he needs.
Emily lifted her eyes, meeting Margarets stonecold stare.
Did you call James? Ill call him myself.
Please do. Hell confirm everything.
With shaking hands she dialed the number she knew. The line rang, rang, then a sleepy, weak voice answered.
Hello?
James, its me. Your mother says you asked me to leave the house. Is that true?
Silence stretched, heavy enough to choke her.
James?
Yes Mum thinks its best. You two arent getting along, and I cant afford to be nervous now.
So you agree? You want me to go?
I just want peace. Stay somewhere for a couple of weeks, and when Mum leaves, you can come back.
And if she doesnt leave?
She will. Please, Emily, dont make a scene. Im really not feeling well.
Emily hung up, sank to the floor of the entrance hall, and leaned against the wall. Margaret stood over her, a triumphant smile playing on her lips.
Satisfied? Take your suitcase and go.
Emily closed her eyes. Inside her, a rope that had been pulled taut for years finally snapped. Pain surged, but it was distant, mutedaccompanied by a strange relief.
Fine, she whispered. Im leaving.
She hoisted the heavy suitcaseMargaret had stuffed it with everything she could findthrew on her coat, and paused at the doorway.
You know what, Margaret? she said. Im not coming back.
How can you not? James
Let James live with you. If hes more important to you than defending me, then thats that. Ive endured eight years of your snide remarks and contempt, hoping it would ease. Standing on this stairwell, I realised I dont have to put up with it any longer. Im exhausted.
Margarets face went pale.
What do you think youre doing? James wont let you go!
Well see.
Emily stepped out, closed the door, and trudged down the stairs, the suitcase dragging behind her. On the pavement she fished out her phone and called her friend Rachel.
Rachel, can I crash at yours? Ive got my stuff, Ill explain later.
She hopped into a taxi, told the driver the address, and watched the city flash bybrick houses, leafladen trees, commuters hurrying past. She thought of Jamesquiet, reliable, but a love that had become a burden, a habit, a fear of being alone.
He never stood up for her. When his mother snarled, he fell silent. When Emily was down, he withdrew. When decisions were needed, he left them to her. It was convenient.
Shed endured because thats what a wife does, because shed married, because she was getting older, because she feared the unknown.
The cab stopped at Rachels flat. Emily paid, climbed the threestorey stairs, and Rachel opened the door in a bathrobe, a mug of tea in hand.
Emily, whats happened?
Can I stay for a bit? Until I find somewhere of my own.
Of course. Come in, tell me everything.
They sat in the kitchen until late, Emily spilling tears, laughter, and the whole story. Rachel listened, nodded, refilled the tea.
You know, Emily, I always thought you were too good for James.
Really?
Seriously. Youre smart, beautiful, hardworking. Hes like a ragdoll, and his mothers turned you into a doormat.
Exactly. Shes finally twisted the rope around herself.
Now youre free. Divorce, perhaps, and a fresh start.
Emily nodded. Divorce seemed inevitable, but she wasnt ready to think about it yet; she just wanted to breathe.
A week later James was discharged. He called, begging her to return, saying his mother had left and he missed her. Emily listened in silence.
Emily, why are you quiet? Come back, lets talk.
James, do you understand what happened?
My mum overreacted, but she was worried about me.
And who was worried about me? You?
I Emily, stop this.
Im not starting. Im finishing. Im filing for divorce.
What? Youve gone mad! Over a fight?
Not just a fighteight years.
She hung up. James kept calling for days, then stopped.
Emily found a modest flat on the outskirts, moved her things, settled in, worked, walked, read. For the first time in years she felt alive.
A month later Margaret called, asking to meet. Curiosity won, and they met at a café. Margaret looked aged, shoulders hunched, a tea cup trembling in her hands.
Emily, I wanted to talk.
Go on.
IgorJameshas been disappearing, not eating, saying you dont want to see him.
Ive filed for divorce.
Why? Couldnt you have forgiven? I never meant to hurt you.
Emily smiled ruefully.
Margaret, you humiliated me for eight years. James stayed silent. You pushed me out, packed my suitcase like a servant, and he agreed. Do you really think Ill forgive that?
I didnt think youd take it so badly. I thought it would be temporary.
Temporary, yes. But it became the last straw.
Margaret lowered her eyes.
Ive spent my life fearing James would leave, like his father did when he was three, saying I was boring, suffocating him. I raised him as best I could, spoiling him, protecting him. I feared hed walk out too. Then you arrived, and I thought youd steal him from me.
I didnt steal him. I just wanted to be his wife.
I know, but I couldnt accept it. Im sorry.
Emily took a breath, looked at the old womans frail back, her wrinkled hands wrapped around the cup. Margaret was a victim too, in her own way, but the choice had always been hers.
I forgive you, Margaret. It changes nothing. I wont return to James.
What if he changes?
He wont. He likes things as they aremother nearby, wife tolerating him. That suits him.
Margaret stood, nodding.
Goodbye, Emily.
Goodbye.
Emily finished her tea, left the café, walked down the street, watching shop windows and passersby. Inside her, a calm settled, as if a heavy load had finally been set down.
The divorce went through quickly; James didnt contest, they split the assets without fuss. She kept none of the old flat, starting anew.
A year later she changed jobs, landed a better position, and met a new man, Simon. He was attentive but not overbearing, respected her space and opinions. With him life felt easy.
Emily, any regrets about the divorce? Rachel asked one afternoon.
No, not one. That suitcase by the door was a signit meant it was time to go, time to stop bearing the weight.
And those eight years?
Just experience. I learned what I dont want. That matters.
Emily smiled, watching autumn leaves swirl, carpeting the streets in gold. Winter would come, then spring. Life cycles, but each time it feels fresh.
Sometimes you have to walk away to find yourself. Sometimes you must lose to gain. That suitcase at the door wasnt an end; it was the beginning.
