“Do you fancy yourself a homemaker now?” scoffed her mother-in-law, eyeing the new curtains.
“Wheres my grandson?” were the first words Emily heard as she opened the front door. Margaret stood on the threshold with a large bag and a disapproving frown.
“Hello, Margaret,” Emily greeted politely. “Olivers asleepI only just put him down an hour ago.”
“Asleep? At two in the afternoon?” Margaret huffed, stepping inside. “My Thomas was running about all day at his age.”
Emily swallowed the criticism and helped her mother-in-law with her coat. Every visit from Margaret felt like an ordeal. She found fault in everythingfrom how Emily raised Oliver to the way she washed dishes.
“Would you like some tea?” Emily offered, heading to the kitchen.
“Of course. And put out those biscuitsthe oat ones I brought last time.”
Margaret walked into the living room and froze by the window. Yesterday, Emily had finally hung the new curtainssoft beige with a gold sheen, chosen after weeks of deliberation. Shed saved from her wages to buy them, hoping to make the house feel cosier.
“Do you fancy yourself a homemaker now?” Margaret smirked, eyeing the drapes. “Such extravagance.”
Emilys heart clenched. Again. Once more, shed done something wrong in Margarets eyes.
“The old ones were worn,” she murmured. “Thomas said it was time to replace them.”
“Thomas said?” Margaret turned sharply. “How much did these cost? Half his monthly wages, I suppose.”
“I used my own money,” Emily replied, keeping her voice steady.
“Your own money?” Margaret sank into an armchair, scrutinising her. “Shouldnt household expenses be shared? Or do you make all the decisions now?”
Emily set down the teacup and sat opposite her. The conversation was veering into familiar, uncomfortable territory.
“Thomas and I discuss everything,” she said.
“Discuss?” Margaret sipped her tea and grimaced. “Too weak. Ive told you how to brew it properly. And these curtainsthey dont suit the room at all.”
Emily glanced at the windows. To her, they brightened the space, made it feel warm.
“I like them,” she said softly.
“You like them,” Margaret echoed. “And what about your husbands opinion? Or his grandmothers?”
“Thomas approved.”
“Thomas is too soft,” Margaret sighed. “Avoids conflict. And you take advantage.”
A cry came from the nursery. Oliver was awake. Emily stood, but Margaret waved her off.
“Ill go. At least I can spend proper time with my grandson.”
Margaret disappeared, and Emily remained at the table, staring at the curtains. Were they really so awful? Should she have consulted Margaret first?
From the nursery, she heard Margaret cooing, her voice gentleso unlike the sharp tone she used with Emily.
“Emily! Come here!” Margaret called. “Look at your child!”
Her heart lurched. Emily rushed in. Margaret stood by the crib, Oliver in her arms.
“Whats wrong?” Emily asked, alarmed.
“Hes got nappy rash!” Margaret snapped. “Cant you see? Arent you caring for your own son?”
Emily leaned in. There was a slight rednessnothing severe.
“Its from the new nappies,” she explained. “A mild reaction. Ive been using cream.”
“Cream?” Margaret shook her head. “In my day, we raised children without creams. And they turned out fine.”
“But now there are better”
“Now theres too much nonsense,” Margaret interrupted. “The child suffers while his mother buys curtains instead of tending to him.”
Tears pricked Emilys eyes. Every visit ended like thisleaving her feeling like a failure.
“I do care for Oliver,” she whispered.
“Do you?” Margaret handed him over. “Then why is he so thin? Thomas was much sturdier at his age.”
“The doctor says his weight is normal.”
“Doctor, doctor,” Margaret muttered. “Wheres a mothers instinct? I can see hes underfed.”
Emily cradled Oliver. He was perfectly healthy. But to Margaret, nothing was ever right.
They returned to the living room. Margaret settled back into her chair, scanning the room critically.
“When did you even find time to hang these? While the baby slept? Instead of doing proper housework.”
“I did it last night when Thomas got home,” Emily said, rocking Oliver.
“With him here? Did he help?”
“Yes.”
