“I’m coming to live with you!” his mother-in-law announced cheerfully. “I can’t very well go and live under a bridge, can I?”
“Mum,” Henry said, meeting her gaze with a measured look, “Emily and I have decided to rent a flatjust a small one, something modest. We dont need much.”
Margaret Williams, who had been folding laundry into the dresser, spun around sharply, clutching a tea towel to her chest.
“Whats all this nonsense about wasting money?” she exclaimed. “Are you mad, Henry? Use your head! Weve got a spare room right here!”
Henry sighed. Hed braced himself for this, but part of him had still hoped shed understand. He was a grown man, about to be marriedhis own family, his own home. Even if it was only a rented flat for now, it would still be his.
“Mum,” he said patiently, “Emily and I need our own space. Were young, weve got to learn how to live together. But herewell, its your house. Your rules.”
“And what?” Margaret shot back, bristling. “Dyou think Ill meddle? I wont breathe down your necks! Youll have your room, Ill have mine. Its perfectly sensible.”
Henry rubbed his forehead, searching for the right words. Reasoning with his mother was a lost cause. She was convinced she knew best, and arguing only made things worse.
“Mum, you know I work awaytwo weeks on, two weeks off. Emily will be here alone most of the time.”
“All the better!” Margaret cut in, eyes bright with triumph. “Shell be lonely otherwise. But Ill be here. Ill keep her company, help out, give advice. Arent you glad your wife will be looked after?”
Henry knew there was no point arguing. The decision had been made for him. And just as he thought it, she said:
“Right! Its settled. After the wedding, youll move in here. Once youve saved up properly, then you can think about your own place.”
Emily took it all with a quiet wisdom unusual for a girl of twenty-two. She didnt argue, didnt sulk. She just nodded, smiled, and stayed neutral. At first, Margaret was pleased. “See?” shed say. “Shes a sensible girl. Good for my boy.” But soon enough, it became clearEmilys silence wasnt agreement. It was just her way of keeping the peace.
After the wedding, the newlyweds settled into that very spare room. It was bright, small, with a French windowalmost cosy, if not for the fact that every attempt at independence was overshadowed by Margarets presence.
Sometimes, Emily felt like a lodger in her own home. Every move she made sparked some reactiona pointed remark, a heavy sigh, a sly comment tossed out as if by accident. Margaret rarely argued outright. She preferred loaded observations dropped into conversation.
When Emily replaced the heavy curtains with lighter ones, Margaret sniffed.
“White? Theyll show every speck of dust! Youll be washing them every other week if youre set on being fashionable.”
Emily smiled. “I dont mind washing them.”
The unspoken rule was clear: endure. Henry worked away, money was being savedall for their own place.
But with each passing day, an invisible tension grew between the two women. And one day, it was bound to snap.
When Emily discovered she was pregnant, happiness bloomed inside her. She caught herself smiling at strangers in the street, at trees, at nothing at all. She and Henry had wanted this for so long. It wasnt in their own home yet, and things werent easybut they were together, a proper family.
Henry was on shifta long one, two months. She told him over the phone.
“Hold tight,” he said, his voice warm with joy. “Ill try to get back early. Well sort everything.”
When Margaret found out, she became even more critical. She muttered about Emily “not being ready for motherhood,” complained she “lazed about all day,” though shed once moaned about how hard her own pregnancy had been.
But the real blow came out of nowhere.
One mild May evening, after returning from a prenatal check-upeverything fineEmily found a stranger in the flat. A man in his sixties, lounging at the kitchen table, sipping tea from their mug as if he belonged there. Margaret introduced him as “a dear friend.”
“Ive a right to my own life too!” she declared proudly.
Emily said nothing. All she could think was how cramped the flat would be with four people when three was already a squeeze. The next day, Margaret made her move.
“Emily, youll need to clear the room,” she said firmly, setting her teacup down with a clink. “Roberts moving in. Were adultsweve a right to our happiness.”
Emily sat very still, barely breathing.
“Where am I supposed to go?” she whispered, afraid she might cry.
“Whats there to think about?” Margaret waved a hand. “Youre young, youre healthy. Rent somewhereyoure not royalty! Henry earns decent money. Youll manage.”
Emily opened her mouth to speak, but Margaret was already reaching for the phone.
“Ill ring Henry. Hell explain it properly. Seems you dont understand.”
Henry answered at once. He sounded tired. Just off shift.
“Mum? Whats happened?”
In the sugary tone she reserved for her son, Margaret launched into her version of events.
“Henry, tell your wife to make room! Roberts moving in, and shes being difficult about it.”
A long silence. Then Henry spoke, quiet but firm.
“Mum, listen. Ill be home soon. Emily and I will move out. Just hang on a little longer.”
“I wont wait!” Margaret snapped. “Ive only one life, and Im not getting any younger! I want to live properly, not tiptoe around. She needs to be out tomorrow.”
Henry exhaled hard.
“Mum, shes pregnant. Think how hard this is for her”
“Oh, thats your excuse now?” Margaret scoffed. “Pregnant, not ill. Shell cope.”
Henry closed his eyes, swallowing his frustration. He couldnt fight hernot really. Despite everything, he respected her too much.
“Fine,” he said roughly. “Ill sort it.”
That evening, Henry rang his mate Tom, who didnt hesitate.
“Dont worry, mate,” Tom said. “Well get Emily sorted first thing.”
They found a tiny one-bed flatworn but liveable, with a landlord willing to cut the rent. Tom helped Emily move, unpack, settle in. He stayed for a cuppa, keeping her company as she blinked back tears.
When Henry returned a month later, seeing Emilys rounded belly, he knewthey couldnt wait any longer.
The next day, they took out a mortgage on a small, dated two-bed on the outskirts.
Emily nearly cried with relief. It wasnt a palacebut it was theirs.
Ahead lay the grind of renovations, loan repayments. But most importantlyno one could kick them out. No one could dictate their lives.
Two years passed.
An ordinary day. Emily was picking up toyslittle Oliver left a trail wherever he went. Then the shop for milk and bread, the park. That evening, after finally getting the tired toddler to sleep, she sat with a cuppa when the doorbell rang.
Too late for visitors.
Opening the door, she froze. Margaret stood there, suitcases in hand.
“Hello,” Emily managed, her stomach dropping.
“Dont just stand therelet me in!” Margaret said brightly, rubbing her hands. “Im moving in.”
Emily couldnt tell if it was a joke.
“Whats happened?” she asked carefully.
“I lost the flat,” Margaret announced, as if discussing misplaced keys. “Robert turned out to be a conman. Talked me into selling up, moving souththen vanished with the lot.”
Emily felt a flare of anger. Margaret had been cruel back then. She hadnt even met Oliverno birthdays, no calls. But now, on the doorstep, she looked lost. Still Henrys mum. Emily couldnt shut the door.
“Come in,” she said softly.
Life tilted instantly. Margaret took overrearranged the kitchen (“more practical”), commandeered the bathroom, complained (“its so cramped!”).
Emily endured.
Henry came home late that night. Forty days straight on shift, exhaustion etched into him, longing for his family.
Emily flung herself into his arms. Oliver clapped, then clung to his dad.
Henry laughed, tossing Oliver in the air, holding Emily close. The flat brimmed with joy.
Until Margaret appeared.
“Oh, love, youre back!” she said, forcing a smile. “Ive had to move in. Needs must.”
She told her tale of
