«You knew he was weak,» her mother-in-law whispered as he walked away.
«I dont understand why you buy so much meat,» muttered Margaret Wilkins, poking through the fridge. «Half this wouldve been enough for three grown adults.»
Emily silently kept chopping onions for the salad. Tears ran down her cheeks, but not from the onions. From hearing the same old criticisms from her mother-in-law about how she ran the house.
«And the potatoes are all soft,» the older woman went on. «Where do you even buy them? Some dodgy corner shop?»
«From the market, Margaret,» Emily replied quietly. «The same one I always go to.»
«Right, right. And what goods that? Money down the drain.»
Emily 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, James, just stayed silent, pretending not to hear.
«James, lunch is ready!» she called toward the living room, where he was sprawled on the sofa with his phone.
«Just a minute,» he muttered, not looking up.
«What do you mean, ‘just a minute’?» Margaret huffed. «Foods getting cold, and hes playing games. James, come to the table now!»
Her son obediently put his phone down and shuffled into the kitchen. He took his usual seat next to his mother, across from his wife.
«Whats for lunch?» he asked, unfolding his napkin.
«Beef stew and shepherds pie,» Emily answered, ladling out the stew.
«Stew again?» Margaret wrinkled her nose. «Gives me indigestion. Emily, you know I cant have rich food.»
«You could skip the gravy,» Emily suggested. «I didnt add extra stock this time.»
«What difference does that make? Still too heavy. And why so many carrots? You know they upset James stomach.»
Emily glanced at her husband, waiting for him to say something. But James just slurped his stew like the conversation had nothing to do with him.
«Next time, Ill make a plain broth,» Emily gave in.
«Exactly. No need for all these fancy dishes. Back in my day, people were happy with simple food, and no one complained.»
The meal passed in the usual silence. Margaret picked apart every dish, James nodded along, and Emily counted the minutes until the torture was over.
After lunch, Margaret went to her room to watch telly, while Emily cleared the table. James tried to slip back to the sofa, but she stopped him.
«James, we need to talk.»
«About what?» he sighed, lingering in the doorway.
«Your mother. I cant live like this anymore.»
«Whats the problem? Mums not doing anything wrong.»
Emily nearly dropped a plate at that.
«Not doing anything wrong? James, she criticises everything I do! The cooking, the cleaning, the shopping. I feel like a servant in my own home.»
«Shes just used to being in charge. Shes been running a household her whole life.»
«Running it?» Emily scoffed. «What am I, then? A temporary lodger?»
James rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
«Em, dont make a big deal out of it. Shes olderits hard for her to adjust. Just give it time.»
«Ive given it five years! Five years waiting for her to adjust. Instead, she just gets worse.»
«What do you want me to do? Kick my own mother out?»
«I want you to put your foot down. Tell her this is *our* home, and *Im* the one who runs it.»
James shook his head.
«I cant talk to her like that. She raised me.»
«And what am I, a stranger? Were supposed to be a family!»
«Of course we are. But shes my *mother*.»
Emily felt something twist inside her. Every time. His mother always came first.
«Fine,» she said, fighting back tears. «Got it.»
«Em, dont be like this. Youve got to be patient with older people.»
He reached out to pat her shoulder, but she stepped away.
«Go be with your mum. Shes probably missed you.»
James hesitated, then shrugged and walked off. Emily stayed in the kitchen alone, surrounded by dirty dishes and the weight of everything she couldnt say.
Shed met James at university. Hed seemed so steady, so calmnothing like her exes, who were all loud and quick to argue. James never raised his voice, always patient, always polite. Maybe a little *too* soft sometimes, but after growing up in a house full of shouting, shed thought that was a good thing.
Shed only met Margaret at the wedding. Shed seemed pleasantstrict but kind. Said shed always wanted a daughter-in-law, that shed love Emily like her own.
The trouble started when they rented a flat near Margarets. She began dropping by every dayfor salt, for sugar, for some made-up reasonwhile eyeing the place with disapproval.
«Emily, whys the floor so dull?» shed ask. «Youre using the wrong cleaner.»
Or:
«Your bedroom smells musty. You should air it out more.»
Emily tried to ignore it, telling herself Margaret was just worried about her son. But the comments got sharper.
Then James lost his job. Money got tight, and Margaret generously offered them her spare room. Just until he found something new.
That «temporary» stretched into three years. James got a low-paying job at a small firm, but they still couldnt afford to move. And Margaret stopped pretending she thought Emily was good enough for her son.
«My friend Barbaras daughter-in-law is completely different,» shed say. «Thrifty, organised. House like a show-home, and knows how to handle money. *And* she respects her husband.»
The message was clear: Emily didnt respect James if she dared disagree with him.