“Of course,” Margaret sneered. “Bothering a man with household chores. My Thomas never wasted time on such things.”
Emily bit back the urge to say Thomas had offered to help. Arguing was pointless.
“How much did you pay?” Margaret pressed.
“Fifty pounds,” Emily admitted.
“Fifty pounds? For curtains? Are you mad? That couldve bought Oliver clothes for months!”
“He has clothes. We hadnt changed the curtains in three years.”
“They didnt need changing! The old ones were finenot as garish as these.”
Garish? Emily studied the neutral-toned drapes. What was garish about them?
The front door opened. Thomas was home. Relief washed over herperhaps Margaret would focus on him now.
“Mum!” Thomas grinned, stepping in. “How are you? Just arrived?”
“Just now,” Margaret said, embracing him. “Ive missed you.”
“Missed you too. Hows everything?”
“Oh, I came to see my grandson, but hes covered in rashes. And so thin.”
Thomas frowned, glancing between Emily and his mother.
“Mum, what are you on about? Olivers fine. No rashes.”
“I saw them,” Margaret insisted. “Youre just too busy to notice.”
“Mum, hes healthy. Emily takes excellent care of him.”
Margaret pursed her lips.
“If you say so. But keep an eye on her spending. Fifty pounds for curtains! Can you imagine?”
Thomas finally noticed the new drapes.
“Oh, you hung them! They look lovely.”
“You like them,” Margaret said, as if humouring a child. “Fifty pounds, Thomas. For curtains.”
“So?” He shrugged. “Fair price. We saved for them.”
“Saved?”
“Yes. Emily set aside a bit each month. Wanted it to be a surprise.”
Margaret studied Emily anewnot with approval, but suspicion.
“Saved without telling her husband? Interesting.”
“Mum, whats that supposed to mean?” Thomas sighed. “We agreed the flat needed refreshing. Emily took charge.”
“Took charge,” Margaret nodded. “I see. Making decisions for the whole family.”
Thomass patience frayed.
“Mum, whats the issue? Emily did a great job. The place feels homier.”
“Homier for whom? Her?”
“For all of us,” Thomas said firmly.
Margaret fell silent, her displeasure palpable. Oliver began to fusshungry.
“Ill feed him,” Emily said, heading to the bedroom.
“Wait,” Margaret stopped her. “Give me a bottle. Ill feed him.”
“Hes breastfed,” Emily explained.
“What?” Margaret gasped. “Still? Hes eight months!”
“The doctor recommends a year minimum.”
“Doctor, doctor,” Margaret muttered. “Dont you think its time to wean him? A child needs independence.”
“Mum, enough,” Thomas cut in. “Breastfeedings good for him.”
“Good, good,” Margaret waved dismissively. “In my day, children thrived without such fuss.”
Emily left to feed Oliver. Thomas stayed with his mother. Muffled voices carried from the living roomno doubt complaints about her.
When she returned, Thomas was quiet, and Margaret was gathering her things.
“Leaving so soon?” Emily asked.
“Yes, things to do,” Margaret said curtly.
She kissed Oliver and headed out. Thomas walked her to the door.
“Mum, dont fret over small things,” he said. “Emilys a wonderful wife and mother.”
“If you say so,” Margaret replied coolly. “But mark my wordswhen a woman starts acting on her own, trouble follows.”
The door shut. Thomas returned, weary.
“What did she say?” Emily asked.
“Nothing important,” he muttered. “Ignore her.”
But Emily saw his unease. Every visit left the household tense.
“Maybe talk to her?” she ventured.
“About what? She raised me alonecontrols all she knows. We just have to bear it.”
“And Im supposed to bear it too? Endure her criticism?”
Thomas hugged her.
“Im sorry. I know its hard. But she means well. Shes afraid of losing me.”
“So this is forever?”
“Dunno,” he admitted. “Lets just live our lives and tune her out.”
Emily nodded, though she knew tuning out was impossible. Every barb stung.
That evening, they sat togetherOliver playing, Thomas watching telly, Emily cooking. A normal family scene. Yet Margarets words lingered.
“Tom,” Emily
