“You were always the outsider in this family,” whispered my mother-in-law, watching me with a cold stare.
“Margaret, I made some custardwould you like to try it?” Emma asked carefully, peeking into the sitting room where her mother-in-law was knitting another doily.
The woman didnt even look up from her needles.
“I dont want your custard. I have diabetes, remember? Or do you just not care?”
Emma sighed and stepped back from the doorway. She knew Margaret didnt have diabetesthis was just another jab, another way to make her feel like she didnt belong in a house shed lived in for seven years.
“Mum, come onnot again?” Emma heard her husband call from the hall. “Emmas trying her best, she cooks”
“Trying!” Margaret scoffed. “She forgets salt in the roast, your shirts come out yellow from her washing, and the house is always dusty.”
Emma sat on the stool by the stove, staring at the pot of custard. Seven years of the same thing. Every day, something was wrong. The soup was too salty or too bland. The floors werent mopped properly, or the bed wasnt made right.
“Daniel will be home soon,” she said, walking into the sitting room with a tray. “Maybe we could all have dinner together?”
Margaret set her knitting aside and looked at her daughter-in-law with that expression Emma had learned to read too welldisdain mixed with pity.
“Ill have dinner in my room. I dont want to watch you feed my son that slop.”
The door slammed. Emma stood alone, tray in hand, a lump forming in her throat.
Daniel came home late, exhausted, barely saying hello. He sat at the table, mechanically eating while staring at his phone.
“How was work?” Emma asked, sitting across from him.
“Fine,” he muttered without looking up.
“Daniel, we need to talk.”
He lifted his eyes, annoyed. “About Mum again? Em, seriouslyhow many times? Shes old, shes got her waysshes allowed her opinion.”
“Shes not ill! Shes got slightly high blood pressure, thats all! But every day”
“Every day what?” Daniel put his fork down. “She lives in her own house? Says what she thinks? Its her home, Emma!”
“And mine too! Im your wife, not the help!”
“No ones making you cook and clean. Mum managed her whole life on her own.”
Emma fell silent. It was useless. Daniel would never understand what it was like to walk on eggshells every day, afraid to say the wrong thing, feeling like a stranger in your own home.
After dinner, she went to the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. Thirty-two but looked forty. Tired eyes, downturned lips. When had she aged like this?
She remembered how shed been when she first met Daniellaughing, full of plans and hopes. She thought she was marrying a prince. Handsome, successful, with a refined mothera retired English teacher.
“Emma, dear,” Margaret had said back then, “how lovely that Daniel found you. Hes such a homebodyhed be lost without a womans care.”
And Emma had tried. Shed learned to cook his favourite childhood dishes, ironed his shirts just as Margaret showed her, cleaned on the unspoken schedule her mother-in-law set.
The first year was bearable. Margarets comments were gentle, wrapped in smiles. “Youll learn, dear.” But then the tone shifted. The criticism grew sharper, the demands higher.
“My friend Patricias daughter-in-law is so capable!” Margaret would sigh over tea. “Her home sparkles, her cookings divineand she respects her elders.”
“Margaret, what am I doing wrong?” Emma once dared to ask.
Margaret raised her brows. “Oh, nothing drastic. Its just clear you were raised differently. No fault of yours, of course. Your family mustve been simpler.”
Emma hadnt answered, just nodded. Then cried at home. Her own mother had been strictguests treated well, house kept spotless, husband respected. But somehow, Margaret made it sound like shed been raised in a barn.
Daniel used to defend her. But over time, it got harder. Especially when Margaret started complaining of poor health.
“Darling, my heart aches from all this stress,” shed whisper when she thought Emma couldnt hear. “I only wanted you happy, but now”
“Mum, whats Emma got to do with that?”
“She doesnt accept me. I feel how she resents me. And I wanted to be like a mother to her!”
Emma would hear this and wonderwhen had she ever shown resentment? She cooked, cleaned, nursed Margaret through colds, ran to the chemist for her pills.
“Daniel, Im trying!” shed plead.
“You are. But Mum senses its forced.”
“Forced? How?”
“You do it out of duty, not love. Shes not stupidshe knows.”
So Emma tried doing things with love. Asked about Margarets health, listened to her stories, admired her teaching days. But that was wrong too.
“Youre too clingy,” Margaret remarked. “I find it exhausting.”
Emma pulled back, focused on the house. Then came:
“Now youre ignoring us. Think youre above us, do you?”
A no-win game. Whatever she did, it was wrong.
Worst of all, Daniel slowly started agreeing. First nodding along, then openly siding with his mother.
“Mums right, Em. Youve gone cold. You used to be different.”
“I used to not know what it felt like to live in someone elses house,” Emma snapped once.
“Whose house? This is ours!”
“Ours? Then why cant I move a chair without your mothers permission?”
“Because shes the lady of this house! She built this home!”
After that, things soured completely. Daniel stayed late at work, snapped at home. Margaret dropped all pretence of civility.
“See what youve done to my son?” shed say when Daniel left. “He used to be so cheerful. Now hes miserable.”
“Maybe its not me,” Emma dared once.
“Then who? Me? Im the one who cant find peace in my own home?”
Emma sought comfort from friends, but they just shrugged.
“Em, just move out!” her mate Lucy urged. “Rent somewhere, get a mortgageanything!”
“Daniel wont. Says why waste money when weve got a home. And his mums alonewholl look after her?”
“Let her look after herself! Shes not an invalid!”
“Thats what I think. But try telling Daniel.”
The cruelest part? Around others, Margaret played the perfect mother-in-lawsweet, doting, praising her “wonderful” daughter-in-law.
“Our Emmas an angel!” shed gush to neighbours. “Cooks like a dream, keeps the house shining, cares for me like her own mum.”
And the neighbours would tell Emma, “Youre so lucky! Cherish her.”
Which only made Emma feel worse. If everyone saw a saint, the problem must be her.
They had no kids. First it didnt happen, then she stopped wanting to. What kind of life would a child have in this house? Emma imagined Margaret criticising her parenting, and it terrified her.
“When will you give me grandchildren?” Margaret would ask. “Id love some joy in my old age.”
“Not happening yet,” Emma would reply.
“Seen a doctor? Or do you not want them? Too busy with your career?”
What career? She worked at a fabric shop, earning pennies, but those hours were her only escape. At work, no one nitpicked. Colleagues were kind, customers thanked her. It was the only place she felt valued.
“Maybe you should just stay home,” Daniel suggested once. “Mums alone, and youre out all day.”
“And live on what? Your salary?”
“Well manage. At least Mum wouldnt worry.”
“But I would! I need my job, Daniel!”
He didnt get it. To him, a wifes place was at home, caring for his mother, like shed always done.
Everything changed on an ordinary Tuesday. Emma came home, set the shopping bags down, walked into the kitchen. A note from Daniel: “Gone to Manchester for work. Back in a week. Look after Mum.”
Margaret was in the sitting room, watching telly. When she saw Emma, she muted it.
“Daniels gone,” she said. “Now its just us. Lets see how you behave when hes not here.”
Emma stayed quiet, started cooking. But Margaret kept going.
“You know, Ive wondered why you dislike me so. Gone over every word between us. And Ive realised something.”
Emma chopped carrots, trying not
