Your place is at my feet, servant! her mother-in-law hissed. After the stroke, she hired a caregivera woman her mother-in-law had despised for years.
Did you move my frying pan again, Katie?
Valerie Harringtons voice cut through the air like a blade. It scraped against the kitchen walls, seeped into the wooden countertop, even the floral wallpaper seemed to dull under its weight.
Katie turned slowly from the sink, drying her hands on her apron. The panheavy, cast iron, Valeries prized possessionsat on the furthest burner, where she had placed it that morning. In its one true place, as far as Valerie was concerned.
I didnt touch it, Valerie.
Liar, Valerie sneered, her sharp gaze sweeping the room. Then who did? The ghost?
Katie said nothing. The kitchenonce hershad become a battlefield, every inch marked by Valeries relentless order. The tins of tea, lined not alphabetically but by height, like soldiers on parade. The tea towels draped over the oven handle instead of hung on hooks, each petty change a fresh wound. A suffocating, meticulous chaos disguised as perfection.
I only asked, Valerie said, plucking a cucumber from the plate and crunching loudly. In my own home, I think I have the right to ask.
*My own home.* The phrase echoed daily, though the flat belonged to Oliver, her husband. Their home. Yet Valerie ruled as if it were her ancestral estate and they mere tenants.
Katie kept silent. Arguing was like bashing her head against a brick wall. She turned back to the dishes, the water rinsing away soapand her unspilled tears.
Evening brought Oliver home. The dutiful son. He kissed his mothers cheek, then brushed his lips absently against Katies hair.
Exhausted. Whats for dinner?
Chicken and potatoes.
Again? Valerie cut in from her perch on the stool. Oliver, love, you need proper meat. She feeds you like a pauperyoull waste away.
Oliver sighed and retreated to the bedroom. He never intervened. His stance was simple: *This is womens business.* He saw no warjust petty skirmishes between two women he supposedly loved.
Later, when they were alone, Valerie closed in on Katie. She smelled of expensive perfume and something heavierpower.
Listen, girl, she hissed, too low for Oliver to hear. Youre nothing here. Just an accessory to my son. A vessel for my grandchildrenthats all.
She snatched a napkin, wiping a nonexistent stain.
Remember your placeat my feet. Youre the help. Nothing more.
Then her face twisted. The right side of her mouth sagged. Her hand dropped, limp. She swayed, then slid to the floor.
The hospital corridor reeked of antiseptic and other peoples grief. Oliver sat with his head in his hands.
Stroke. The doctor says shell need full-time care. The right sides paralyzed.
He looked up, red-eyed. Katie, I cant do this. Work, you know. Its on you now. Youre her daughter-in-lawits your duty.
He spoke as if passing a baton in a race hed just quit.
He would visit. Supervise. But the daily grindthe feeding, the washingwould be hers.
Katie stared at him, feeling nothing for the first time in years. No pity, no anger. Just emptiness. A scorched field.
She nodded.
Back home, in the hollowed-out kitchen, Katie stood by the window. Outside, on the playground, Veronicathe neighbor from the fifth floorplayed with her little girl.
Young, loud, the woman Valerie had despised for her short skirts, her laughter, her *audacity.*
Katie watched her. Then, cold clarity settled in her mind. She dialed Veronicas number.
Veronica? I need a carer for my mother-in-law.
Valerie arrived a week later, wheelchair-bound, swathed in a blanket. Half her body useless, her speech slurredbut her eyes were the same. Sharp, commanding, brimming with venom.
When Veronica walked in, those eyes blazed with hate.
Good afternoon, Valerie, Veronica smiled, disarmingly sweet. Im Veronica. Ill be looking after you.
Valerie choked on a guttural sound, her good hand clenching.
Katie, give us a moment, Veronica said gently.
Katie left, shutting the door. She didnt eavesdrop. She didnt need to.
Veronica was perfectimmune to hate. She flung the window open. Fresh air! Lets air out this prison.
Pop music blared from the radioValeries racket. She growled, eyes wild.
