“You took my son from me, and I’ll take everything from you,” hissed the mother-in-law.
“Emily, love, why up so early?” frowned Margaret, poking her head from her bedroom. “Half six in the morning!”
“Got an early meeting today,” Emily replied, shoving files into her bag. “Last-minute team briefing.”
Margaret shuffled to the kitchen in slippers, clattering dishes. Emily tried slipping past unnoticedno such luck.
“Breakfast? Youd let my boy go to work starving?”
“Olivers a grown man, he can make his own breakfast,” Emily muttered, pulling on her coat and hunting for keys.
“Oh, is that so?” Margaret turned on her sharply. “In my day, wives knew their place. Took pride in caring for their husbands.”
Emily exhaled. This same argument had played out every morning since Margaret moved in six months ago after her illness. The constant nitpickinghow she cooked, cleaned, even spoke to Olivernever eased.
“Margaret, Oliver and I split chores equally. Thats how modern couples work.”
“Modern!” Margaret scoffed. “My boy never missed a meal under my roof. Now look at himwasting away!”
Emily bit back that her thirty-year-old husband wasnt exactly wasting. Arguing with Margaret was like shouting at a brick wall.
“Anyway, Im late. Olivers still asleepwake him by eight, yeah?”
“Oh, Ill wake him. At least *I* know my duties.”
At work, Emily couldnt focus. Her colleague Jess noticed by lunch.
“You alright? You look wrecked,” Jess said, sliding into the chair beside her with a coffee.
“Just Margaret again. Same oldI dont cook right, clean right, breathe wrong around Oliver.”
“And he doesnt stick up for you?”
Emily gave a dry laugh.
“Hardly. Says shes fragile after her illness, needs understanding.”
“Right. So how longs she staying, then?”
“No clue. Doctors cleared her ages ago, but Oliver wont hear of her leaving. What if something happens?”
Jess winced in sympathy.
“Bloody hell, Em. I cant stand my mother-in-law for a Sunday roast, let alone living together.”
That evening, Emily trudged home hungry. The flat smelled of roast chicken. Oliver lounged on the sofa, plate balanced on his lap, eyes glued to a wildlife documentary.
“Hey, love,” he said absently. “How was work?”
“Fine. Whats for dinner?”
“Mum made her famous roast. Leftovers in the kitchen.”
Emily found Margaret scrubbing pans.
“Evening, Margaret.”
“Evening,” came the curt reply, back still turned.
Emily lifted the lid off the roasting tin. One dry chicken wing and a spoonful of potatoes sat inside.
“This is all thats left?”
“Problem?” Margaret finally faced her. “Thought you were watching your figure. Always moaning about jeans fitting tight.”
“I dont *moan*, I just”
“Exactly. Im helping, really.”
Emily took her meager plate to the living room. Oliver was engrossed in lions hunting gazelles.
“Ollie, can we talk?”
“Sure. Whats up?”
“Go look at what your mum left me for dinner.”
With a sigh, Oliver hauled himself up. He returned shrugging.
“Looks fine to me.”
“Fine for a *pigeon*, maybe. Ive worked all day, Im starving, and this is scraps!”
“Mum!” Oliver called toward the kitchen. “Whys there barely any food left?”
“Sweetheart, I assumed Emily wasnt *that* hungry,” Margaret trilled. “Shes always on about diets!”
“See?” Oliver turned to Emily. “She meant well.”
Emily felt heat rising in her chest.
“Oliver, your mum *deliberately* starves me. Every. Single. Day.”
“Dont be daft. Shes kindhearted.”
“Kind to *you*. To me, she treats me like a useless housekeeper.”
A loud sniffle came from the kitchen. Oliver shot up.
“Now youve upset her! Shes *fragile*, Em!”
“And *Im* not?”
But hed already gone to console Margaret. Emily sat alone, pushing the cold chicken around her plate.
Later, Oliver crept into the bedroom, sheepish.
“Sorry, love. Mums just sensitive. Says she feels like a burden here.”
“Good. She *is*.”
“Emily!”
“What? Were newlyweds! Were supposed to have our *own* life, not live under her microscope!”
Oliver sat beside her.
“Just give it time. Shell adjust. Then well find her a nice flat nearby.”
“When? In a *decade*?”
“I dont know. But I promise, itll happen.”
The next day, Emily left work early, determined to cook dinner herself. She bought groceries, hoping for a peaceful evening.
But as she unlocked the door, Margarets voice rang out:
“understand your wifes young, Oliver. But *my* patience isnt endless.”
Emily froze. Oliver murmured something too quiet to catch.
Margaret continued, louder: “*Good* girl? Please. Look how thin youve gotten! And that *temper* of hersalways complaining!”
“Works just stressful for her”
“Work! What about *home*? *Family*? Her priorities are all wrong. Honestly, Oliver did you rush into this marriage?”
Emilys stomach dropped. She forced herself to step inside, feigning normalcy.
“Evening,” she said brightly.
“Oh! Emily, love, didnt hear you!” Margaret didnt even blush. “Dinners sortedyour favorite beef stew.”
Oliver beamed. “Cheers, Mum. That alright, Em?”
“Perfect,” Emily lied.
Dinner was painfully polite. Oliver chatted about work; Margaret oozed fake concern. Emily ate the admittedly delicious stew in silence.
“Plans this weekend, Emily?” Margaret asked suddenly.
“Not really. Why?”
“Ive a doctors appointment. Oliver offered to drive me.”
“Course, Mum. No problem.”
“Lovely. Was *worried* Emily mightve claimed you already.”
The barb was subtle but sharp. Emily looked up, meeting Margarets triumphant gaze.
