Have you lost your mind? he hissed, taking another step forward, invading her personal space. Why didnt you let my sister in?
Oliver didnt just enter the flathe barged in, bringing with him a gust of cold autumn air from the stairwell and the stench of his irritation. The key twisted violently in the lock, the door slammed against the wall, and he froze on the threshold, still wearing his rain-drenched coat. His face, usually good-natured and a bit lazy, was twisted with anger he didnt even try to hide.
In the kitchen, on a small sofa by the window, sat Margaret. She was reading. The light from the lamp fell on her hair and the pages of a thick hardback. She didnt flinch at the noise, didnt lift her head. Only the finger resting on the line stilled. She waited for him to repeat his question, louder this time, with poorly restrained fury.
Margaret, Im talking to you! Evelyn rang me, nearly in tears. She and her husband made a special trip during their lunch break, starving, and you left them standing at the door! What was I supposed to say? That my wife decided to throw a tantrum?
Only then did Margaret slowly, almost reluctantly, look up from her book. She didnt close it, just slipped a thin bookmark inside and set it beside her on the sofa.
Her gaze was clear, cold as a winter sky. No fear, no guilt, no pityonly calm, heavy exhaustion.
I heard the bell, she said evenly. And I saw who it was through the peephole. Thats why I didnt open it.
Oliver hadnt expected that. Hed braced for excuses, claims of a headache, or that she simply hadnt heard. The blunt admission knocked him off balance. He took a few steps into the kitchen, his boots leaving muddy prints on the clean floor.
So you did it on purpose? His voice dropped, making it only more menacing. You saw it was my sister and deliberately left her at the door? What kind of game is this, Margaret? Theyre used to having lunch here!
The last words were delivered as if citing an unbreakable law of nature. A tradition carved in stone.
*Used to.* The phrase hung in the air, thick with his righteous anger and her silent refusal.
To him, it was normalhis sister and her husband, working nearby, came over for lunch every single day. Convenient, economical, and perfectly reasonable, as far as he was concerned. Hed never questioned where the food came from, who cooked it, who cleaned up afterward. It simply appeared, like the rising sun.
Margaret stood without a word. She was shorter than Oliver, slimmer, but in that moment, she seemed to fill the entire kitchen. She walked to the counter and leaned against the cold edge, watching himhis reddened face, the raindrops in his dark hair.
Used to? she finally echoed.
The words were quiet but struck like a whip. No emotion, just cold fact. She tilted her head slightly, as if studying a strange object.
Time to get unused to it.
Oliver froze. His brain refused to process it. This was open rebelliona violation of the unspoken contract he believed their marriage rested on. The initial anger, sparked by his sisters grievance, twisted into something deeper, more personal: the sense that his territory, his rules, had been brazenly trespassed upon.
Youve lost your mind, he hissed, stepping closer again, crowding her space. Who gave you the right to decide who comes into *my* home? Shes my sistermy own flesh and blood! They dont come for you, they come for *me*! And as my wife, its your *duty* to be hospitable!
He was loud, filling the kitchen with his outrage. Every word an accusation. He wasnt askinghe was declaring. Painting a world with clear roles: him, the head of the household, the provider; her, the keeper of the hearth, ensuring comfort and hot meals for him and his kin.
And now that picture was crumbling.
Youve turned greedy, Margaret! A selfish miser! Begrudging my family a plate of soup? Do you have any idea how this looks? Theyll laugh at us! Say Ive become henpecked, that my wife dictates who I can see!
Margaret listened without changing expression. She didnt look away, didnt interrupt. She just watched him, and there was something frightening in her calm.
She let him finish, let him empty the venom built up during his phone call with Evelyn. When he finally fell silent, breathing hard, she didnt answer his accusations. Instead, she did the last thing he expected.
Wordlessly, she walked past him, opened a drawer in the kitchen table, and pulled out a cheap calculator she usually used for tallying bills. Then a notepad and a biro.
Oliver stared, bewildered. Hed expected tears, shouting, argumentsanything but this cold, businesslike efficiency.
Margaret sat at the table, placed the notepad in front of her, and switched on the calculator. The dry clicks of the buttons were deafening in the kitchens silence.
Lets do the maths, she said, her voice flat as a newsreaders. Starting with groceries.
Meat, veg, grains, bread, butter. To feed four adults lunch daily costs Her fingers flew over the calculator. At current prices, roughly twenty pounds a day. Just lunch. Multiply by twenty workdays. Four hundred pounds. And thats just the food, paid from our shared budget.
Oliver watched, unmoving. He didnt understand where this was going but felt a chill creep up his spine.
Now my time, she continued without looking up, jotting figures in a neat column. Shopping, cooking for four, serving, then washing up and cleaning. At least two hours a day.
A cook and cleaner in our town charge, say, fifteen pounds an hour. Two hours a daythirty. Times twenty days. Another six hundred.
She circled the total, then turned the notepad toward him.
Altogether, a thousand pounds a month. The bare cost of your sisters *habit*. Since there are two of them, split it: five hundred per person.
But since they dont come every day, well bill per meal. She took the pen and wrote in bold letters at the top: *Menu Prices*. Here.
From today, lunch or dinner for your relatives costs fifty pounds. Per person. Per meal. Tell them. Payment in advance, by card.
She set the pen down and looked him in the eye.
Oh, and Ill bill you for tonights dinner too. If this is a restaurant for your family, everyone pays. Or they can eat elsewhere.
She tore the page out and placed it on the table. Oliver stared at the neat figures, this absurd, humiliating proposal, and realisedit wasnt a joke. It was a wall. A cold, calculated structure of numbers and facts, against which his comfortable world had just shattered.
His free feeding station for family was closed. Permanently.
Oliver crumpled the paper in his fist. He didnt speak, just turned and left the kitchen. From the bedroom, he returned with his phone, speaking loudly, making no effort to hide it from Margaret, who remained by the counter, staring indifferently out the window.
Evelyn? You wont believe what shes No, shes home! Shes just lost her mind. Shes handed me a *bill*! For your lunches!
Yes, fifty per person. Says were running a restaurant now. I dont know whats got into her, I swear! Shes not herself.
He listened, nodding at nothing, his face darkening. He didnt repeat Margarets arguments about costs and time. He framed it as if his wife had simply gone mad with greed.
Easier that way. Easier to paint himself the victim, rather than the man whod spent years enabling his familys exploitation of her.
The next day, at noon sharp, the doorbell rangnot a polite tap, but a long, demanding buzz. Margaret, dusting the living room, calmly set down the cloth and went to answer. She knew who it was.
Evelyn stood on the doorstep. Beside her, as silent backup, loomed her husband Gregory, a large man with a permanently displeased expression. Evelyn was righteous fury incarnate, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. She didnt greet Margaret.
Im here to see my brother! she snapped, trying to shoulder past.
Margaret didnt move. She simply rested a hand on the doorframe, blocking the way. Hes busy.
Were not here to bother him! Were here for lunch! Or have you forgotten people have lunch breaks? Move!
Another shove, met with steel.
Oliver emerged from the bedroom, looking torn between sister and wife. Evelyn, Greg Margaret, come on. Let them in, well talk.
Nothing to discuss, Margaret said without turning.
