Dear Diary,
Did she really say that? my wife, Emily, asked, repeating the words Id just heard.
I nodded, took a sip from my mug the tea was scalding, and I winced. Exactly that. My sister Lucy has demanded that Mum transfer the twobed flat to her and move out, because Victor has put a proposal on the table. A young couple needs somewhere to live, you understand? I said in a high, irritated tone, mimicking Lucys manner.
Emily stared at me, disbelief etched on her face. Who on earth would ask their parents to hand over a home? As if it were a simple favour.
What did Mum say? Emily asked cautiously.
I shook my head. No clear answer yet. But I know Mum, and I know how much she dotes on Lucy. So anythings possible.
Could a daughter truly evict her own mother? Emily would never have imagined asking her parents for something like that. Shed even refused to borrow money for a deposit from them. Shed saved every penny, bought a flat and cleared the mortgage before we were married, and shed been proud of thather own little kingdom.
Remember, I continued, glancing off into the distance, Mum sold the cottage last year to fund Lucys university fees. And what happened? She dropped out in the second year. Turns out you actually have to study at university, can you imagine?
Emily snorted. Your sister never was the studious type.
I fell silent. I could see the tension in my shoulders, the way my fingers clenched the mug. What could Emily say? What could she advise? Family is always a tangled mess.
Weeks slipped by. I phoned Mum a few times, but each call was brief and strained. Emily kept her distance; she knew this was my pain, my story.
One Saturday we decided to pay a visit to my mothers flat.
I turned the key in the lock, and Emily froze on the doorstep. The flat was a sea of cardboard boxes, duffel bags, folded blankets. Luggage was stacked against the walls, on the sofa, on the coffee table. The whole place reeked of a move-in frenzy.
Mum? I called as I stepped inside.
Mrs. Margaret Hartley emerged from a bedroom, her face sunken, dark circles under her eyes. Emily had never seen my mother look so exhausted.
James, Emily, come in, Margaret whispered.
I swept my gaze over the cramped rooms and asked straight away, Are you giving the flat to Lucy?
Margaret sighed, sank onto the edge of the sofa, and pushed a dishrack aside. Itll be better this way, love. The young couple needs their own place. Victors a good lad, has a steady job. I can manage on my own.
Emily stood by, fists clenched inside. How could anyone give away their only home? Where would Margaret go then?
And where will you live? I asked, my voice hoarse.
Ill rent a singleroom flat. My pension is modest, but itll do, she replied. Dont worry about me.
I saw the colour drain from my face, felt my hands tremble, but I kept quiet. This wasnt my battle to fight.
Two months later, Margaret moved into a rented flat in a different borough. I visited her often, bringing groceries, medicine, helping with the bills. Emily never objected; she understood my worry.
Then one evening I came home, shoulders slumped, silence heavy. I sat at the kitchen table, staring at a blank wall.
Whats wrong? Emily asked, sliding into the seat opposite me.
I raised my eyes slowly. Mums struggling. The pension doesnt cover the rent and the everyday. Shes barely getting by.
Emily frowned. Then she should move back into her flat.
The flats already under Lucys name. She wont let Mum back in. She says she and Victor are planning renovations and Mum would be in the way.
I could see where this was heading. I heard the thought form Emilys mind and, as if reading her thoughts, I said, We should take Mum in. We have the spare room in our flat. Therell be enough space.
Emilys eyes widened. Our flat is ours. Shes our property. The words echoed in my head, but Emily stayed silent, allowing me to argue, even though a part of her recoiled. What could she say? That she didnt want to let in the mother who had been driven out by her own daughter? That would be cruel.
Four days later Margaret moved in with us. The first day she was like a gentle dandelion, soft, apologetic, promising not to be a nuisance.
Emily tried to convince herself that everything would be fine. After all, wed never truly clashed with Margaret before.
But after a week things began to shift.
First, my favourite mug vanished.
Mrs. Hartley, have you seen my blue mug with the flowers? I asked.
She looked up, startled. Oh, dear, Im sorry. I dropped it while washing the dishes. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
I nodded, accepting the excuse.
The next day the expensive hand cream I kept in the bathroom was gone.
Mrs. Hartley, have you seen my cream? I asked.
She held up an empty tube. I used it on my feet. The air in this flat is so dry, my skin was cracking. It does wonders, you know.
I clenched my teeth. I could replace it, no problem.
The final straw was the meat. Id bought a pricey ribeye steak to treat myself to a proper dinner. When I got home from work, I found a pan of greasy burger patties on the stove, the mince being mostly breadcrumbs.
Mrs. Hartley, I tried to stay calm, this is an expensive cut of meat. Its not for burgers.
She turned from the stove. I always do it this way. The burgers turned out lovely, why not try them?
James, sitting in the lounge, pretended not to hear us.
Over the next few weeks Margaret set her own rules. Breakfast became porridge and a boiled egg. Once a week she organised a massive housecleaning, starting at eight on Saturday mornings. Sleeping after nine was forbidden, even on weekends.
Emily walked through the flat, barely containing her fury. I tried to soothe her, promising Id speak to my mother, but nothing changed.
At dinner Emily spread cottage cheese on a slice of bread, topped it with a tomato slice. She was tired after a long day, didnt feel like cooking. Margaret grimaced.
You have no taste, Emily. Thats nonsense youre eating.
Emily lifted her head slowly. Its fine for me.
Youre ruining my sons habits with your laziness, Margaret snapped. James watches you and thinks its okay to be slothful, to leave dishes undone, to never iron his shirts. I raised him differently. I taught him order and neatness. Youre erasing all of that.
Emilys patience snapped.
Ive had enough, she said coldly. I tried to respect your age, kept quiet when you broke my things, used my cosmetics, spoiled my food. But Im done. If its this bad, go back to the flat Lucy gave you. Dont live in the house I bought with my own money.
Emily! I shouted, springing up. What are you saying?
What I think! she turned to me. I have my own rules, too. And the first one is: your mother will not stay in my house!
Margarets face went pale.
James! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her!
Mum, Emily, lets calm down, I tried to mediate.
No! Emily glared at Margaret. She can pack her things and leave. I dont care where she goes.
We cant throw my mother out! I raised my voice. Do you understand what youre saying?
Emily laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. You cant, but I can. By evening, shell be gone.
I straightened, my face turning to stone. If she leaves, Im leaving too.
Emily stared at me for a long moment. Oh, have we really come to ultimatums? You forgot how you promised to keep your mothers peace. You asked me to be patient, now youre setting conditions? Well done, James.
Margaret burst into tears and fled down the hallway. I stood in the kitchen, stunned.
We began to pack, slowly, in silence. Emily didnt help; she sat at the kitchen table, watching the street through the window. Inside was an emptinessstrange, cold, yet somehow calming.
An hour later Margaret and I stood in the hallway with suitcases, bags, boxes. I opened the front door, letting her step out first, then turned to Emily.
Emily, lets
She cut me off. If you still dont get that my mother loves only her daughter and uses you, its better we part now before she gets under our skin completely.
She walked to the door and slammed it shut in my face.
Inviting my mother in was a mistake. It exposed my inability to stand up to her, and it showed there was no future for our marriage.
The divorce was quiet. No children, no joint assets. I looked at her with sorrowful eyes, begging for forgiveness, promising never to drag my mother into our life again. But Ive learned Im not one to give second chances lightly.
Lesson learned: when you let someone elses demands dictate the roof over your head, you lose both the house and the heart that built it.
