“You knew he was a pushover,” her mother-in-law whispered as he left the room.
“I dont see why we need so much meat,” grumbled Margaret Wilkins, peering into the fridge. “Three adults could easily make do with half that.”
Lena silently continued chopping onions for the salad. Tears rolled down her cheeksnot from the onions, but from the daily critiques about how she managed the household.
“And the potatoes are all soft,” the older woman went on. “Where on earth do you buy them? Some dodgy corner shop?”
“From the market, Margaret,” Lena replied quietly. “The same one I always go to.”
“Oh, of course. And what good does that do? Money down the drain.”
Lena set the knife down on the cutting board and took a deep breath. Five years of marriage, and every day was the same. Criticism, complaints, disapproval. And her husband, Edward, just sat there, pretending not to hear.
“Edward, lunch is ready!” she called toward the living room, where he was sprawled on the sofa with his phone.
“Just a minute,” he replied, eyes glued to the screen.
“What do you mean, ‘just a minute’?” Margaret huffed. “The foods getting cold, and hes fiddling with that thing. Edward, come to the table right now!”
Obediently, her son put his phone aside and shuffled into the kitchen. He took his usual seat beside his mother, across from Lena.
“Whats for lunch, then?” he asked, unfolding his napkin.
“Beef stew and meatballs,” said Lena, ladling the stew into bowls.
“Stew again,” Margaret grimaced. “Gives me heartburn. Lena, you know I cant handle rich food.”
“You could skip the gravy,” Lena suggested. “I didnt add any wine this time.”
“Doesnt matter. Still too heavy. And why so many carrots? You know Edward gets bloated from them.”
Lena glanced at her husband, willing him to say something. But Edward just slurped his stew as if the conversation had nothing to do with him.
“Next time Ill just make plain broth,” Lena conceded.
“Exactly. No need for all these fancy dishes. People used to live on simple fare and were healthier for it.”
Lunch passed in the usual silence. Margaret systematically picked apart every dish. Edward nodded along. And Lena counted the minutes, waiting for the ordeal to end.
Afterward, Margaret retired to her room to watch telly, while Lena cleared the table. Edward made for the sofa, but she stopped him.
“Edward, we need to talk.”
“About what?” He paused in the doorway, annoyed.
“About your mother. I cant live like this anymore.”
“Has she done something wrong?”
Lena nearly dropped a plate at the sheer obliviousness.
“Nothing wrong? Edward, she criticises everything I do! The food, the cleaning, the shopping. I feel like a servant in my own home.”
“Mums just used to running things. Shes been in charge all her life.”
“In charge? Then what am I? A lodger?”
Edward rubbed his neck awkwardly.
“Come on, Lena, dont make a scene. Shes getting on. Its hard for her to adjust. Just give it time.”
“Five years, Edward. Five years Ive waited for her to adjust. Instead, shes gotten worse.”
“What do you want me to do? Kick my own mother out?”
“Im asking you to stand up to her. Tell her this is *our* home, and *Im* your wife.”
Edward shook his head.
“I cant talk to her like that. She raised me.”
“And what am I, then? A stranger? Were supposed to be family!”
“Of course we are. But shes my *mother*.”
Lenas chest tightened with hurt. Same story every time. His mother always came first.
“Fine,” she said, fighting back tears. “I get it.”
“Dont be like that. Youve got to understandolder people need patience.”
He reached out to pat her shoulder, but she stepped away.
“Go on, then. Your mothers probably missing you.”
Edward hovered for a moment before shrugging and walking off. Lena stayed behind, staring at the pile of dirty dishes and the weight of everything unsaid.
Shed met Edward at uni. Hed seemed so dependable, so calmunlike her exes, all loudmouths and hotheads. Edward never raised his voice, always polite, always considerate. Maybe a bit too soft, but shed thought that was a good thing. After years of her parents rows, shed had enough of drama.
Shed only met Margaret at the wedding. Back then, shed seemed pleasanta bit stern, but kind. Shed said shed always wanted a daughter-in-law, that shed love Lena like her own.
The trouble started when theyd rented a flat near Margarets. Shed begun dropping by dailyfor salt, for sugar, for any excuse. And while she was there, shed cast a critical eye over everything.
“Lena, whys the floor so dull?” shed ask. “Youre using the wrong polish.”
Or:
“Something smells musty in the bedroom. You ought to air it more.”
Lena had brushed it off, thinking Margaret was just worried about her son. But the remarks grew sharper.
Then Edward lost his job. Money got tight, and Margaret generously offered them her spare room. Just until he got back on his feet.