Now, standing at the sink, Emily scrubbed a pan harder than needed. From the lounge, the telly droned on, mixed with Margaret murmuring to James about the neighbour whod parked badly again.
«You should say something,» Margaret was saying. «But then again, shes such a rude woman.»
«Just leave it, Mum. Not worth the hassle.»
«Thats right, love. No point dealing with difficult people.»
Emily knew that wasnt just about the neighbour. Margaret often hinted that Emily fell into the same categorysomeone not worth the trouble. But James, unfortunately, was already stuck with her.
That evening, Emily tried to talk to James again once Margaret went to bed. She sat beside him on the sofa.
«James, Im serious. Im miserable here.»
«Em, not this again.»
«What am I supposed to do? Suffer forever?»
«Its not forever. Mums not getting any younger.»
Emily went cold.
«So youre saying I should wait for your mum to *die*?»
«No! I just mean… shes old. Maybe well move out soon.»
«Move where? On your salary, we cant even rent a bedsit.»
«Ill find a better job.»
«Youve been saying that for three years.»
James exhaled sharply.
«Why do you always nag me? Ive got enough on my plate.»
«And what about *my* plate, James?»
«Em, just drop it. Lets watch something.»
He grabbed the remote, and that was that. Conversation over. Emily sat there a moment longer, then stood and went to bed alone.
In the bedroom, she dug out an old notebook from their first year marriedfull of thoughts, plans, dreams. Flipping through the yellowed pages, she paused at one entry:
*»I want our own place. Just us. Kids running around, me deciding what to cook, how to clean. A proper home.»*
Kids. Shed wanted them, but James always said it wasnt the right time. Not until they were stable, not until they had their own place. Now, it felt like that day would never come.
*»James is so kind, so patient. Never shouts, always listens. Hell be an amazing dad.»*
An amazing dad to children theyd never have. Not while they lived under Margarets roof.
Emily shut the notebook and lay down. James crept in an hour later, careful not to wake her. She wasnt asleep, but she didnt let on.
The next morning at breakfast, Margaret announced, «Barbaras visiting today. Havent seen her in ages. Emily, tidy up properlyI dont want to be embarrassed.»
«I clean every day, Margaret.»
«Not well enough. Dust everywhereon the shelves, the telly. And the hallway mirrors streaky.»
Emily walked through the flat. No dust. No streaks. But arguing was pointless. She grabbed a cloth and wiped everything down again.
Barbara arrived at luncha loud, confident woman in a bright dress.
«Maggie, how are you?» she boomed from the doorway. Then, spotting Emily: «Ah, the daughter-in-law! Maggies told me all about you.»
Emily made tea while the women gossiped at the table.
«My Lindas divorced again,» Barbara said. «Third husband! Says the last one was spinelessno backbone at all.»
«Men these days,» Margaret agreed. «No grit anymore.»
Emily pretended not to listen as she washed dishes.
«And your James? Still at that little firm?»
«Mm, working hard. Good boy, just too soft. Lets his wife walk all over him, can you believe it?»
Emily nearly dropped a cup.
«Really?» Barbara gasped. «He seems so steady.»
«Oh, he is. Just no spine when it comes to her. I tell him, ‘James, youre the man of the house!’ And he says, ‘Mum, stay out of it.'»
«Goodness. And whats she like, then? Bossy?»
Margaret lowered her voice, but Emily still heard.
«Not bossy, just… clueless. Doesnt respect him. And no kids yettoo busy with her *career*.»
Emilys hands tightened around the sponge. So now Margaret was airing their private life to strangerspainting her as the villain.
Barbara left by evening. James came home tired and hungry.
«Dinner ready?» he asked, hanging up his coat.
«Ill heat it up,» Emily said.
Over the meal, Margaret chatted about Barbaras visitconveniently leaving out the personal details.
«She kept asking about us,» Margaret said. «Such a lovely woman. Shame we dont see her more.»
James nodded, shovelling in mashed potatoes. Meanwhile, Emily wondered how many people would hear about «spineless James and his nagging wife» by tomorrow.
Later, once Margaret went to watch telly, Emily cornered James in the kitchen.
«James, your mother spent today badmouthing us to her friend.»
«What? No, she wouldnt.»
«She did. About us not having kids. About me not respecting you. About you being spineless.»
James frowned.
«Not spineless.»
«She *literally* used that word. In front of someone else.»
«Em, who cares what people say?»
«*I* care! Thats our marriage theyre gossiping about!»
«Women chat. Its nothing.»
Emily realised he wouldntor couldntsee how wrong this was.
«Fine,» she said. «Then tomorrow, Ill talk to your mother myself.»
«No, dont start drama.»
«Then what?» she snapped. «You wont stand up for us!»
«Mums not hurting anyone.»
