**Diary Entry 12th June**
“Mums moving in with us!” she announced brightly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I cant exactly live under a bridge, can I?”
“Mum,” Daniel replied, careful to keep his tone level, “Emily and I have decided to rent a flatjust a small one, nothing fancy. We dont need much space.”
Margaret, who had been folding laundry into the wardrobe, spun around, clutching a tea towel to her chest.
“Whats all this nonsense about wasting money?” she exclaimed. “Have you lost your mind? Daniel, think practically! Theres a perfectly good room here going spare!”
Daniel sighed. Hed braced himself for this, but part of him had hoped shed understand. He was nearly thirty, about to be marriedshouldnt he have his own space? Even if it was rented, it would still be *theirs*.
“Mum,” he said patiently, “Emily and I need our own place. Were young, we need to figure out how to live together. But here, its *your* house. *Your* rules.”
“And what of it?” Margaret shot back, looking wounded. “Dyou think Ill interfere? I wont breathe a word! Youll have your room, Ill have minewhat could be simpler?”
Daniel rubbed his temple, searching for the right words. Reasoning with her was like talking to a brick wall. She was convinced she knew best, and arguing only made things worse.
“Mum, I work offshoreyou know that. Im home for a fortnight, then gone again. Emily will be here alone”
“All the better!” Margaret cut in, triumphant. “Shell be lonely by herself. Ill keep her company, help out, give advice. Arent you glad your wife will be looked after?”
Daniel knew there was no point fighting. The matter was settledfor him. And just as he thought it, she confirmed:
“Thats that, then. After the wedding, youll move in here. Once youve saved properly, *then* you can think about your own place.”
Emily took it all with a quiet wisdom beyond her twenty-two years. No arguments, no tantrumsjust a nod, a smile, careful neutrality. At first, Margaret was pleased: “See? The girls sensible, a good match for my son.” But soon it became clearher silence wasnt agreement. It was self-preservation.
After the wedding, the newlyweds settled into that spare room. Bright, cramped, with a narrow balconyalmost cosy, if not for the constant shadow of Margarets presence.
Emily sometimes felt like a lodger in her own home. Every move she made sparked commentary; every silence was met with suspicion. All masked beneath a brittle veneer of politeness. Margaret rarely argued outright. She preferred backhanded remarks, heavy theatrical sighs, sly little comments slipped into conversation.
The day Emily swapped the heavy old curtains for lighter ones, Margaret sniffed.
“White? Theyll show every speck of dust! Youll be washing them weekly if you insist on being *fashionable*.”
Emily just smiled. “I dont mind washing them.”
The unspoken rule was clear: endure. Daniel worked away; they were saving. All for their own place, someday.
But with each passing day, the tension between them grewquiet, unspoken, but undeniable. And one day, it had to snap.
When Emily found out she was pregnant, it felt like spring had bloomed inside her. She caught herself smiling at strangers in the street, at pigeons, at nothing at all. She and Daniel had wanted this for ages, and nowhere it was. Not in their own home, not without struggle, but *theirs*.
Daniel was on a long rotationeight weeks this timeso she told him over the phone.
“Just hang on,” he said, his voice thick with joy. “Ill try to get back early, and well sort everything.”
When Margaret found out, her criticism sharpened. Snide remarks about Emily being “not ready for motherhood,” complaints that she “lounged about all day”though shed once moaned about how hard *her* pregnancies had been.
But the real blow came out of nowhere.
One mild May evening, returning from the midwifeeverything fine, baby healthyEmily found a stranger in the kitchen. A man in his sixties, lounging at the table, sipping tea from *their* mug like he owned the place. Margaret introduced him as “a dear friend.”
“Im a woman too, you know!” she declared, chin high. “Ive a right to my own life.”
Emily said nothing. All she could think was: *Four people in this tiny flat?* It was cramped enough with three. The next day, Margaret made it official.
“Emily, youll need to clear the room,” she said crisply, setting her teacup down with a clink. “Mr. Thompsons moving in. Were adultswe deserve our happiness too.”
Emily sat very still, her breath shallow.
“Where am I supposed to go?” she whispered, fighting tears.
“Goodness, whats the fuss?” Margaret scoffed. “Youre young, healthy! Rent somewhereyoure not royalty! Daniel earns wellyoull manage.”
Emily opened her mouth, but Margaret was already dialling.
“Ill call Daniel. Clearly, you dont grasp the situation.”
Daniel answered instantly, voice rough with exhaustionjust off shift.
“Mum? Whats wrong?”
Margaret switched to her sweetest tone. “Daniel, tell your wife to pack her things! Mr. Thompsons moving in, and shes being difficult.”
A long silence. Then, quietly:
“Mum, justwait. Ill be home soon. Emily and I will move out. Just give us time.”
“I *will not* wait!” Margaret snapped. “Ive only one life, and Im not getting younger! I want to live properly, not tiptoe around. Shes out tomorrow.”
Daniel exhaled sharply.
“Mum, shes *pregnant*. Think how hard this is”
“Excuses!” Margaret barked. “Pregnant, not invalid. Shell cope.”
Daniel squeezed his eyes shut. He couldnt fight herhe respected her, despite everything.
“Fine,” he said hoarsely. “Ill sort it.”
That night, he rang his mate James. No hesitation”Well help Emily. Sorted by morning.”
They found a dingy little flatone bedroom, peeling wallpaper, but the landlord was decent, rent low. James helped Emily move, unpack, arrange furniture. Sat with her at the kitchen table while she blinked back tears.
When Daniel got home a month later, Emilys bump had grown. He knewno more waiting.
Next day, they got a mortgage. A shabby two-bed terrace on the outskirts.
Emily nearly cried. Not a palace, but *theirs*.
Renovations, repaymentshard work ahead. But no one could kick them out. No one could dictate their lives.
Two years passed.
Just an ordinary day. Emily tidied toyslittle Jacob left chaos in his wake. Groceries, then the park. Evening, Jacob finally asleep, she sat with tea when the doorbell rang.
Too late for visitors.
Opening the door, she froze. Margaret, suitcases in hand.
“Hello,” Emily managed, heart sinking.
“Hello? Let me in!” Margaret chirped, rubbing her hands. “Im moving in.”
Emily stared. Joke? Threat?
“Whats happened?”
“Lost the flat,” Margaret said airily, as if discussing mislaid keys. “Mr. Thompson swindled me. Talked me into selling up, moving souththen vanished with the money.”
Emilys chest tightened. Yes, Margaret had been cruel. Not a word in two yearsno birthday calls, no visits. Yet here she stoodproud, helpless, still Daniels mum. Emily couldnt slam the door.
“Come in,” she murmured, stepping aside.
Chaos followed. Margaret took overrearranged the kitchen (“more practical”), commandeered the bathroom. Complained: “Its *so* cramped!”
Emily bit her tongue.
Daniel came home late, exhaustedforty days straight offshore. Just wanted his family.
Emily flew into his arms. Jacob giggled, clinging to his dad. The house glowed with warmth.
Then Margaret appeared.
“Oh, Daniel! Youre back!” Forced smile. “Necessity, Im afraid.”
She spilled the talebetrayal, ruin. Daniel listened, jaw tight.
When she finished, he nodded to the kitchen. “We need to talk.”
Emily caught fragments.
“Well help,” Daniel said, calm but firm. “But this place is tiny. Jacob needs spacehell start nursery soon. Were stretched as is”
“So I should live on the *street*?” Margaret cried.
“Youve still got the cottage. Its sound