That “temporary” arrangement had lasted three years. Edward found work at a small firm, but it barely covered bills, let alone moving out. And Margaret no longer hid her belief that Lena wasnt good enough for her boy.
“My friend Barbaras daughter-in-law is different,” shed say. “Thrifty, organised. Home like something out of a magazine, and brilliant with money. Most of all, she respects her husband.”
The message was clear. Lena didnt respect Edward if she dared disagree with him.
Now, Lena dried the last plate and headed to the bathroom. She studied herself in the mirror. Thirty years old, but she looked forty. Stress and sleepless nights had done their work.
From the living room, the telly droned, mingling with Margarets murmurs to Edward about the neighbour whod parked wrong again.
“You ought to have a word,” Margaret was saying. “But you know how rude she is.”
“Just leave it, Mum,” Edward replied. “Not worth the hassle.”
“Quite right. No point dealing with difficult women.”
Lena knew that wasnt just about the neighbour. Margaret often implied Lena fell into that categoryyet Edward had gone and married her anyway.
That evening, she tried again. Once Margaret had gone to bed, she sat beside Edward on the sofa.
“Edward, I mean it. Im miserable here.”
“Not this again.”
“What am I supposed to do, then? Suffer in silence forever?”
“Its not forever. Mum wont live forever.”
Lena went cold.
“So your solution is for me to wait until she *dies*?”
“No! I just meant… well, shes not getting younger. Maybe we could move soon.”
“Move where? On your salary, we cant even afford a bedsit.”
“Ill find something better.”
“Youve been saying that for three years.”
Edward exhaled irritably.
“Cant you give it a rest? Ive got enough on my plate without this.”
“And what about *my* plate?”
“Lena, enough. Lets just watch something.”
He grabbed the remote. Conversation over. Lena sat a while longer, then stood and left.
In the bedroom, she pulled out an old journal from her first year of marriage. Flipped through the yellowed pages.
*”I want our own placejust us. Kids running around, me deciding what to cook, how to clean.”*
Kids. Shed wanted them, but Edward always said it wasnt the right time. First, they needed stability. Then their own home. And now? No space, no money.
*”Edwards so kind and patient. Never shouts, always listens. Hell be a wonderful father.”*
A father to children theyd never have. Not if they lived under Margarets roof indefinitely.
She closed the journal and lay down. Edward came in later, careful not to wake her. She pretended to sleep.
At breakfast, Margaret announced:
“Barbaras visiting today. Havent seen her in ages. Lena, do a proper tidy-upI dont want to be embarrassed.”
“I clean every day, Margaret.”
“Not properly. Theres dust everywhere.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere! On the shelves, the telly. And the hall mirrors filthy.”
Lena checked. No dust. Mirror spotless. But arguing was pointless. She grabbed a cloth and wiped everything again.
Barbara arrived at noona loud, confident woman in a floral dress.
“Margaret, darling!” she boomed from the doorstep. “And this must be Lena! Margarets told me all about you.”
Lena made tea while the women chatted.
“My Claires divorced again,” Barbara said. “Third husband. Says he was too wishy-washy, no backbone.”
“Men these days,” Margaret agreed. “No grit to them.”
Lena, washing dishes, listened despite herself.
“And hows your Edward? Working, I hope?”
“Oh, yes. Good lad, just a bit soft. Lets his wife walk all over him, if you can believe it.”
Lena nearly dropped a cup.
“Really?” Barbara gasped. “He seems so steady.”
“Steady, yes. But no spine. She snaps at him, and he just takes it. I tell him, ‘Edward, stand up for yourself!’ But he says, ‘Mum, stay out of it.'”
“I see. And whats *she* like, this wife of his? Bossy?”
Margaret lowered her voice, but Lena heard anyway.
“Not bossy, exactly. Just… ordinary. Doesnt understand a man needs respect, not nagging.”
“Ah. Any children?”
“None yet. Lenas too busy with her *career*. And Edward wont push her, of course. Too soft.”
Lenas face burned. Margaret was airing their private life to a strangerpainting *her* as the problem.
Barbara left at dusk. Edward came home tired and hungry.
“Dinner ready?” he asked, shrugging off his coat.
“Ill heat it up,” Lena said.
Over the meal, Margaret gushed about Barbaras visitconveniently omitting the gossip.
“She asked after you,” she told Edward. “Lovely woman. Shame we dont see her more.”
Edward nodded, chewing. Lena wondered how many people would soon hear about “spineless Edward” and his “nagging wife.”
Later, once Margaret had gone to bed, Lena tried one last time.
