“Go back to your mother,” ordered the husband, shoving the suitcases forward.
“Mum, stop calling him,” said Eleanor, setting her cup down with a sigh. “Pauls at workhes in a meeting.”
“At work, is he?” scoffed Antonia, pursing her lips. “I know all about these ‘meetings.’ Yesterday he was ‘in a meeting’ too when he rolled in at midnight. I could smell whisky on him from a mile away.”
Eleanor rubbed her temples wearily. Ever since she and Paul had moved in with her mother, every morning had begun like this. It was supposed to be temporaryjust a couple of months while their flat was being renovated. But the second month was nearly over, and the repairs seemed endless.
“Mum, please,” Eleanor said, forcing calm into her voice. “You promised not to interfere.”
“Im not interfering,” Antonia set her phone aside. “Im just worried about you. You work like a dog while he gallivants around. What kind of man is that?”
“A good man,” Eleanor stood abruptly. “And hes *not* gallivanting. It was an important client dinnerI told you.”
Antonia snorted skeptically but didnt argue. Eleanor knew that lookher mother didnt believe a word.
“Im off to work,” Eleanor said, grabbing her bag. “Ill be back by eight.”
“And what about lunch? I made beef stew.”
“No time, Mum. Meeting at one, then a client after.”
“Youre always starving yourself,” Antonia shook her head. “No wonder youre not pregnant. Who has children on an empty stomach?”
Eleanor exhaled sharply. The topic of children was a sore one, but her mother brought it up with relentless regularity. Five years married, and still no grandchildren. Unforgivable.
“See you tonight,” Eleanor said, kissing her mothers cheek. “Paul promised to come home earlywell have dinner together.”
“If he even shows up,” Antonia muttered.
Eleanor stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind her, and leaned against the wall. The stairwell smelled of damp and catsthe scent of her childhood. Once, it had felt cosy. Now it just grated.
In the car, she rang Paul immediately.
“Paul, has Mum been calling you again?”
“Three times,” he answered wearily. “I didnt pick up.”
“Sorry. She just worries.”
“Worries?” Paul gave a bitter laugh. “She monitors my every move. Interrogated me last nightwhere Id been, who I drank with, why I was late. Im not a teenager, Ellie!”
“I know,” she started the engine. “Just hang in a bit longer. The contractor promised to finish the bathroom this weekjust the kitchen left after that. Well be home soon.”
Paul was silent. When he spoke again, his voice was hollow.
“What if I dont *want* to go back?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind. See you at work.”
The line went dead. Eleanor stared at her phone, unease tightening in her chest. What did he mean? Didnt want to return to the flator to *her*?
The workday dragged. Her focus was gonemistakes piled up. She botched figures twice in the meeting and forgot a key contract clause with a client. Paul was gone all day, inspecting a site, and wouldnt return till evening.
By nine, she pulled up to the house, having stayed late to fix her errors. Only the muted telly from the kitchen broke the silence.
“Im home!” she called, toeing off her shoes.
No answer. Oddher mother usually pounced with questions. She stepped into the kitchen and froze.
Paul and Antonia sat at the table, the air between them charged. Antonia stared pointedly at the telly, ignoring him. Paul spun a cold teacup in his hands.
“Whats going on?” Eleanor asked.
Paul looked up. His gaze was icy, unfamiliar.
“Ask your mother,” he said. “Shes been tearing into me for half an hour.”
“Antonia, what happened?”
“Nothing,” Antonia sniffed. “Just told your husband a few hard truths. That hes not a real man. Cant even provideliving off his mother-in-law like some penniless boy.”
“Mum!” Eleanor gasped. “We *have* our own place!”
“A one-bed flat in some soulless block,” Antonia waved dismissively. “In my day, men built homes. Supported families. And him? Some middle manager…”
“Im *not* a managerIm a project lead,” Paul ground out. “And I earn plenty. Were only here because of the renovation.”
“Five years and what have you got?” Antonia barrelled on. “No kids, no proper home. Your wife slaves away while you”
“Mum, *enough*!” Eleanor snapped. “We agreedno pressure, no baby talk!”
Antonia pressed her lips thin.
“I only want whats best. Youre thirty-two, Ellie. Times ticking.”
Eleanor sank into a chair beside Paul, reaching for his hand. He didnt pull awaybut didnt squeeze back either.
“Paul, Im sorry. Shes just concerned.”
“Concerned?” He laughed bitterly. “She thinks Im worthless. Always has.”