You like this one? Me too! Veronica chirped, spooning soup past Valeries clenched lips. Messy? Ill change you. No trouble at all.
Oliver visited in the evenings. Valerie transformedeyes pleading, fingers clutching at him. She jabbed a trembling finger at Veronica.
Mum, dont fret, Oliver said, avoiding Veronicas gaze. Shes good. Shell take care of you.
He brought oranges, stayed thirty minutes, then fled.
Katie watched, detached. She barely entered Valeries room. Just handed Veronica money and instructions:
Move the photos today. Add lilies. She hates lilies.
Veronica obeyed with relish. She rearranged furniture, read romance novels aloud. Once, she brought her daughter, Sophie, who giggled and touched Valeries porcelain figurinesher sacred collection.
Valeries silent scream was almost beautiful. Tears of helplessness rolled down her cheeks. She looked at Katiebegging.
Katie met her gaze, cold. Veronica, make sure Sophie doesnt break anything.
Revenge was a dish best served by anothers hands.
The end came unexpectedly. Veronica tidying the wardrobe, a wooden box tumbling down. Letters, photos, a thick journal spilling out.
Katie, Veronica called. Youll want to see this.
Valerie moaneda sound of pure grief.
The journal was Valeries. Young ValerieVal. In love with a test pilot, Andrew, whose death left her widowed, pregnant. She named their son Andrew.
Two years later, the flu took him. *The sky took my husband. The earth took my son.*
Thenpoverty. A timid second husband, Olivers father. Oliverher last hope.
*I wanted to make him strong. Instead, I got Oliver.*
She wrote of envyfor women who laughed freely, like the girl from the fifth floor. She hated not them, but her own broken life.
Katie read all night.
Morning. She handed the journal to Veronica.
Read.
Veronica did, sitting on the park bench. When she returned, her face was solemn.
God. The poor woman. But it doesnt excuse her.
No, Katie agreed. But Im done. Revenge is pointless now.
Everything changed.
No more pop musicVeronica played old records, the songs from Valeries youth. She read poetryKeats, not the romances. Once, a tear rolled down Valeries cheek.
Katie began visiting too. Bringing tea, talking softly.
When Oliver came, he frowned. Wheres the music? Mum needs cheering up.
She needs peace, Katie said. And a real sonnot a visitor.
She handed him the journal.
He left with it. Returned two days later, aged, dark-eyed.
His name was Andrew, he whispered, standing at Valeries door. My brotherAndrew too?
Valerie trembled.
I never knew, Oliver said. I thought you were always strong. You feared Id be weak. And I was. Hiding behind you. Behind Katie. I just floated. Forgive me, Mum.
Valeries hand squeezed hisweak, but deliberate.
Later, in the kitchen, Oliver stood beside Katie.
Ive booked rehab. Ill take her. Ill pay Veronica. Its my responsibility. He paused. Katie I dont know how to fix this. But I want to try. If youll let me.
She looked at himsaw real pain in his eyes.
Wash your hands, she said. And get the other board. Youre cutting cucumbers.
For a second, he froze. Thenalmost a smile.
Two years later.
Autumn light gilded the kitchen. The scent of baked apples and cinnamon hung in the air. Katie pulled the dish from the oven.
Oliver entered, steadying Valerie. She walked slowly, leaning on a cane, but she walked. Her speech was slow but clear.
Mind the step, Mum.
They sat.
Smells lovely, Valerie said. A genuine compliment.
Katie set a plate before her.
She hadnt forgiven. Hadnt forgotten a single insult. But she understood nowthat behind every monster was a broken person.
Her marriage wasnt a fairy tale. They still argued. But Oliver stayed nowlistened, tried. Learned to be more than a son.
And soon, a father.
She hadnt told him yet. Shed wait for the right momentnot for surprise, but for calm. For the new life they were building.
Katie picked up a warm apple. Soft, sweet.
She hadnt won the war.
Shed survived it. Not broken. Not bitter. Just whole.
And that was enough.
