“You have no right to behave like this in my home!” Emily’s voice trembled with barely contained fury. She stood in the hallway, clutching her handbag to her chest like a shield.
“This is my flat, Margaret! Mine!”
Something like contempt flickered in her mother-in-law’s eyes.
“What am I supposed to do if you can’t keep things tidy yourself?” Margaret said through gritted teeth. “Dust on the shelves, dirty dishes in the sink. Is this how decent people live?”
Emily gripped the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles turned white. A storm of resentment and helplessness raged inside her.
“I work, Margaret! I dont always have time”
“You must make time for what matters,” Margaret cut in, tilting her chin up before turning toward the door. “Im only trying to help, and this is the thanks I get?”
The door clicked shut, leaving Emily alone in the silent flat. The quiet pressed against her ears, but inside, the storm still raged. She kicked off her heels and wandered into the living room, then the kitchen, and finally the bedroomeach space marked by Margarets “help.”
And the bedroom Margaret must have finished tidying just before Emily arrived. The tube of hand cream from the bedside table was gone. The little seashell ornament from their holiday in Cornwall had vanished from the dresser.
Emily paced like a trapped animal, her hands shaking with anger. Shed come home exhausted, dreaming of a shower, of tea in her favourite mug Now, in her own home, nothing was where it should be.
The front door clicked. James was back from work. Seeing his wife standing in the middle of the kitchen, lost, he knew immediatelysomething was wrong.
“Em, whats happened?” He reached for her, but she twisted away.
“Your mother was here again!” Emilys voice cracked. “She cleaned our bedroom, James! The bedroom! Do you not see how mad that is?”
James sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. Emily knew that gesturehe did it when he didnt know what to say.
“Em, she just wants to help”
“Help?!” Emilys eyes darkened with rage. “I cant find my phone charger! My favourite mugs goneIve been looking for half an hour! And the bath towelsshes hidden them somewhere!”
James reached for her hands, but Emily stepped back toward the window.
“Shes always throwing my things away, James!” Emily wiped at her eyes. “Things that mean something to me! And she calls it rubbish!”
“Mum just shows love this way,” James said gently. “She likes everything in its place”
“I dont want her kind of love!” Emily snapped. “Im sick of someone else running my home! Your mother moves my things, decides what I should keep. Ive had enough, James!”
She sank onto a chair, covering her face. Her shoulders trembled. James hesitated, then carefully put his arms around her.
“Im sorry, love. Ill talk to her, alright? Ill ask her to stop.”
Emily gave a bitter laugh.
“And shell listen, wont she? Right.”
James managed to calm her. Made her tea, found her mugit had been shoved to the back of the cupboard.
But Margaret didnt stop.
Three days later, Emily came home and knew at onceMargaret had been there again. The air smelled of her heavy, powdery perfume. In the kitchen, the jars of pasta and rice had been rearranged by size. The fridge was stocked with irritating precision.
Emily collapsed onto the sofa. Anger simmered, but she had no energy left for another fight.
A week later, it happened again. This time, Margaret had “organised” the wardrobe. All Emilys clothes had been rearranged. Her favourite dress, always hung at the front for easy access, had been crumpled and stuffed onto the top shelf.
Emily stood before the open wardrobe, swallowing back tears. Her home no longer felt like a refuge. Every evening, she wonderedhad her mother-in-law come today? What had been moved, hidden, thrown out this time?
On Friday evening, the phone rang.
“Yes, Mum Of course Tomorrow? Alright, well come Yes, Ill tell her.”
James turned to Emily with a guilty look.
“Mums invited us for dinner tomorrow. Says she has news.”
Emily froze for a second.
“Do we have to go?”
“Em, dont be childish. Shes trying. She always cooks your favourites.”
Saturday evening, they climbed the stairs to Margarets flat. Fifth floor, no lift in the old estate block. Emily dragged her feet, each step an effort. Shed rather have been anywherework, the Tube, the dentistjust not here.
“Itll be fine,” James squeezed her hand. “Mum made that lamb you like. And a treacle tart, the one you loved last time.”
Emily forced a smile.
At dinner, Margaret spoke only to Jamesneighbour gossip, the new drama on telly, the price of veg at the market. Emily pushed food around her plate in silence.
“Emily, not hungry?” Margaret finally addressed her.
“Just thinking,” Emily replied automatically.
“Well,” Margaret set down her fork, folding her hands. “I do have news. Im going to a health spa with Maureen. Ten days, for a bit of rest.”
“Brilliant, Mum!” James grinned. “Youve needed a break.”
“Yes, I think so too,” Margaret nodded, pulling a keyring from her apron pocket. “Heres the spare key. Just in case. And could you water my plants?”
Emily stared at the keys. Two on a plain metal ring. A plan began forming in her mind. She smiled faintly.
The next week, Emily was glowing. Colleagues noticedshe hummed at her desk, smiled more.
“Youre cheerful,” James remarked over dinner on Wednesday. “Bonus come through?”
Emily smirked, waving him off.
“Just in a good mood.”
The day before Margarets return, Emily left work early. Said she had a doctors appointment.
She stood outside Margarets flat, keys in hand. Her heart pounded like before an exam. *My turn,* she thought, and turned the key.
On Sunday, they met Margaret at the station. She looked refreshed, chattering about treatments, new friends, the food.
“Imagineporridge with honey and walnuts! Ive written it down, Ill make it at home.”
Emily sat quietly in the back seat, stomach twisting.
Margaret opened her front door and froze. She stepped inside, eyes darting around the hallway.
“What what is this?” Her voice wavered.
She rushed into the living room. It was spotlessbut nothing was where it should be.
“My figurines!” Margaret lunged for the display cabinet. “Where are they?”
She tore through the flat, checking drawers, cupboards. Her face turned crimson. Then she whirled on Emily, eyes blazing.
“You!” she hissed. “You did this!”
Emily lifted her chin, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“Yes. Me.”
Then, with mock innocence: “Dont you like it? I wanted to help. Make things easier for you.”
James gaped, glancing between them, but stayed silent.
“And guess what?” Emily continued sweetly. “I threw out those old figurines. And the teacups. You never used themjust dust collectors. Rubbish, right? Like you always said about my things.”
“You had no right!” Margarets voice rose to a shriek. “My home! My things! How dare you?!”
“You tidied my home too,” Emily said calmly. “Feels awful, doesnt it?”
“James!” Margaret rounded on him. “Do you see what your wifes done?”
James opened his mouth, but Emily cut in.
“Oh, look at the time! Weve got to go.” She took his arm. “But Ill be back, Margaret. Ill thank you *properly* for all your help!”
She dragged a stunned James outside. They descended in silence. Only on the pavement did he exhale.
“Bloody hell, Em.”
Emily smiled. Warm satisfaction spread through her. The plan had worked perfectly.
…Two months passed. Margaret never set foot in their flat again.
*Ive won,* Emily thought, grinning to herself.