“Edward, your mother talked about us today. Our marriage. To Barbara.”
“What did she say?”
“That we dont have kids. That I dont respect you. That youre spineless.”
Edward winced.
“Dont be daft. She wouldnt say that.”
“She did. I heard her.”
“Maybe you misunderstood. Mums not cruel.”
“She called you *spineless*, Edward! In front of someone else!”
“Who cares what people say?”
“I do! This is my life. My marriage. I wont be the subject of gossip.”
“Nobodys gossiping. Women just chat.”
Lena realised he still didnt get it. Or didnt *want* to.
“Fine,” she said. “Then tomorrow, Ill talk to her myself.”
“Dont. Why stir things up?”
“Because you wont defend us!”
“Defend us from *what*? Mums not hurting anyone.”
“Isnt she? She discusses us with neighbours, nitpicks everything I do, meddles in our relationship. Is that normal?”
Edward stood.
“Im tired. Well talk tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow youll be too tired again.”
But he was already gone.
The next morning, Edward left early, muttering about a meeting. Once hed gone, Lena faced Margaret at the breakfast table.
“We need to talk. About what you said to Barbara.”
Margaret set down her paper.
“What about it?”
“You discussed our private life. Our marriage.”
“And? Friends talk.”
“About what? That your son has no backbone?”
“Does he?” Margaret said calmly. “Look at him. Thirty-three and still mummys boy. Lets you have your way, too scared to disagree.”
Lenas hands shook.
“Hes not scared. He loves me. Trusts me.”
“Loves one thing. A man should lead his family. Not hide behind his wife.”
“Lead? From what?”
Margaret studied her.
“From you. He cant say no, even when youre wrong. Thats not how a man behaves.”
“I dont *order* him!”
“Oh, you do. And he lets you. He shouldve put his foot down years ago.”
“Put his foot down*why*?”
“For your cheek. Your disrespect. For forgetting who runs this house.”
Lena gripped the table.
“*Runs* it? I live here, work, clean, cook. How am I not part of this household?”
Margaret stood slowly.
“Because, dear, this is *my* home. Edwards *my* son. And you? Youre temporary. Best remember that.”
The words hit like a slap.
“Temporary? Weve been married five years!”
“And? A piece of paper doesnt guarantee anything. If youre not suited, youll be replaced.”
“You *want* me gone?”
“I want my son happy. With you, he isnt. Even if he wont admit it.”
Lena sank onto a chair, heart pounding.
“Has he complained about me?”
“Not in words. But Im his motherI see it. Hes worn down by your nagging. Used to be so cheerful. Now? Shut down.”
“Because of *you*!”
“Me?” Margaret scoffed. “Im nothing but kind to him. *Youre* the one grinding him down.”
Lena knew it was hopeless. Margaret would never blame herself.
“Right,” she said, standing. “Ill discuss this with Edward.”
“Do,” Margaret said. “Though I doubt hell tell you the whole truth. Too kind, my boy.”
Lena locked herself in the bedroom and criedreally criedfor the first time in years.
Edward came home late, grim-faced.
“Rough day?” Lena asked.
“Works a nightmare. No bonus they promised.”
“Sorry. But we need to talk.”
“Not now. Im shattered.”
He showered and went straight to bed. Lena lay awake, replaying Margarets words. Was Edward really unhappy? Hiding it to spare her?
In the morning, she asked outright.
“Edward, truthfullyare you happy with me?”
He blinked.
“What kind of question is that? Of course.”
“Your mother disagrees.”
“Whatd she say?”
“That youre worn down by me. That I nag. That youre unhappy.”
He hesitated.
“Mum worries. Thinks we argue too much.”
“We argue because of *her*!”
“Its not just Mum. We cant agree on anythingkids, work, the future.”
Lena saw the evasion.
“Edward, be honest. Do you want me to leave?”
A long pause. Then:
“No. But I cant go on like this.”
“Like what?”
“Caught in the middle. Between you and her.”
“Then choose,” Lena said. “Your wife or your mother.”
He stood.
“Im late for work. Well talk tonight.”
But that evening, he hid in the bathroom, then let Margaret monopolise him with gossip.
Lena understood. He was avoiding the conversation. That *was* his answer.
That night, she made her decision.
In the morning, after Edward left, she packed a suitcase. Just essentials.
Margaret spotted it as Lena carried it to the hall.
“Going somewhere?”
“To a friends. For a while.”
“Long while?”
“Dont know yet.”
Margaret nodded.
“Perhaps its for the best. Edward could use a
