You should be grateful my mother is eating what youve cooked, he snapped, his voice sharp as a knife.
Did you put my boots on again? Claire stormed into the hallway, eyes darting to the open wardrobe door. I asked you not to touch my things!
Sweetheart, whats the tone? Margaret Whitaker adjusted her scarf in front of the mirror. Its raining cats and dogs outside, and all I have are my evening shoes. Isnt that a pity?
Its not about pity, Claire folded her arms, the heat of irritation rising in her chest. Its about respecting personal space. I dont wander into your room or borrow your belongings.
Margaret pursed her lips, giving Claire the regal stare she privately called the queens glance: a slow, slightly narrowed look with a condescending smile.
Were so delicate, she cooed. Back in my day eight people could share one room and no one complained about boundaries.
In your day perhaps they didnt complain, Claire muttered, but we live in a different era now.
What are you muttering about? Margaret leaned forward, feigning deafness. Speak up, Im not ninetyfive.
Claire inhaled deeply, trying to calm the storm inside. Living with her motherinlaw for three months had been a trial. There was no choice; the flat theyd shared with David had to be let out to cover the mortgage on their new house. The build had stalled, and now they were crammed into Margarets twobedroom flat in Manchester.
Im going to the shop and buying you a pair of rubber boots, Claire forced a smile. So you dont suffer.
Oh, no need! Margaret flailed her hands. My shoe cupboard is overflowing. Better buy yourself some boots, so you dont make me feel sorry for yours.
Yours, Claire thought, not old or everyday, but mine. It underscored who got to decide whether to share or not.
Fine, Margaret, she said. Im off to work. Ill be late; I have a meeting.
Again? Margaret shook her head. David will come home tired and hungry, and his wife wont be there.
David can heat his own dinner, Claire tossed her coat over her arm. Everythings already in the fridge.
She stepped out into the cold, inhaling the damp spring air. The rain had stopped, but the puddles had turned to a grey, slushy mess. Yes, she really does need boots, Claire admitted as she walked to the bus stop.
At the office, the day crawled. Claire, a graphic designer at a printing house, usually lost herself in deadlines, but today her mind kept replaying this mornings argument and the missing packet of expensive tea, and the time Margaret accidentally shrank Claires favourite sweater in hot water.
Youre jittery today, her colleague Natalie said, sliding into the breakroom chair. Motherinlaw again?
Claire managed a weak grin. You can see it, cant you?
Natalie patted her hand sympathetically. Tell me, what happened this time?
Nothing special, Claire waved it off. Just the usual petty things. They add up.
What about David?
What about David? Claire sighed. He loves his mum, I get it. He tries to stay neutral.
You cant stay neutral forever, Natalie warned. Sooner or later youll have to pick a side. Hed better choose yours, or
What? Ill leave him because of his mum? Claires voice rose, eyes flashing. Because she keeps crossing the line?
Not because of the mum, because of his stance, Natalie corrected. Ive been there. My first marriage fell apart after five years because the husband always sided with his mother.
Well get through this, Claire said, resolve hardening. The new house will be finished soon, and everything will settle.
Natalie exhaled, doubtful. Lets hope.
That evening, Claire decided to surprise David with ingredients for his favourite carrot cake. Saturday would give her time to bake, a small treat for the whole family.
The flat was quiet, only the kitchen light glimmering. She slipped off her shoes and entered, stopping dead at the doorway. Margaret sat at the table, already devouring a casserole Claire had prepared for breakfasta fullsize dish meant for three.
Claire! Margaret jumped, startled. Back already? I thought youd be later.
The meeting got cancelled, Claire said, eyes flicking to the almost empty casserole dish. Wheres David?
Hes out with friends, said not to wait, Margaret waved a hand. I decided to have dinner. Storebought chicken didnt appeal, so I tried your casserole. Its lovely, by the way!
Claire set the grocery bags down, the thought of an extra hour of cooking gnawing at her. She needed sleep on Saturday.
Margaret, that casserole was meant for breakfast, for everyone, Claire began, voice steady.
Oh, dear, Im sorry! Margaret flailed, but her eyes held no true remorse. I thought it was just sitting in the fridge. Ill make something else tomorrow, youre our kitchen wizard!
Claire clenched her jaw. Margaret knew exactly what the casserole was for; Claire had mentioned it at dinner the night before when planning the weekend menu.
Alright, Claire muttered. Ill change out of these clothes.
While unpacking, Claire realised the chocolate bar shed bought for the cake was missing.
Margaret, have you seen the chocolate? she asked, returning to the kitchen.
Margaret gave a guilty smile. Oops, love, I took one piece for my tea. Thought you wouldnt notice.
A surge of outrage rose in Clairenot over the chocolate, but over the relentless trampling of her boundaries, the casual disrespect.
Noted, she replied shortly. It was for Davids cake.
Buy another tomorrow, Margaret shrugged. The shops just across the road. No big deal.
Claire nodded, swallowed her anger, and retreated to her room. She was shaking with hurt, but didnt want a fullblown fight. Margaret would just pretend not to understand the problem.
David came home late, finding Claire already in bed with a book.
Hey, sunshine, he murmured, leaning in to kiss her. How was your day?
