Dear Diary,
What did she actually say? Emma asked, repeating my husbands words.
I gave a short nod and took a sip from my mug. The tea was scalding, and I winced.
Exactly that, I told her, trying to imitate my sisters tone. Lucy demanded that Mum reregister the twobedroom flat in her name and move out because Tom has proposed to her. A young couple needs somewhere to live, you see?
Emma stared at me, unable to comprehend. It seemed absurd to ask parents to hand over their home without a word.
Did Mum give a clear answer? Emma asked cautiously.
I shook my head.
Nothing definitive. But I know Mum, and I know how much she dotes on Lucy. So anythings possible.
Could a daughter really evict her own mother? Emma would never have imagined asking her parents something like that. Shed refused to borrow money for a deposit, saved every penny, bought a flat herself and paid off the mortgage before we even married. She took great pride in thatit was her home, her property.
Listen, I continued, looking off to the side, Mum sold the cottage to fund Lucys education. And what happened? She quit in her second year. Turns out you actually have to study at university, can you believe it?
Emma snorted.
Your sister never was the study type.
I fell silent. Emma could see the tension in my shoulders, the knuckles tightening around the mug. What could she say? What advice could she offer? Family is always a tangled thing.
Days turned into weeks. I called Mum a few times, each conversation short and strained. Emma stayed out of it, understanding this was my burden to bear.
One Saturday we decided to pay a visit to my mother.
I unlocked the front door with my key, and Emma froze on the threshold. The flat was a chaos of boxes, bags, rolledup blankets. Things were stacked against the walls, on the sofa, on the tableclear signs of a move.
Mum? I called as I stepped inside.
Helen Andrews emerged from the hallway, her face drawn, shadows under her eyes. Emma had never seen my mother look so exhausted.
Mark, Emma, come in, Helen whispered.
I scanned the room and asked straight away, Are you giving the flat to Lucy?
Helen sighed, sat on the edge of the sofa, and pushed a box of dishes aside.
Itll be better this way, love. A young couple needs their own place. Toms a good lad, he works. I can manage, she said.
Emma stood nearby, her fists clenched. How could anyone hand over their only flat? Where would my mother go?
Where will you live then? I asked, my voice low.
Ill rent a single room. My pensions modest, but itll be enough. Dont worry about me.
I saw the colour drain from my face, watched my hands tremble, but said nothing. This wasnt my fight to win.
Two months later Helen was staying in a modest rented flat in another borough. I visited often, bringing groceries, medication, helping with chores. Emma never objected; she understood I was under strain.
One evening I came home looking despondent, sitting at the kitchen table, staring at nothing.
Whats wrong? Emma asked, sitting opposite me.
I lifted my eyes slowly.
Mums struggling. Her pension barely covers the rent and daily costs. Shes just getting by.
Emma frowned.
Then she should move back into her flat.
The flats already in Lucys name. Lucy wont let Mum back in. She says she and Tom are planning renovations and Mum would be a nuisance.
I sensed where this was heading. As if reading my thoughts, I said, We should take Mum in. We have the twobedroom flat; theres room.
Her flat, my flatthose words rang in Emmas head. She remained silent, letting me convince myself, even though everything inside her rebelled. What could she say? To refuse my motherwho had been driven out by her own daughterwould feel cruel.
Four days later Helen moved in with us. The first day she was like a gentle dandelion, apologetic, promising not to cause any trouble.
Emma tried to convince herself everything would be fine. Wed never fought with Helen before; why would it start now?
But after a week things shifted.
First, my favourite mug vanished.
Helen, have you seen my blue mug with the flowers? I asked.
She looked embarrassed. Oh, Emma, Im sorry. I dropped it while washing the dishes. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
Emma nodded, trying to brush it off.
The next day, the expensive facial cream I kept in the bathroom was gone.
Helen, have you seen my cream? I asked.
She held up an empty tube. Oh, that one. I used it on my feetmy skin was dry from the heating. Its a good cream, by the way.
Emma clenched her teeth. Shed just buy another.
The final straw was the steak Id bought for dinner. Coming home from work, I found a pan of greasy burgers instead. The mince was mostly breadcrumbs.
Helen, I said calmly, this is premium beef. Its not for burgers.
She turned from the stove. I always do it this way. The burgers turned out lovely, dont they? Whats wrong?
Mark, sitting in the living room, pretended not to hear.
Weeks passed and Helen established her own rules. Breakfast became only porridge and boiled eggs. She scheduled a deep clean every Saturday at eight oclock sharp. Lights out was nine, even on weekends.
Emma walked the flat barely containing her fury. I tried to soothe her, promising Id speak to my mother, but nothing changed.
At dinner Emma spread cottage cheese on toast, topped with a slice of tomato. She was weary from work and had no appetite for cooking. Helen grimaced.
You have no taste, Emma. Thats nonsense food.
Emma lifted her head slowly.
Its fine for me.
Youre ruining my sons habits, Helen snapped. Mark sees you lounge around, not washing dishes straight away, not ironing clothes. I raised him to be tidy and disciplined. Youre undoing all my effort.
Emmas patience snapped.
Ive had enough, she said coldly. I tried to respect your age, stayed quiet while you broke my things, used my cosmetics, spoiled my groceries. No more. If its this terrible, go back to the flat Lucy gave you. Dont live in my house that I bought with my own money.
Emma! I shouted, leaping up. What are you saying?
What I think! she turned to me. I have my own rules, too. Firstyour mother will not stay in my house!
Helens face turned pale.
Mark! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her!
Im trying to calm us both down, I pleaded.
No! Emma stared at Helen. She can pack and leave. I dont care where.
We cant throw my mother out! I raised my voice. Do you realize what youre saying?
Emma laughed, a harsh, bitter sound.
You cant, but I can. By evening she wont be here.
I straightened, my face hard as stone.
If she leaves, Ill go too.
Emma gazed at me for a long moment.
Oh, have we come to ultimatums? You quickly forgot you promised to keep your mother calm. You asked for patience, now youre setting conditions? Fine, Mark, enjoy your royal carpet.
Helen burst into tears and fled down the hallway. I stood in the kitchen, stunned.
We began to pack slowly, in silence. Emma didnt help; she sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window. An empty, cold feeling settled over the room, oddly soothing.
An hour later Helen and I emerged into the hallway with suitcases and bags. I opened the front door, letting her pass first, then turned to Emma.
Emma, lets
She cut me off.
If you still dont understand that a mother loves her daughter and only uses you, its better we part now before she completely seeps into our lives.
She walked to the door and slammed it in my face.
Inviting my mother in was a mistake. It showed me that I could not stand up to my own mother, and that our marriage had no future.
The divorce was quiet. We had no children or joint assets. I looked at her with sorrowful eyes, begging for forgiveness, promising never to drag my mother into our marriage again. But Emma had stopped giving people second chances.
Lesson learned: love without boundaries can erode the very foundations that hold a partnership together.
