“If your mother thinks I’m the enemy, then she can live however she pleases. I won’t lift a finger for her again!”
Lydia had always bitten her tongue when it came to Margaret Whitmore. Her mother-in-law visited their London flat two or three times a week, and every visit was an ordeal. The September days grew shorter, and Lydia’s patience wore thinner.
Margaret adored hosting. Shed arrive with bags of groceries, take over the kitchen, and cook enough for an armyalways inviting neighbors, acquaintances, and sometimes complete strangers.
“Now this is what I call hospitality!” Margaret would declare, slamming plates onto the table. “Unlike some people who cant even brew a proper cup of tea.”
Lydia clenched her jaw and kept slicing bread. Margaret never named names, but everyone knew who she meant.
At the table, Margaret became a performer. Her eyes sparkled, her voice took on a dramatic lilt, and the show began.
“My nephews wife is an absolute gem!” Margaret would gush, fluttering her hands. “Emilys so talented! You should see her embroiderylike proper art! And she knits, sews, keeps their garden immaculate. Jams, pickles, you name it. A real homemaker.”
The guests would nod approvingly while Lydias cheeks burned. Her husband, James, sat beside her, eyes glued to his phone as if none of it mattered.
“And Sarah, my cousins wifeutterly wonderful,” Margaret continued. “Obedient, accommodating. Never a word out of place. Her mother-in-law feels like shes wrapped in cotton wool. Helps with everything, asks advice on every little thing. Now thats proper upbringing!”
One neighbor turned to Lydia. “And what do you do, dear?”
Lydia opened her mouth, but Margaret cut in.
“Oh, why bother asking?” Her voice dripped with mocking sweetness. “Our Lydias a modern woman. She works in an office, glued to a computer. No time for homemaking. Shes used to others doing things for her.”
“Im a manager at a retail firm,” Lydia managed.
“Yes, a manager,” Margaret said, nodding sagely. “And who does everything at home? My poor James has to cook and clean after work. Spoiled rotten, our daughter-in-law.”
Lydia gritted her teeth until her jaw ached. James still hadnt looked up from his phone.
After one such dinner, when the guests had gone and the dishes were done, Margaret approached Lydia with a saccharine smile.
“Lydia, darling, could you take me to the clinic tomorrow? Need to collect some test results, and its frightening to go alone.”
“Of course, Margaret,” Lydia said, though she had a crucial client meeting.
“Oh, you angel! James is so busy at work, and youve got such a flexible schedule.”
Lydia wanted to argue but swallowed the words. Better not to make a scene.
The next week, it happened again. Margaret appeared with another request.
“Lydia, love, could you pop to the chemist? The doctor prescribed new pills, and Im hopeless with these names. Might get the wrong ones.”
“Fine,” Lydia nodded.
“And if its not too much, the shops after? Need some groceries. My backs playing upcant carry heavy things.”
Lydia spent half the day hunting down prescriptions at three different chemists, then queued at Tesco for Margarets groceries. She came home exhausted.
“How was your day?” James asked, not looking up from the telly.
“Brilliant,” Lydia muttered.
Days later, Margaret arrived with a gaggle of relatives.
“Meet my daughter-in-law, Lydia,” she announced. “And this is my sister-in-law, Beatrice, and her daughter, Charlotte.”
Charlotte was Lydias age but carried herself like a matron.
“I hear you work in an office?” Charlotte said, scanning the flat with a critical eye.
“Yes, retail management.”
“How fascinating!” Charlotte simpered. “I stay home with the childrenthree little angels. The eldest already takes violin lessons.”
Margaret beamed. “Now thats a proper woman! Raises children, tends the home, supports her husband. Not gallivanting about offices.”
Lydias face burned, but she stayed silent.
“Charlottes so capable!” Beatrice chimed in. “Cooks, sews, knits. I always say, any man would be lucky to have her.”