Eleanor said nothing. What *could* she say? Her mother *had* opposed the marriage. *”No prospects,”* shed said. *”No connections. Five years youngerstill a child.”*
“Go to bed,” Antonia grumbled, rising. “Ive got my blood pressure check tomorrow, and youre giving me a headache.”
She shuffled out, slamming her door. Alone, Paul exhaled shakily.
“Sorry,” Eleanor whispered again.
“For what? That your mother despises me? Or that you never stand up to her?”
“I *do* stand up!”
“No, Ellie. You nod, you pacify, then tell me to be patient. Five years of patience. Maybe Im done.”
He stood abruptly.
“Where are you going?”
“To bed. Early start.”
She watched him disappear into their cramped roomher old childhood space, now barely fitting a double bed. Clenching her fists, she glared at her mothers door. Part of her wanted to storm in, scream, unleash everything. But she couldnt. *Never* could.
At dawn, Paul left without a sound. Antonia sat at the table with tea and pills.
“Your prince charming run off?” she greeted.
“Mum, *stop*,” Eleanor said tiredly. “Hes my husband. I love him. You need to respect that.”
“Respect is *earned*,” Antonia shot back. “Your father was a *real* man. Handled everythingleaky tap? Fixed it. Shelf loose? Sorted it. Whats *he* good for?”
Eleanor chewed her toast mechanically. Arguing was futile. Her mother saw the world in black and whiteright and wrong. Unshakable.
Work was a haze. Paul was gone again, visiting another site. Their texts were clipped, professionalno mention of last night. She stayed late, dreading home.
Yet when she returned, every light was on. Raised voices echoed from the kitchen. She hurried in.
Paul and Antonia stood squared off. Her mothers face was flushed; Pauls jaw twitched, eerily calm.
“Whats happening?”
“Your *husband*,” Antonia jabbed a finger, “is moving out. Found a flatleaving tomorrow.”
Eleanor paled. “Paul, is this true?”
“Yes,” he said evenly. “Decent place near work. Moving tomorrow.”
“What about *me*?”
“Your choice,” he held her gaze. “Come with me or stay. But if you stay, thats it. I wont live like this anymore, Ellie. The insults, the interrogationsits suffocating.”
“See?” Antonia crowed. “Abandoning you! I *told* youuseless!”
“Mum!” Eleanor whirled on her. “Shut up! Just *shut up*!”
Antonia blinked, stunned by the outburst.
“Im going with him,” Eleanor said firmly. “Tomorrow.”
“What?!” Antonias hands flew up. “Youre mad! Youve got everything herefood, shelter, care. And there? Some rented hovel with a man wholl dump you the second”
“Better a hovel with someone I love than a gilded cage.”
Antonia went pale.
“So my homes a *cage* now? Im your *jailer*? I gave up *everything* for you! Raised you alone!”
“And never let me forget it,” Eleanor said softly. “You wont *let* me go, Mum. Live my life. Build my own family.”
“*What* family?” Antonia sneered. “Five yearsno kids, no home. Just work, work, work.”
“We didnt have kids because we wanted stability *first*,” Eleanor said. “And now… now Im just *scared*. Scared youll control them toocriticise, dictate, *smother*.”
“I only want whats best!”
“I know. But your best is strangling me.”
She left her mother speechless, joining Paul in their room. He sat stiffly on the bed.
“Im coming with you,” she said, sitting beside him. “Im sorry it took me so long to see how awful this is for you.”
Paul pulled her close.
“I love you,” he murmured. “But I cant stay here. Shes driving me mad.”
“Me too,” Eleanor admitted. “I just… I didnt realise till now.”
They lay in silence, listening to Antonias restless pacingcupboard doors slamming, the telly flicking on and off.
Morning came. Paul was already gone. Antonia sat at the table, tea untouched.
“Morning,” Eleanor ventured.
“Morning,” Antonia didnt look up. “He left early. Said hed fetch you and your things tonight.”
“Yes, we agreed.”
Finally, Antonia met her eyesand Eleanor flinched at the emptiness in them.
“So youre leaving me?”
“Mum, Im not *leaving* you. Im living with my *husband*,” Eleanor took her hand. “Well visit, call”
“Of course,” Antonia smiled bleakly. “Weekly at first, then monthly, then just holidays. I know how this goes.”
“It *wont*.”
“Youre choosing *him* over me,” Antonia said stubbornly. “Youll regret it.”
Eleanor sighed. Here we go again. No reasoning with her.