After dinner, Emily feigned a headache and retreated to bed. Margaret had declared warand Oliver was oblivious to how she was poisoning him against her.
He joined her later, whispering, “Head better?”
“Mm. Ollie has your mum seemed off to you?”
“How dyou mean?”
“Like contradicting herself. One minute saying shes in the way, the next refusing to leave.”
Oliver hesitated. “Today she wondered if wed married too fast.”
Emily sat up. “And you said?”
“That we love each other. That well work through anything.”
“Oliver, your mum *hates* me. Shes trying to *split us up*.”
“Dont be dramatic. Shes just protective.”
“Wake up! She wants me *gone*.”
“Em, shes not *evil*. Just tactless sometimes.”
“Watch her tomorrow. *Properly* watch.”
The next evening, Olivers grim face said it all.
“You were right,” he admitted. “She kept nitpicking you. Saying youre messy, disrespectful. Then outright said I shouldnt have married you.”
“And you said?”
“That I love you. That I wont let *anyone* interfere.”
“And she?”
A pause. “She cried. Said Id chosen a wife over my own mother.”
“Classic guilt trip.”
“Em, shes *ill*. The surgery, the stress”
“Stop excusing her! Shes *sabotaging* us!”
“Alright, Ill talk to her. Make it clear shes crossed a line.”
The next morning, raised voices woke Emily. Oliver and Margaret were arguing in the kitchen.
“dont *see* her like I do!” Margaret shrilled.
“Mum, *enough*! Emilys my *wife*you *will* respect her!”
“Respect? For *stealing* my boy?”
Emily entered to find Margaret red-faced, Oliver gripping the table.
“You took my son,” Margaret spat, spotting Emily, “and Ill take *everything* from you.”
“Mum!” Oliver gasped.
“*Everything*?” Emily echoed coolly.
“Youll see. Think I dont know how to handle your sort? Forty years Ive seen wives come and go. I know every weakness.”
“Is that a *threat*?”
“A *promise*. My sons life will be *mine* to shape. Interfere, and youll regret it.”
Oliver stood abruptly. “Mum, *what the hell*? How could you”
“*How could she*?” Margaret whirled on him. “She *loathes* me! Those snide looks, those *complaints*”
“Emily *never*”
“*Quiet*! Youre *blind*, Oliver. That girls *ruining* this family!”
Emily stepped forward. “Margaret, *youre* the one poisoning this house. Move back to *your* flat.”
Margaret gasped. “*Throwing me out*? My own sons home?”
“You *need* to go, Mum,” Oliver said quietly.
Margarets face twisted. “So. You *choose* her.”
“I chose Emily when I married her. But Ill *always* love you.”
“Fine. Lets see how long she stays *then*.”
She stormed out, slamming the door. Oliver sank into a chair, head in hands.
“Christ, Em I never thought shed”
Emily touched his shoulder. “She *means* this, Ollie. That wasnt just anger.”
“What can she even *do*? Its empty drama.”
But Emily knew better. Margarets war had just begunand she fought dirty.
At lunch, Jess called, frantic.
“Emyour mother-in-law rang *my mum*. Asking about you! School days, exes, if youd ever *drug* problems?”
Emilys blood ran cold.
“Whatd your mum say?”
“Just that you were dead normal. But *whys* she digging?”
Emily knew. Margaret was hunting for ammunition.
That night, Margaret served Oliver heaped plates, Emily a sad pile of plain rice.
“Made your *favorite*, sweetheart,” she cooed to Oliver. Then, sweetly venomous to Emily: “Knew youd want something *light*.”
After dinner, Margaret cornered her at the sink.
“Spoke to your old schoolmate, *Louise*. Heard about that *wild* graduation night. The *boy* in the bushes?”
Emily turned slowly. “And?”
“My boy thinks he married a saint. Imagine his shock to learn the *truth*.”
“Or what? Youll *blackmail* me?”
“Just a choice, darling. Leave *now* or Ill show Oliver who you *really* are.”
Emily laughed coldly. “A *teenager* at prom? Groundbreaking.”
Margaret leaned closer. “A *slut* who seduced him. You think I didnt *know* you slept together before marriage? That you *trapped* him?”
Oliver walked in. “Everything okay?”
“Just girl talk!” Margaret chirped, smile saccharine.
That night, Emily lay awake. Margaret *would* destroy her marriageunless Oliver finally *saw* her for what she was. The next morning, Emily didnt make coffee. She didnt rush to hide her irritation or soften her voice. Instead, she sat at the kitchen table with a file folder in front of herphotos from Olivers birthday dinner last year, receipts for gifts Margaret claimed she couldnt afford, a timeline of every insult disguised as concern.
When Margaret entered, humming, Emily looked up. I called your doctor today. The one who treated you after your surgery.
Margaret froze. You had no right.
They said you were cleared six months ago. Fully recovered. No reason you cant live independently.
Oliver stepped in, frowning. Em?
She turned to him, calm. Ask her why she didnt move out. Ask her why she called Jesss mum. Why shes been digging into my past like Im the enemy.
Oliver looked at his mother. Is that true?
Margarets face hardened. I was protecting you.
From *what*? A woman who loves me? Who shares my life?
She *uses* you! She doesnt *care*
I care, Emily said quietly. But I wont live in fear so you can control him.
Olivers voice dropped. Mum this ends now. You leave. Today. Ill help you move. But you *will* stop.
Margaret stared at them, rage flickeringthen crumpled. Not with tears, but silence. The kind that follows defeat.
She packed without a word. Emily watched from the doorway, heart steady.
For the first time in months, the flat felt like theirs.
