The air in the hallway was thick with tension as Emily clutched her handbag to her chest like a shield, her knuckles white.
«You have no right to behave like this in my home!» Her voice trembled with barely restrained fury.
«Its my flat, Margaret! Mine!»
Her mother-in-laws lip curled in disdain.
«What else am I to do when you cant keep things tidy?» Margaret hissed. «Dust on the shelves, dishes left in the sink. Is this how decent people live?»
Emilys grip tightened. Rage and helplessness churned inside her.
«I work, Margaret! I dont always have time»
«You make time for what matters,» Margaret snapped, lifting her chin as she strode toward the door. «Im only helping, and this is the thanks I get?»
The door clicked shut, leaving Emily standing alone. The silence pressed in, but her thoughts raged. She kicked off her heels and stormed through the flatliving room, kitchen, bedroomeverywhere bearing the marks of Margarets «care.»
Her nightstand was bare. The seashell from Brighton, gone.
She paced like a caged animal, hands shaking. All shed wanted was a shower, tea from her favourite mug… Now nothing was where it should be.
The front door opened. James was home. One look at her face and he knew.
«Em, whats happened?» He reached for her, but she twisted away.
«Your mother was here again! She went through our bedroom, James! How is that normal?»
He dragged a hand through his hairEmily knew that gesture. He didnt know what to say.
«Love, she means well»
«Means well?» Her voice cracked. «I cant find my phone charger! My favourite mugs missingIve been looking for half an hour! And the towels? God knows where shes hidden them!»
James tried to take her hands, but she stepped back.
«She throws my things away, James! Things I care about! Because she calls them clutter!»
«Em, shes just trying to help. Her house is always»
«I dont want her help!» Emily sank onto a chair, covering her face. «Im tired of someone else ruling my home.»
James knelt beside her. «Ill talk to her, alright? Ill ask her to stop.»
Emily laughed bitterly. «Oh, shell listen to you. Im sure.»
He managed to calm hermade tea, found her mug tucked at the back of a cupboard.
But Margaret didnt stop.
Three days later, the cloying scent of her perfume lingered in the air. The kitchen jars had been rearranged by size. The fridge was obsessively organised.
Emily collapsed onto the sofa, too drained to scream.
A week later, her wardrobe had been «tidied.» Her favourite dress, once within easy reach, was crumpled on the top shelf.
She stared, swallowing tears. This wasnt her home anymorejust a place Margaret dictated.
Then came the call.
«Yes, Mum… Saturday? Fine, well come.» James turned, sheepish. «Dinner at hers. Says she has news.»
Emily stiffened. «Do we have to?»
«Come on, love. She cooks for us.»
Saturday evening, they climbed the stairs to Margarets third-floor flat. Emily dragged her feet, wishing she were anywhere else.
«All good?» James squeezed her hand.
She forced a smile.
Over dinner, Margaret chatted only with Jamesneighbours, telly, the price of eggs. Emily pushed food around her plate.
«Youre not hungry?» Margaret finally asked.
«Just thinking,» Emily mumbled.
Margaret set down her fork. «Now, my news. Marjorie and I are off to a spa retreat. Ten days.»
James beamed. «Brilliant! You need a break.»
Margaret nodded, pulling a key from her apron. «Herespare keys. Water my plants, would you?»
Emily stared at the keys. An idea took shape. A slow smile spread.
The next week, colleagues noticed her cheer.
«Youre glowing,» James said over dinner. «Bonus at work?»
She winked. «Just happy.»
The day before Margarets return, Emily left work early.
She stood at Margarets door, heart pounding. «My turn,» she whispered, turning the key.
At the station, Margaret looked refreshed, gushing about treatments and scones.
Emily stayed silent, stomach in knots.
Margaret opened her front doorand froze.
«What… what is this?» Her voice shook.
She darted inside. Everything was cleanbut nothing was where it belonged.
«My figurines!» She lunged at the display cabinet. «Where are they?»
She tore through the flat, face flushing crimson. Then she whirled on Emily, eyes blazing.
«You! You did this!»
Emily tilted her chin up, smiling faintly. «Yes, me.» She feigned innocence. «Dont you like it? I thought youd appreciate the help.»
James gaped between them, silent.
«Oh, and I threw out those dusty old figurines. And the teacups. You never used themjust clutter, right?»
«You had no right!» Margaret screeched. «My home! My things!»
«You rearranged mine,» Emily said coolly. «Not so fun, is it?»
«James!» Margaret turned. «Are you hearing this?»
Emily checked her watch. «Look at the time! Weve got to run.» She tugged James toward the door. «But Ill be back, Margaret. Wouldnt want to neglect my duties!»
Outside, James exhaled. «Bloody hell, Em.»
She grinned. Victory was sweet.
Two months passed. Margaret never set foot in their flat again.
Emily leaned back, satisfied.
Checkmate.