“And I grow my own vegetables,” Charlotte added modestly. “Preserves, picklesmy husband says our homes his sanctuary.”
Margaret turned to Lydia. “See, dear? You could learn from Charlotte. Maybe then James wouldnt vanish every evening.”
Lydia froze. Only she knew James had been staying out late. How had Margaret found out?
“Is James often away?” Beatrice asked eagerly.
“He works late,” Lydia said vaguely.
“Of course he does!” Margaret scoffed. “Any man would flee a home like this. Empty fridge, wife always working. No wonder he seeks comfort elsewhere.”
Charlotte sighed dramatically. “Men need nurturing. A warm home, care, little treats. My husband refuses business tripssays nowhere compares.”
An hour later, when theyd finally left, Lydia snapped.
“James, did you hear what your mother said?”
“Whats the fuss? Just womens chatter.”
“Chatter? She humiliated me in front of everyone!”
“She didnt. Just pointed out how others live.”
“So you agree Im a terrible wife?”
“Didnt say that. But Mums rightyou could focus more on home.”
“Who cooks? Cleans? Does laundry? The house-elf?”
“We take turns”
“Turns? When did you last cook? Heating a frozen pizza doesnt count!”
James winced. “No need to shout.”
“Im shouting because Im exhausted! Your mother belittles me, and you say nothing!”
“Mums not belittling. Just giving advice.”
Lydia stormed to the bedroom. Talking was pointless.
The next day, Margaret called againthis time for a special cream from a pharmacy across town.
“Lydia, darling, please! Its the only place that stocks it, and the trips too much for me. You drivewont take a minute.”
Lydia checked the clock. She had a meeting in three hours.
“Margaret, maybe another day? Ive got”
“Oh, what could be so important? Youll only be a tad late! My skins unbearable!”
Lydia gave in. Traffic made her forty minutes late to the meeting. Her boss tore into her.
That evening, James shrugged it off. “One late day wont kill you. Mum needed help. Couldnt say no.”
“And if Im sacked over this?”
“You wont be. If you are, find another job.”
Lydia was speechless.
A week later, Margaret hosted another dinner, comparing Lydia to other daughters-in-law.
“My nephews wifeso devoted! They holiday together, exchange gifts. She seeks advice, obeys like a proper daughter.” Then, eyeing Lydia: “Some think marriage means ignoring their in-laws. Living selfishly, no respect.”
“Margaret, if youve something to say, say it plainly.”
Margaret gasped. “Im merely reflecting on how some treat their elders!”
After dinner, as Lydia washed up, Margaret sidled up.
“Lydia dear, are you actually good for anything?” The question was sickly sweet, as if asking about the weather.
A plate slipped from Lydias hands and shattered.
“What did you say?”
“Oh, nothing,” Margaret said airily. “Just wondering if youve any skills beyond typing.”
Lydias hands shook as she picked up the shards.
“If Im the enemy, then your mother can live how she likes. Im done serving her!”
Silence. Margaret blinked, stunned. James finally looked up from his phone.
“Lydia, whats got into you?” he muttered. “Mum didnt mean”
“Didnt mean?” Lydia whirled on him. “She just asked what Im good for! In front of everyone! And you think she didnt mean it?”
Margaret recovered fast. “Lydia, you misunderstood! Id never hurt you!”
“Never? Calling me spoiled and uselesswas that accidental? Comparing me for months?”
“Im just used to help,” Margaret whined. “At my age, its hard”
“Then ask your perfect daughters-in-law! Emily the homemaker or meek little Sarah! Let them serve you!”
James stood. “Lydia, calm down. Making a scene over nothing.”
“Nothing?” Her voice cracked. “Your mothers tortured me for months, and you call it nothing?”
“I said Mums set in her ways”
“Her way of using me as free labor? Her way of insulting me publicly?”
Margaret wailed. “Lord, what did I do? Asked for errandsis that abuse?”
“And then told everyone Im a failure!” Lydia
