**Diary Entry 12th October**
If Im the enemy in your mothers eyes, then she can jolly well manage on her own. I wont lift another finger for her!
Ive always tried to keep my composure when it comes to Margaret. My mother-in-law visits our flat two or three times a week, and every single time, its an ordeal. The September days grow shorter, and my patience wears thinner.
Margaret loves hosting. She turns up with bags full of groceries, takes over the kitchen, and cooks enough to feed an army. Then she insists on inviting neighbours, acquaintancessometimes even strangersto the table.
Now thats what I call hospitality! she announces loudly, arranging plates. Not like some people who cant even brew a decent cuppa.
I clench my jaw and keep slicing bread. She never says it outright, but everyone knows exactly who she means.
At the table, Margaret transforms into a full-blown storyteller. Her eyes light up, her voice turns dramatic, and the performance begins.
Now, my nephews wifeabsolute gem of a woman! Sophies so talentedyou should see her embroidery! Like proper art, it is. Knits, sews, keeps the garden immaculate. Bottles her own jams, makes chutneys. Her homes a proper treasure!
The guests nod approvingly while my cheeks burn. My husband, James, sits beside me, glued to his phone like none of this concerns him.
And my cousins wife, Emmasuch a sweet girl. Never a cross word. Her mother-in-law lives like a queen! Helps with everything, asks advice on the smallest things. Now thats proper upbringing!
One of the neighbours turns to me. And what do you do, dear?
I open my mouth, but Margaret cuts in.
Oh, no need to ask! Her voice drips with barely hidden mockery. Our Emily here is a modern woman. Office job, glued to a computer. No time for homemaking, is there? Used to having everything done for her.
Im an account manager, I say stiffly.
Oh yes, *account manager*, Margaret nods sagely. And who does everything at home, then? My poor James comes back from work and has to cook, cleanspoiled rotten, this one is.
My jaw aches from how hard Im clenching it. James might as well be a statue for all the reaction he gives.
After another one of these dinners, when the guests have left and the dishes are cleaned, Margaret sidles up to me with a sickly-sweet smile.
Emily, love, could you take me to the clinic tomorrow? Just to pick up some test results. Its a bit daunting going alone.
Of course, I say, though Ive got a client meeting.
Oh, youre a darling! James is so busy at work, wouldnt want to bother him. But youve got flexible hours, dont you? Can pop out whenever.
I dont correct her. Easier to avoid a scene.
The next week, its the same routine.
Emily, duck, could you nip to the chemists? She shoves a list of medications at me. The doctor prescribed new ones, and Im hopeless with these names. Might get the wrong thing.
Fine, I mutter.
And if its no trouble, pick up some groceries. Need a few bitsflour, cleaning supplies. Cant carry heavy things, not with my back.
I spend half the day trawling three different chemists, then queue at the supermarket. When I finally get home, exhausted, James barely glances up from the telly.
How was it?
Peachy, I say flatly.
A few days later, Margaret arrives with a gaggle of relatives.
This is my daughter-in-law, Emily, she introduces. And this is my sister-in-law, Patricia, and her daughter, Lucy.
Lucy, around my age, surveys the flat like shes judging a competition.
Heard you work in an office? she asks, all faux interest.
Yes.
How *fascinating*! she trills. I stay home with the kidsthree little angels. The eldest plays violin at the Royal Academy, you know.
Margaret beams. Now *thats* a proper woman! Raises children, keeps house, supports her husband. Not gallivanting about in offices.
Patricia chimes in. Lucys a treasurecooks, sews, even grows her own veg. Her husband says its like living in paradise.
Margaret turns to me. See, Emily? You could learn a thing or two.
My hands shake with anger, but I say nothing.
Later, when theyve gone, I snap at James. Did you *hear* what your mother said?
He shrugs. Just womens talk. Dont make a fuss.
She humiliated me!
She was just making a point. Maybe you *could* try harder at home.
I stare at him, stunned.
—
It goes on like this for months. Until one day, after another snide remark*Emily, are you good for anything?*I shatter.
Since Im the villain in your mothers story, she can damn well fend for herself!
Silence. Margaret blinks like Ive slapped her. James finally looks up from his phone.
Emily, whats got into you?
Im *done*, I say, cold and clear. Done being her errand girl. Done being compared. Done with you letting her treat me like rubbish.
Margaret splutters. I never meant
Pack your things, I tell James. Both of you. Out.
He gapes. Youre joking.
I call the police. When they arrive, I show them the deedthis flat is *mine*. They escort my husband and his mother out.
For the first time in years, the silence in my home feels like peace.
—
**Three Months Later**
Margaret calls once, weeping about loneliness. James begs me to be reasonable.
I hang up.
Freedom tastes better than any apology.