«Really? Badmouthing us isnt hurtful? Interfering? Undermining me at every turn?»
James stood.
«Im knackered. Well talk tomorrow.»
But tomorrow came, and he left early, claiming an important meeting. Emily waited until Margaret was sipping coffee at the table.
«Margaret, we need to talk.»
Margaret looked up from her newspaper.
«Oh?»
«About what you said to Barbara yesterday. About our marriage.»
Margaret set the paper aside.
«Whats wrong with that? Friends talk.»
«About *private* things? That James is spineless? That I dont respect him?»
«Well, isnt he?» Margaret said calmly. «Look at him. Thirty-three and lets you dictate everything.»
Emily gripped the table.
«He doesnt ‘let’ me. He *loves* me.»
«Loves one thing, but a man should lead. Not hide behind his wife when theres trouble.»
«What trouble?»
Margaret studied her.
«The trouble where he cant say no to you. Even when youre wrong. Where he lets you take charge. Thats not how a man behaves.»
Emily stood, hands shaking.
«Take charge?»
«Yes. Youre rude. Disrespectful. Youve forgotten who runs this house.»
«Who runs? I live here! I work, I clean, I cook! How am I not running it?»
Margaret rose slowly.
«Because, dear, this is *my* home. James is *my* son. Youre just passing through. Dont forget that.»
The words hit like a slap.
«Passing through?»
«Five years married? So what? A ring doesnt mean forever. If a wife doesnt suit her husband, shes replaceable.»
«You want to replace me?»
«I want my son happy. And with you, hes not. Even if he wont admit it.»
Emily sank into a chair, heart pounding.
«Did James say that?»
«He doesnt have to. A mother knows. Hes tired of your complaining. Used to be cheerful, open. Now? Closed off.»
«Because of *you*!»
«Me?» Margaret scoffed. «Im nothing but kind to him. *Youre* the one nagging him day and night.»
The conversation was going nowhere. Margaret wouldnt budgejust twisted everything back onto Emily.
«Fine,» Emily said, standing. «Ill talk to James.»
«Go ahead. But I doubt hell tell you the whole truth. Too soft to hurt you.»
Emily locked herself in the bedroom and criedreally criedfor the first time in years.
James came home late, looking grim.
«Whats wrong?» she asked.
«Work. They cut my bonus.»
«Sorry. But we need to talk.»
«Not now, Em. Im shattered.»
He showered and went straight to bed. Emily lay awake, replaying Margarets words. Was James really unhappy with her? Was he just too weak to say it?
In the morning, she asked him outright.
«James, honestlyare you happy with me?»
He blinked.
«Of course.»
«Your mother thinks otherwise.»
«Whatd she say?»
«That youre tired of my nagging. That I make you miserable.»
James sighed.
«Mum worries. Thinks we argue too much.»
«We argue because of *her*!»
«Em, its not just Mum. We cant agree on anythingkids, work, the future.»
Emily realised he was dodging.
«James, be honest. Do you want me to leave?»
He hesitated. Then shook his head.
«No. But I cant keep living like this.»
«Like what?»
«Caught in the middle. Between you and her.»
«Then pick a side,» Emily said. «Your wife or your mother.»
James stood.
«Im late for work. Well talk tonight.»
But that night, he hid in the bathroom, then let Margaret drag him into a discussion about redecorating her room.
Emily understood. He was avoiding the conversation. That *was* his answer.
By morning, shed made her choice. After James left, she packed a suitcasejust the essentials.
Margaret noticed it in the hallway.
«Going somewhere?»
«A friends. For a while.»
«How long?»
«Dont know yet.»
Margaret nodded.
«Maybe its for the best. James needs a break from all this drama.»
Emily picked up her keys and turned.
«Margaret, tell your son if he wants me back, he comes alone. Without you.»
«Well see if he *does* want you back,» Margaret said.
Emily shut the door behind her. On the landing, she paused, listening. Silence.
Downstairs, she stepped outside. The sun was bright, the air fresh. She took a deep breath and felt something like relief.
That evening, James called.
«Em, Mum said you left. When are you coming home?»
«Maybe never, James.»
«What? Were married.»
«On paper. In reality?»
Silence.
«James, heres the deal,» she said. «Either we live apart from your mother, or we divorce.»
«Em, dont do this.»
«Do what? Ask you to choose between your mum and your wife? Any decent man would choose his wife.»
«And if I cant choose?»
The question hung in the air. Emily understood. Hed already chosen. He just couldnt say it.
«Then Ill choose for us,» she whispered, and ended the call.
She slipped the phone into her bag and walked away. Where? She wasnt sure yet. But with every step, she felt lighter. Not because it was easybut because, for the first time in years, she was choosing herself.
And no one could take that away from her.
