My mother-in-law thought Id support her out of fear after the divorce. She had no idea I had other plans.
Emily stared at the elderly woman standing on her doorstep, suitcase in hand, as if shed just popped round for tea. Margaret Whitmore, her ex-husbands mother, wore the expression of someone visiting an old friend rather than an estranged relative.
“Emily, darling,” she began, voice dripping with false warmth, “Ive nowhere else to go. Michaels moved that whats her name Sophie in with him. And I wouldnt dream of intruding on their little love nest, would I? You understand, dont you? Just for a little while?”
Emily stepped aside without a word. What could she say? Throw a sixty-year-old woman out onto the street? Yes, the divorce had been painful. Yes, Michael had turned out to be the sort of man who, after twelve years of marriage, suddenly “found himself” in the arms of a twenty-five-year-old colleague. But why should his mother be her problem?
“Margaret,” Emily said quietly, closing the door, “I dont understand. You have your own flat. Why do you need to stay here?”
“Oh, Emily dear,” Margaret sighed, sinking onto the sofa and unlacing her sensible shoes, “you know how poky my place is. This is so much airier. Michael said you rattled around in this two-bed all by yourself. Surely youve room for an old woman?”
Emily clenched her fists. Of course Michael had said that. How convenientinstalling his new girlfriend while palming his mother off on his ex-wife. And no one cared how she felt.
“Its only temporary,” Margaret repeated, already unbuttoning her coat. “Just until I sort something out.”
The first week, Emily tried to be understanding. She made breakfast for two, bought the “urgently needed” heart medication Margaret requested, quietly tidied up after her. Margaret wasnt the tidiest housematedirty dishes piled in the sink, belongings strewn about, the telly blaring soap operas late into the night.
“Emily, love,” Margaret said one morning, “my pensions barely enough to live on. Could you spare a bit for groceries? And my blood pressure tablets. Im quite strapped.”
Silently, Emily handed over fifty pounds. Then another thirty for a “new heart supplement.” Then twenty for “a few little treats with tea.”
“Margaret,” Emily ventured cautiously a month later, as another request emptied her nearly-dry wallet, “maybe we should live within our means? Im not made of money either.”
Margaret whirled on her, eyes flashing with that familiar glintthe prelude to a full-blown scene.
“What did you just say?” Margarets voice climbed an octave. “Live within my means? How dare you! I welcomed you into this family! Twelve years I treated you like my own daughter! And now you begrudge me a few pounds for medicine?”
“Im not begrudging, I just”
“What do you know about hardship, childless as you are!” Margaret shrieked, arms flailing. “I raised my son alone after his father passed! Worked three jobs! And now youd deny me heart tablets? Ill tell the neighbours what youre really like! Ungrateful!”
Emily endured the outburst in silence. And the next one. And the one after that, over an “unsatisfactory” dinner. Margaret was a virtuoso of melodramahours of shouting, neighbours gawping, accusations of every sin under the sun.
After the latest performance, Emily dialled Michaels number.
“Michael, come and get your mother. Please.”
“Emily, dont be like that. Im building a new life. Mums struggling with the divorce. Youve got all that spacewhats it to you?”
“Its my money, my peace, and my sanity.”
“Dont be dramatic. Shes an elderly woman who needs support. If you can help, you should.”
The dial tone hummed in her ear. Hed hung up.
Sitting in the kitchen, Emily realised shed had enough. Margaret acted like she owned the place, threw tantrums over nothing, demanded money without a shred of guilt.
“My mother-in-law thought Id support her out of fear after the divorce. She had no idea I had other plans,” Emily thought, staring at the grey February courtyard outside.
The next morning, while Margaret was at the GPs, Emily called a locksmith. The locks were changed within the hour.
That evening, Margaret returned from her usual mooch around the shops, where she liked to complain to cashiers about her lot. But her key didnt turn in the lock.
“Emily! Emily, open up!” She hammered on the door. “Whats this nonsense?”
Emily stepped onto the landing, calmly eyeing the flustered woman.
“Its not nonsense, Margaret. Pack your things. Ive called a taxi.”
“What? Have you lost your mind? Where am I supposed to go?”
“Home. To your son. Where you belong.”
“But I cant! Sophies there! Its awkward!”
“Was it awkward for me?” Emily asked, watching Margarets face harden into battle mode.
“How dare you!” Margaret screeched. “Im an old woman! My hearts not strong! You cant do this!”
“I can. Its my flat.”
“Ill tell the neighbours! Theyll know what you are!”
“Tell them. I dont care anymore.”
The packing didnt take longMargaret hadnt brought much. In the taxi, she sat in seething silence, clutching her chest theatrically.
Outside Michaels building, Emily hauled the suitcase out first. They took the lift to the third floor. The door swung open to reveal a bewildered Michael in joggers.
“Emily? Mum? Whats going on?”
“Whats going on is Im returning your mother,” Emily said, shoving the suitcase inside. “Margaret no longer lives with me.”
Sophie appeared from the bedrooma pretty blonde in a dressing gown. Her face fell at the sight of Margaret.
“But Mum cant stay here!” Michael protested. “Weve got were”
“Building a new life,” Emily finished. “Lovely. Build it. Without me.”
“Emily, you dont understand,” Michael said in that patronising tone reserved for toddlers. “Mum needs help. Shes elderly, unwell. Her pensions tiny.”
“She has a son. Let him help.”
“But Ive got a new family now!”
“And Ive got a new life. One that doesnt include your problems.”
Margaret, silent until now, erupted:
“Michael! Do you see how she treats me? Throws an old woman onto the street! Heartless! I loved her like a daughter!”
“Mum, come on,” Michael mumbled, but Emily saw the panic in his eyes.
“Kick your own mother out if you wantthats your conscience,” Emily said, turning toward the door. “But none of you will set foot in my flat again. I wont open the door.”
“Emily, wait!” Michael called after her.
But she was already down the stairs, ignoring the shrill cries fading behind her.
At home, Emily fired up her laptop and booked a fortnight in Spain. The money shed saved for new furniture covered an all-inclusive dealjust what she needed after a month of Margaret.
That evening, Michael rang.
“Emily, how could you be so cruel? Mums in tears.”
“Let her cry in your flat.”
“But Sophie and I are just starting out! You get that, dont you?”
“I get that its your problem now.”
“Emily, you used to be kinder. Well figure something out, just not yet. Give us time.”
“You had time. A whole month of me bankrolling your mother. Times up.”
She hung up and switched off her phone.
For three days, it buzzed with callsMichael, Margaret, even unknown numbers (probably Margarets cronies). Emily ignored them all.
On Thursday morning, sipping coffee by the window, she watched children play in the courtyard. The silence in the flat was bliss after a month of noise and histrionics.
The doorbell shattered the calm. Sophie stood on the step, red-eyed.
“Emily, can we talk?”
“About what?”
“Margaret. I know youve had a falling out, but”
“We didnt fall out. I set a boundary.”
“Shes difficult,” Sophie whispered. “She blames me for breaking up the family. Theres a scene every day. Michael hides at work, leaving me with her. The things she says”
Emily almost smiled. A month ago, she mightve pitied the girl, offered advice, even help. Now she just looked at her.
“Thats your family problem.”
“But maybe we could take turns or”
“No.”
“She cant live on the street!”
“She has her