Fine, she set the book aside. And yours?
Great! Met the lads, had a few pints at the pub. Long time since wed all gone out.
Claire hesitated, unsure whether to mention the eaten casserole and missing chocolate. She didnt want to seem petty.
Is Mum still up? David asked, pulling his sweater over his head.
No, shes in her room watching telly.
Ill pop in to say hello, he said, heading out.
Through the thin wall Claire heard Margarets muffled laughter. She wondered whether her motherinlaw had embellished the story for David, casting herself as the benevolent cook.
David returned twenty minutes later, relaxed.
Guess what? Mum loved your casserole, he said, tucking himself under the blankets. She says its fingerlicking good.
Yes, I know, Claire replied curtly. It was for breakfast.
Whats the problem? David turned to her. Just make something else. At least mum appreciated your cooking!
Claire stared at him.
David, this isnt about a casserole. Its about your mum constantly taking my things without asking, eating food Ive set aside, ignoring my wishes.
Come off it, David waved a hand. Its just a casserole. Shes only hungry.
The chocolate for your cake? She ate that too, just because.
What chocolate? he frowned.
I bought it for a surprise tomorrow. Your mum ate it just because.
And then what? Davids tone edged with irritation. Youre upset about a chocolate bar?
Its not the chocolate! Claire felt tears prick her eyes. Shes testing limits, proving she runs this house.
Nonsense! David sat up, exasperated. Youre overreacting. Shes just being a mum.
The casserole yesterday, the chocolate today, my boots the day beforealways my stuff, always without permission. Claire spread her fingers, counting. It never stops.
David stared, bewildered.
Youre turning everything into a battle of mine versus hers. Were a family.
A family respects personal boundaries, Claire whispered. It asks before taking, it doesnt raid whats meant for everyone.
You should be grateful my mother enjoys your food, David shouted, voice cracking. It means she likes what you make. Thats a compliment!
Claire froze, eyes wide. She couldnt grasp that he saw no problem.
A compliment? she repeated, voice trembling. So if I cook a dinner and your mum eats it while were not there, thats a compliment, not disrespect?
Stop dramatising! David snapped, pulling the blanket over himself. Ive had a rough day, and youre turning a casserole into a crisis!
He stood, grabbed a cushion. Im going to crash on the sofa. Early alarm tomorrow. Goodnight.
Claire sat alone, tears streaming down her cheeks. She hadnt expected such a reaction. She had hoped David would understand, would stand with her, but he sided with his mother without even trying to see her side.
Morning arrived with the scent of pancakes. Margaret was bustling in the kitchen, David at the table with a grin as if yesterdays argument never existed.
Morning, love, he said, smiling. Mum decided to treat us. Have a seat.
Claire reluctantly sat. Margaret placed a plate of pancakes before her.
Eat up, dear. I also made eggs, coming right over.
Thanks, Claire whispered. Just a coffee, Im not hungry.
How can you not be hungry? Ive made a feast! Youll hurt me if you dont eat.
David watched, waiting for her reaction, as if a refusal would be a declaration of war.
Fine, Claire picked up a fork, taking a bite.
There, good girl! Youve put on a few pounds, better feed yourself, Margaret cooed, patting Claires head patronisingly.
David muttered a snort but said nothing. Claire chewed mechanically, feeling the kitchen no longer felt like her home.
When Margaret left for the shop, Claire seized the moment to speak to David.
David, we need to talk about your mum, she began, sitting opposite him on the sofa.
Again? he grimaced. Everythings fine. She even made us breakfast.
Its a kind gesture, Claire agreed. But the issue is the lack of respect for my boundaries. I feel like a guest, not a partner.
David sighed. Claire, my mum is used to being the hostess in her own house. Itll take time for her to adjust. Hang in there; well move into our new place soon.
What happens when we move? Claire asked quietly. Will she still drop by and run the kitchen, take my things, eat what Ive saved for us?
David looked away. Shell visit, of course. Shes my mum.
Dont you see the problem? Claire leaned forward. Im not against your mum, Im against the disrespect. And you dont seem to get that.
Im worried youre splitting everything into yours and hers. Were a family; we share.
We share with consent, not because someone grabs without asking.
They stared at each other, the distance between them growing. For David, his mother would always occupy a special, untouchable spot; for Claire, the constant trespasses were unbearable.
Honestly, Claire said low, I need a break. Ill stay at Natalies cottage for the weekend.
What? David blinked. Because of a casserole?
Not the casserole, Claire shook her head, exhausted. Because you wont listen to me. I need time to think about us.
She stood, gathering her things. David stayed seated, staring at the empty space where shed been.
And what should I tell my mum? he asked as she reached the door with her suitcase.
The truth, Claire replied. That Im leaving to consider our future. You should think too.
She stepped out into the crisp spring air, a strange lightness in her chest. The decision felt impulsive, but it felt right. Sometimes you have to walk away to see the whole picture.
Her phone buzzeda message from Natalie confirming shed left a spare key with the neighbour. Claire inhaled the cold, ready for a silent weekend alone, to sort her thoughts before the inevitable conversation about family, boundaries, and respectbecause even a tiny thing like a breakfast casserole can betray a deeper rift.
