**Diary Entry**
Six years ago, Oliver and I saved every penny to buy our own place, sacrificing nearly everything. Finally, we had a cosy two-bedroom flatwarm, bright, though simply furnished. It was meant to be the start of a happy, independent chapter. Emily was expecting, her due date just days away. Everything was ready: the hospital bag packed, the nursery set up, and only one last hurdle stood between us and parenthood.
Emily had always dreamed of a space of her ownfree from her parents hovering, and especially from her mother-in-laws interference. Her relationship with Margaret had always been strained. The woman loved dictating how to live, breathe, even how to load the dishwasher. One day, Emily snapped and told her plainly she didnt need constant advice. Margaret took offence and vanished from our lives. For a while, at least.
When Oliver drove Emily to the hospital, he never expected what awaited him. The very next day, his mother called to announce she was coming over. He barely had time to object. Margaret arrived in full force, scrutinising the flat with a critical eyethe hallway was acceptable, the curtains ghastly, the kitchen a gleaming nightmare that needed scrubbing daily! She rummaged through the fridge, scoffing at the shop-bought dumplings and declaring shed make soup tomorrow. Oliver tried to laugh it off, to change the subject, but it was useless. His mother marched around in her workout gear, inspecting each room like a drill sergeant.
That evening, he offered to drive her home. Ill stay the night, she said. You shouldnt be alone in case Emily comes home tomorrow. And she stayed. One night. Then another. And another.
While Oliver was at work, she rearranged things, sorted clothes, decided where the changing table should go and what else they *had* to buy. He was losing patience with her help but dreaded upsetting her. Then she announced it: shed stay for a few months to help with the baby. After all, theyd never manage alone.
When Emily came home, the whole family was waitingher parents, Oliver, and, of course, beaming Margaret. Emily knew instantly something was off. The curtains were different, the furniture moved, an unfamiliar scent in the air. Her parents left. Margaret didnt. Under Emilys silent stare, Oliver mumbled, Mums staying for a bit. To help us out
Exhausted from childbirth, Emily had no choice. That same night, the torment began: Youre holding the baby wrong. That swaddles too loose. Hes crying because youre not rocking him right. Emily stayed quietuntil Margaret snatched the baby from her arms. That was the final straw.
Thanks for the help, she said calmly. But youre free to go. This is *my* child. And Ill be the one to rock him. Just me.
Margaret rolled her eyes, deeply offended. Oliver fumbled a protest, but one look from Emily silenced him. She was calm. Firm. This was her house. Her family.
Margaret packed her bags. She never returned. Oliver finally understoodhis wife needed support, not orders. And for the first time, Emily truly felt like this was her home. No matter how long it had taken after the birthwhat mattered was that she hadnt given in.