“Ive got work,” she stood. “Ill pack tonight.”
“Go on, then,” Antonia waved her off. “Everyone leaves me. Your dad left. Now you. Just a lonely old woman, dying alone.”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly. The guilt-tripa classic. And it *worked*.
“Mum, youre *fifty-six*. Youre vibrant. Maybe… find someone? Youve been alone so long”
“Whod want *me*?” Antonia scoffed. “Go on, youll be late.”
Work was impossible. All she thought of was her mothers loneliness. The guilt gnawed. Were they rushing this? Should they wait till the renovation finished?
Paul texted the new flats address and photosa bright two-bed with a spacious kitchen. But staring at them, Eleanor felt no joy. Only dread.
That evening, she returned early to pack before Paul arrived. Her key turned in the lockand she froze. Two suitcases sat in the hall. *Hers*, already packed.
“Mum?” she called. “You here?”
Antonia emerged, eyes red-rimmed, face stern.
“Packed your things,” she said tonelessly. “Took what I could find. Forgotten anything? Fetch it later.”
“Why would you *do* this?”
“What else could I do?” Antonia shrugged. “Youve made your choice. No point dragging it out.”
Eleanor stepped closer. “Mum, this isnt *forever*. Well visit”
“Go back to your mother,” Pauls voice cut in. He stood in the doorway, glaring at Antonia.
“Paul, what?”
“Go back to your mother,” he repeated coldly. “Since shes already packed your bags, its decided.”
“*Nothings* decided! Mum was just trying to help”
“*Help*?” Paul laughed harshly. “Shes *kicking you out*. Packed your things, dumped them by the door. Thats not helpits an eviction.”
“No, youre misunderstanding”
Antonia burst into tearsloud, ugly sobs, face in hands. Eleanor rushed to her.
“Mum, *stop*! Im not *gone*!”
“Go with *him*,” Antonia wailed. “Leave me. I see how it is. You dont need me.”
Eleanor held her, rocking slightly. Paul watched, stone-faced.
“Choose, Ellie,” he said quietly. “Come with me or stay. But if you stay, its *permanent*. Im done with these games.”
“*What* games?”
“She *manipulates* you,” Paul nodded at Antonia. “Always has. And you let her. You *always* will, under her roof.”
Antonia lifted her tear-streaked face.
“See, darling? *See* what hes like? Wants to tear us apart. Steal you from me.”
Eleanor looked between themthe two people she loved most, waiting for her to choose. And for the first time, she was paralysed.
“I… I need time,” she whispered.
“There *is* no time,” Paul said flatly. “Ive paid the rent. We go *now*or I go alone. For good.”
“Dont you *dare* give ultimatums in *my* home,” Antonia hissed. “Shes *my* daughter! *Mine*! *Her* choice, not yours!”
“Shes my *wife*,” Paul shot back. “And Ill fight for my family.”
Eleanor pulled away, inhaling sharply. Through the fog in her mind, one thought crystallised: this *never* ends. If she stayed, her mother would control her forever. If she left, Paul would never accept Antonia.
“Im staying,” she said softly.
Paul recoiled as if struck.
“*What*?”
“Im staying, Paul,” she repeated. “Mums alone. She *needs* me. We… we can wait a bit longer. Till the flats ready.”
Antonia shot Paul a triumphant look.
“See? A daughter *always* chooses her mother.”
“Go back to your mother,” Paul said tonelessly, shoving the suitcases onto the landing. “Live with her, if she matters more than us. But dont wait for me. Im gone.”
He turned and clattered down the stairs. Eleanor lurched forwardbut Antonia gripped her wrist.
“Let him go. Hell crawl back. If not? Good riddance. Weve managed without men before.”
Eleanor stared at the closed door, her world crumbling. The choice was made. Right or wrongonly time would tell.
Two weeks later, divorce papers arrived. Eleanor signed without reading. Antonia said nothing, lips tight when told.
The renovation finished a month later. The flat stood emptyEleanor couldnt bear to enter. She rented it out instead.
She found a new jobfar from Pauls workplace. Started walking more, going to films, the theatre. Sometimes even with Antonia, whod softened oddly, as if fearing shed push her daughter away completely.
Some nights, Eleanor cried, missing Paul. Wonderedwhat if shed chosen differently? Gone with him? Would they have been happy?
But life doesnt deal in what-ifs. The path was chosen. And step by step, she walked itlearning to live without him. Learning not to blame her mother, or Paul, or herself.
The future?
That remained to be seen.
