Did she really say that? Emily asked, looking at James.
James nodded and took a sip from his mug. The tea was still steaming, and he winced at the heat.
Exactly that. My sister demanded that Mother transfer the twobed flat to her name and move out, because Harry had proposed to her. A young couple needs somewhere to live, you see? James said in a high, pretentious tone, mimicking his sister.
Emily stared at him, unable to believe her ears. It was beyond reasondemanding a flat from ones parents as if it were a gift?
What did Mother say? Emily asked cautiously.
James shook his head.
Theres no clear answer yet. But I know Mum, and I know how much she dotes on Olivia. So anything is possible.
Could a daughter really push her own mother out of the only home she owned? Emily would never have imagined asking her parents for something so bold. She had refused to borrow even a deposit from them, had saved every penny herself, bought a flat, and cleared the mortgage before she married. That house was her pride, her property.
Listen, James continued, his gaze drifting to the window, Mum sold the cottage a few years ago to pay for Olivias tuition. And what happened? She dropped out in her second year. Turns out university does require study, you know?
Emily snorted.
Your sister never was a model of perseverance.
James fell silent. Emily could see the tension in his shoulders, the tight grip on his mug. What could she say? What advice could she offer? Family, after all, is always tangled.
Days turned into weeks. James called his mother a few times, but the conversations were short and strained. Emily kept out of it, knowing this was his burden to bear.
One Saturday they decided to visit Jamess mother.
James turned the key and pushed open the door. Emily stopped on the landing. The flat was a jumble of boxes, suitcases, rolledup blankets. Belongings were stacked against the walls, on the sofa, on the tablepure chaos of a move.
Mum? James called as he stepped inside.
Margaret stepped out of the hallway, her face drawn, shadows under her eyes. Emily had never seen Jamess mother look so exhausted.
James, Emily, come in, Margaret whispered.
James scanned the rooms and asked bluntly, Are you giving the flat to Olivia?
Margaret sighed, lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa, and brushed a stack of dishes aside.
Itll be better this way, love. A young couple needs their own place. Harrys a good lad, has a steady job. Theyll need somewhere, and I can manage elsewhere.
Emily stood nearby, her stomach clenched. How could anyone hand over the only flat they owned? Where would Margaret go?
Where will you live? James asked, his voice flat.
Ill rent a room. My pension isnt much, but itll do. Dont worry about me.
Emily watched Jamess colour drain, his hands tremble, and said nothing. This fight was not hers.
Two months later Margaret was living in a rented flat in another district. James visited often, bringing groceries, medicine, helping with chores. Emily didnt object; she understood how much her husband was shouldering.
One evening James returned home, shoulders slumped, silence hanging over him. He sat at the kitchen table, staring at a point on the wall.
Whats wrong? Emily asked, sitting opposite him.
James lifted his eyes slowly.
Mother cant make ends meet. Her pension barely covers the rent and food. Shes scraping by.
Emilys brow furrowed.
Then let her come back to the flat.
The flats already in Olivias name. She refuses to let Mother back in, saying she and Harry are planning renovations and Mother would be in the way.
Emily sensed where the conversation was heading. Before she could finish, James went on:
We should take Mother in. We have the twobed flat; theres enough room.
Her twobed flat. It was her home. The words slammed into Emilys mind, but she kept quiet, letting James persuade himself while the voice inside her shouted protest. What could she say? That she didnt want to welcome a mother who had been forced out by her own daughter? That would be cruel.
Four days later Margaret moved in with them. On the first day she was as gentle as a daisy, apologising constantly, promising not to be a burden.
Emily told herself everything would be fine. They had never quarreled with Margaret before; why should this be any different?
A week passed, and things began to shift.
First, Emilys favourite blue mug disappeared.
Margaret, have you seen my mug? The one with the flowers? Emily asked.
Margarets eyes widened. Oh, dear, Im sorry. I dropped it while washing up. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
Emily nodded, trying to brush it off.
The next day the expensive hand cream Emily kept in the bathroom vanished.
Margaret, have you seen my cream? Emily asked.
Margaret pointed to an empty jar. I used it on my feet. My skins been cracking from the dry air. Its a good cream, isnt it?
Emily clenched her teeth but said nothing. She would just buy another.
The final straw came with the meat. Emily had bought a pricey fillet, intending to fry steaks for dinner. When she got home from work she found a pan of greasy burgers on the stove, the mince mixed with more bread than meat.
Margaret, Emily tried to stay calm, this is expensive beef. Its not meant for burgers, especially not like this.
Margaret turned from the stove. I always do it this way. The burgers are lovely, try one. Whats wrong?
James, lounging in the living room, pretended not to hear.
Within weeks Margaret imposed her own routines. Breakfast became porridge and a boiled egg. Every Saturday at eight a thorough house cleaning was mandatory. Lights out after nine, even on weekends.
Emily walked through the house, barely containing her fury. James kept urging her to be patient, promising to speak with his mother, but nothing changed.
At dinner Emily spread cottage cheese on a slice of bread and topped it with a tomato slice, weary from work and not wanting to cook. Margaret grimaced.
You have no taste, Emily. Thats rubbish to eat.
Emily lifted her head slowly.
Im fine with it.
Youre ruining my son with your habits, Margaret snapped sharply.
Emily froze, sandwich in hand.
Yes, ruining him, Margaret continued, gaining momentum. James looks at you and thinks he can be lazy at home, that dishes dont need to be washed straight away, that clothes neednt be ironed. I raised him differently. I taught him order and neatness, and you erase all that.
Emilys patience snapped.
Ive had enough, she said coldly. Ive tried to respect your age, to stay silent while you broke my things, used my cosmetics, ruined my food. But Im done. If things are this bad, go back to the flat you gave to Olivia. Dont live in my house, which I bought with my own money.
Emily! James leapt up. What are you saying?
What I think! Emily turned to him. I have my own rules, too, and the first one is: your mother will not be in my house!
Margarets face turned ashen.
James! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her!
Mother, Emily, lets calm down, James tried to mediate.
No! Emily stared at Margaret. She can pack up and leave. I dont care where she goes.
We cant throw my mother out! James shouted. Do you understand what youre saying?
Emily laughed, a harsh, bitter sound.
You cant, but I can. By evening she must be gone.
James straightened, his face turning to stone.
If she leaves, Ill go too.
Emily held his gaze for a long moment.
Oh, have we really come to ultimatums? Youve forgotten you promised to calm your mother down, to be patient a little longer. Now youre setting conditions? Well, march on, James.
Margaret burst into tears and fled down the hallway. James stood in the kitchen, stunned.
They began to pack, slowly, in silence. Emily didnt help; she sat by the window, the room empty, cold, yet oddly soothing.
An hour later James and Margaret emerged into the hallway surrounded by suitcases and bags. James opened the front door, letting his mother step out first, then turned to Emily.
Emily, lets
Emily cut him off.
If you still havent realised that a mother loves only her own child and uses you, its better we part now before she gets under our skin completely.
She walked to the door and slammed it shut in Jamess face.
Taking Margaret out had been a mistake, but now Emily saw clearly: James could never stand up to his mother, and their marriage had no future. Their divorce was quiet; there were no children, no joint assets. James looked at her with sorrowful eyes, begging forgiveness, promising never to drag his mother into their marriage again. Emily, however, was not one to hand out second chances.
