“No, Mum. You wont be coming round anymore. Not today, not tomorrow, not next year.” A tale of patience worn thin, of a line finally drawn in the sand.
For weeks, I wrestled with how to tell this story, but only two words ever surfaced: *audacity* and *spinelessness*. One belonged to my mother-in-law, the other to my husband. And trapped between them? Me. A woman whod played the partpolite, accommodating, endlessly patientuntil the day I realised our “happy home” was nothing but a stage for her theatrics.
Ill never understand how someone can stride into another persons house and help themselves, as if its their birthright. But thats precisely what she did. All for the sake of her golden childmy husbands sister.
Every visit left us lighterjoints of beef vanished from the freezer, an entire cottage pie spirited away, even my untouched hair straightener, swiped before Id had a chance to use it. “Sophias hairs a right state,” shed said, as if that excused theft. “You barely go out anyway.”
I swallowed my words. Gritted my teeth. Pleaded with my husband. Hed only sigh and say, “Thats just Mumshe doesnt think. Well replace it.”
Then came the breaking point, just before our fifth anniversary. Wed booked a posh restaurant in London, a proper night out like we used to have. Id chosen my dressall I needed were the perfect heels. So I splashed out. A stunning, *expensive* pair Id coveted for months. I left them boxed in our room, waiting for the big evening.
Fate had other ideas.
That afternoon, work ran late. I rang my husband, James, to collect our daughter from nursery. He agreedthen, predictably, some “emergency” cropped up, so he called his mum. Handed her our keys to fetch little Charlotte and wait at ours till I returned.
When I got home, I went straight to the bedroom. My heart lurched. The shoebox was gone.
“James, where are my shoes?” I asked, already knowing.
“How should I know?” He shrugged.
“Was your mum here?”
“Yeah, she picked up Charlotte, stayed a bit, then left.”
“And the keys?” My voice was eerily calm.
“I gave them to her. What else could I do?”
I snatched my phone, dialled her number. She answered, breezy as ever.
“Evening,” I said, frost sharpening each syllable. “I think you know why Im calling.”
“No, actually, I dont,” she lied smoothly.
“Where. Are. My. Shoes?”
“Oh, I gave them to Sophia. Youve got cupboards full, and shes nothing decent for her graduation.”
*Click*. No remorse. No hesitation. Just gone.
James, ever the peacekeeper, exhaled. “Well get you another pair, love. Dont kick off. Shes family.”
I took his arm and marched him to Harrods. Straight to the displaythe *exact* designer heels Id dreamed of. The price made him blanch.
“Eleanor, thats nearly a months wages!” he choked.
“You said wed replace them,” I smiled. “So we are.”
And replace them he didsigning away years of blind obedience with one wince-inducing swipe of his card.
But the curtain hadnt fallen. On the drive home, his phone buzzed. A text from Mum:
“Coming round tonight. Freezers packed with vegIll stash it at yours and fetch it next month.”
I watched his face as he read it. The tightening of his jaw. Then, for the first time, he dialled her back and spoke, voice steel-clad:
“Mum, you wont be setting foot here. Not today, not next week, not next year. Your last favour cost us more than youre worth.”
He ended the call. I looked at himand for the first time in years, I saw *us*. A proper team. A home with locks turned firmly against thieves, but wide open for those who truly belong.
