The air in the cramped London flat was thick with tension as I stood trembling in the kitchen, my knuckles white around the edge of the counter. The past year had been helllosing my job, drowning in debt, and now, forced to live under my mother-in-laws roof. Every day, Margarets icy glares and barbed remarks chipped away at my pride.
*If you dont like it, youre free to pack your bags and leave.*
Her favourite line. I swallowed my rage, clenched my teeth, and played the dutiful daughter-in-lawuntil the day her birthday dinner shattered everything.
Margaret had insisted I cook for hersome twisted display to parade my subservience in front of her friends, Patricia and Diane. I spent hours preparing spaghetti bolognese, hoping, foolishly, for even a shred of kindness. The table was set, wine poured, laughter ringing. For a moment, I almost believed theyd softened.
Then I heard them.
Hushed voices slithered from the sitting room. Margarets raspy whisper cut through the air: *Wont be long now. Ive made her life miserablejust wait till my plan works.*
Patricia chuckled. *My daughter still fancies your son. Once he divorces this one, hell come running back.*
Dianes smirk was audible. *What if she gets pregnant? Hed never leave her then.*
Margarets reply turned my blood to ice. *Not a chance. Ive been slipping birth control into her tea. My boy deserves better than this useless cow.*
The room spun. Rage burned through me like wildfire.
I stormed back, seized the nearest plate of spaghetti, andwithout a second thoughtdumped it onto Margarets perfectly coiffed head. Sauce dripped down her shocked face as her friends gasped.
*Thats what you get, you vile witch!* I snarled. *And you twoif youre not here to scrape pasta off her, get the hell out of my house!*
They fled, wide-eyed. The next morning, my husband and I packed our things and left.
We havent spoken to Margaret since.
