“You were always the outsider in this family,” whispered the mother-in-law, her eyes trailing after me.
“Margaret, I made some elderflower cordialwould you like to try some?” Alice offered tentatively, glancing into the parlour where the older woman was embroidering yet another doily.
The woman didnt even lift her head from the hoop.
“I dont want your cordial. Have you forgotten I have diabetes? Or do you just not care?”
Alice sighed and stepped back from the doorway. There was no diabetesshe knew that much. Just another barb, another way to remind her she didnt belong in a house shed lived in for seven years.
“Mum, not this again?” came her husbands voice from the hall. “Alice tries her best”
“Tries!” The mother-in-law scoffed. “Forgets the salt in the stew, turns your shirts yellow in the wash, and the dust never stops settling.”
Alice sank onto the stool by the stove, staring at the pan of cordial. Seven years of the same. Every day, something new to criticise. The soup too salty, the floor not scrubbed well enough, the bedsheets folded wrong.
“Edwards coming over soon,” she said, entering the parlour with a tray. “Maybe we could all have supper together?”
Margaret set her embroidery aside and looked at her with that expression Alice had learned to read long agocontempt laced with pity.
“Ill have mine in my room. I cant bear to watch you poison my son with your cooking.”
The door clicked shut. Alice stood alone, tray in hand, a lump in her throat.
Edward came home late, exhausted, barely greeting her. He sat at the table, mechanically eating while staring at his phone.
“How was work?” Alice asked, sitting opposite him.
“Fine,” he muttered, not looking up.
“Edward, we need to talk.”
He lifted his eyes, frowning.
“About Mum again? Alice, how many times? Shes elderly, unwellshes entitled to her feelings.”
“Unwell? Shes got slightly high blood pressure, thats all! And every day”
“Every day what?” He put his spoon down. “Lives in her own home? Voices her opinions? Its her house, Alice!”
“And mine too! Im your wife, not the hired help!”
“Nobodys forcing you to cook and clean. Mum managed perfectly well alone all her life.”
Alice fell silent. Pointless. Edward would never understand what it was like to walk on eggshells every day, to bite her tongue, to feel like a stranger in her own home.
After supper, she went to the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Thirty-two, but she looked forty. Tired eyes, downturned mouth. When had she aged so much?
She remembered how shed been when they first met. Bright, laughing, full of dreams. Shed thought she was marrying a princetall, handsome, a good job. And his mother, so refined, so cultured. A retired English teacher.
“Alice, dear,” Margaret had said back then, “how lovely that Edwards found you. Hes such a homebodyhed be lost without a womans care.”
So Alice had tried. Learned to cook his childhood favourites. Starched his shirts just so. Cleaned on the unspoken schedule Margaret dictated.
The first year had passed better than the rest. Gentle corrections, delivered with a smile. “Youll learn, darling.” But bit by bit, the tone shifted. The criticism sharpened.
“My friend Beatrices daughter-in-law is so capable!” Margaret would sigh during tea. “Her house shines, her cookings divineand most importantly, she respects her elders.”
“Margaret, what am I doing wrong?” Alice had dared to ask once.
The older womans eyebrows rose. “Nothing in particular. Its just clear you were raised differently. Not your fault, of course. Your family must have been simpler.”
Alice had said nothing then, only nodded. Later, she cried. Her upbringing had been strict. Her own mothers words echoed: *Host with grace, keep a clean home, respect your husband.* But somehow, Margaret made it all feel like failure.
Edward had defended her at first. But as time passed, even that faded. Especially once Margaret began complaining of her health.
“Darling, my heart aches with worry,” shed whisper when she thought Alice couldnt hear. “I only wanted you happy, and look whats happened.”
“Mum, whats Alice got to do with it?”
“Everything! Shell never accept me. I tried to be a mother to her.”
Alice would listen, bewildered. When had she ever rejected her? She cooked, cleaned, nursed Margaret through colds, ran to the chemist for her prescriptions.
“Edward, I *do* try,” shed plead.
“You do. But Mum senses its forced.”
“Forced? How?”
“You go through the motions. Shes not stupidshe knows.”
So Alice tried to pour her heart into it. Asked after Margarets health, listened to her teaching stories, praised her. But that, too, was wrong.
“Youre too clingy,” Margaret remarked. “I find it exhausting.”
Alice withdrew, spoke less, focused on the house. And then:
“Pulling away, are we? Think youre above us now?”
A circle with no exit. No matter what she did, it was never right.
The worst part was Edward slowly siding with his mother. First silent nods, then open agreement.
“Mums right, Alice. Youve gone cold. You werent like this before.”
“Before, I didnt know what it was to live in someone elses house,” she snapped once.
“Someone elses? This is *our* home!”
“Is it? Then why cant I move a chair without your mothers permission?”
“Because she *made* this home! Shes lived here her whole life!”
After that, the rift widened. Edward worked later, spoke little, snapped when he did. Margaret dropped all pretence of civility.
“See what youve done to my son?” shed say when Edward left. “He used to be cheerful. Now hes miserable.”
“Maybe its not me,” Alice ventured once.
“Oh? Who, then? *Im* not the one robbing him of peace in his own home!”
Alice sought advice from friends, but they only shrugged.
“Alice, just move out!” urged Sophie. “Rent somewhere, get a mortgage, anything!”
“Edward wont. Says why waste money when weve got a home? And his mothers alonewhod look after her?”
“Let *him* look after her! Shes not an invalid!”
“I know. But try telling Edward that.”
The cruelest part? Around others, Margaret transformed into the perfect mother-in-law. Sweet, doting, full of praise.
“Our Alice is an absolute treasure!” shed gush to the neighbours. “Cooks like a dream, keeps the house spotless, cares for me like her own mother.”
And the neighbours would tell Alice, “Youre so lucky! Not everyone gets a mother-in-law like that.”
Which only made it worse. If everyone saw a saint, then the fault must be hers.
They had no children. At first, it hadnt happened. Then she stopped wanting it. What kind of life would a child have in this house? Alice imagined Margarets criticisms twisting into the next generation, and it terrified her.
“When will you give me grandchildren?” Beatrice asked. “An old woman needs something to live for.”
“It hasnt happened yet,” Alice would say.
“Seen a doctor? Or do you not *want* children? Too busy with your *career*?”
What career? Alice worked part-time at a fabric shop, earning pennies, but it was the only place she felt like herself. No snide remarks, just polite colleagues and grateful customers. The only place she felt wanted.
“Maybe you should just stay home,” Edward suggested once. “Youre gone all dayMum worries.”
“And live on what? Your salary?”
“Wed manage. At least Mum wouldnt fret.”
“*Id* fret! I *need* to work, understand?”
Edward didnt. To him, a wifes place was at home, tending to his mother, as she always had.
Everything changed on an ordinary Tuesday. Alice came home, set the shopping bags down, walked into the kitchen. A note from Edward: *Gone to Leeds for work. Back in a week. Look after Mum.*
Margaret sat in the parlour, watching the telly. She muted it when Alice entered.
“Edwards gone,” she announced. “Just us now. Lets see how you behave when hes not here.”
Alice said nothing, started cooking. But Margaret wasnt done.
“You know, Ive often wondered why you dislike me so. Ive gone over every word, every moment. And Ive realised something.”
Alice
