**The Wife and Her Ultimatum**
This morning, my daughter-in-law, Emily, looked me straight in the eye and announced, “Margaret, from now on, dear mother-in-law, you wont eat any of my cooking. Do as you pleaseIll give you a shelf in the fridge. Cook for yourself, preferably before I wake up or get home from work.” I stood frozen, as if struck by lightning, unable to believe what Id just heard. So, after all these years of cooking for the family, Ithe mother-in-lawam now banished from the kitchen and denied the right to a home-cooked meal? Im still boiling with anger. If I dont vent, I might explode from the sheer audacity.
My husband, Arthur, and I have lived in the same house as our son, William, and his wife, Emily, for the past two years. When they married, we suggested they move in with usthe house is spacious, theres room for everyone, and I thought I could help the young couple. At first, Emily seemed lovelyalways smiling, thanking me for meals, even asking for recipes like my shepherds pie. Foolishly, I was delighted William had found such a wife. I cooked, cleaned, and tried my best to make them comfortable. And now she says *this*! As if Im an intruder in my own home, as if my roasts and puddings are beneath her.
It all started a few months ago when Emily began complaining that I “cooked too much.” She claimed she was on a diet, calling my dishes “heavy.” I was baffledwho forced her to eat my steak-and-kidney pie? If she wanted salads, she could boil her own greens. But instead, she criticised everything: the gravy was too salty, the chips soggy, “why so much butter?” I bit my tongue, avoiding arguments. William, ever the peacemaker, would say, “Mum, dont take it to heartEmilys stressed with work.” But I knew better. Shed decided the kitchen was now *her* domain, and I was in the way.
Yesterday was the last straw. As usual, I made pancakes for breakfastthin, crispy at the edges, just how William loved them since he was a boy. I set the table and called everyone down. Emily took one look at the pancakes as if they were public enemies and snapped, “Margaret, Ive asked you not to cook so much. William and I have porridge now.” I nearly retorted that porridge wasnt banned, but then came her ultimatum. A shelf in the fridge! Cooking for myself! In *my* house, where Ive ruled for forty years, where every corner holds the sweat of my labour!
I tried talking to William. “Son, am I to cook just for myself now, like some lodger? This is your home, but Im not the hired help.” But he, as always, played mediator: “Mum, Emily just wants her own space. Try to understand.” *Space*? And wheres *mine*? Ive given my life to this family, and now Im reduced to a shelf? Arthur, my husband, didnt back me either. “Margaret, dont overreact,” he said. “Emilys youngshe wants to run the house.” *Run* it? Then what am I?
Honestly, I dont know what to do. Part of me wants to pack my bags and stay with my sister in another town, leaving them to manage. But this is *my* home, *my* kitchen, *my* son! Why should *I* be the one to yield? Ive tried being a good mother-in-law: never interfering, never mocking Emilys vegan experiments, even washing up when she was “too tired.” And now she strikes me from the family table as if Im a stranger.
Last night, I cooked my own dinnermushrooms on toast, just how I like it. Emily huffed, “There, Margaret, isnt this better?” I stayed silent, but inside, I seethed. *Better*? A family split into “your meals” and “my meals”? Ive always believed food brings people together, that problems are solved over shared dinners. Now were at war over pancakes and a shelf.
Im weighing my options. Maybe I should talk openly with Emily, tell her how much this hurts, that I wont live like a guest in my own home. But I fear shell twist it, accusing me of “overstepping” or “ignoring her boundaries.” Or perhaps Ill stop cooking altogetherlet William and Emily survive on porridge while I order takeaway. Well see how long they last without my shepherds pie.
But what stings most is William. Hes caught between a rock and a hard placehis mother and his wife, whos clearly forcing him to choose. I dont want to see him suffer, but I wont grovel. Ive worked my whole life, raised him, built this home. And now some girl dictates my place? No, Emily, not like this.
For now, Ill stay neutral. Ill cook for myself, as she demanded, but I wont surrender. Maybe shell reflect when she sees I wont beg for forgiveness. Or perhaps Ill need to sit down with Arthur and William for a serious talk. I dont want war, but I wont stay silent any longer. This house is *mine*, and I deserve my seat at the table. Emily should ask herself if her “boundaries” are worth tearing a family apart.
**Life Lesson:** Sometimes, standing your ground isnt about prideits about dignity. A home thrives when respect flows both ways, not when love is rationed like portions on a plate.
