«Your place is at my feet, girl!» my mother-in-law would say. After her stroke, I hired her a carera woman she had despised all her life.
«Did you move my frying pan again, Katie?»
The voice of Margaret Whitmore, my mother-in-law, cut through the air like a blade. It seeped into the kitchen walls, soaked into the wood of the countertop, and even the pattern on the tiles seemed to dull beneath its weight.
Katie turned slowly from the sink, drying her hands on her apron. The panheavy, cast-iron, a relic of Margarets reignstood on the farthest burner, exactly where she had placed it that morning. In what she deemed the only correct spot.
«I didnt touch it, Margaret.»
«Oh, didnt you? Then who did? The ghost?» Margarets lips curled into a smirk as her sharp gaze swept across the kitchen. Katies kitchen, once hers alone, now a battleground where she lost skirmish after skirmish.
Everywhere, an oppressive order reigned. The jars of spices stood not alphabetically, as Katie preferred, but by heightlike soldiers on parade. Tea towels werent hooked but draped over the oven handle, a small, suffocating chaos disguised as perfection.
«I was only asking,» Margaret said, picking up a cucumber and crunching it loudly. «In my own home, I believe I have the right to ask.»
«My own home.» Katie heard that phrase ten times a day. Never mind that the flat belonged to Oliver, her husbandtheir flat. But Margaret carried herself as though this were some ancestral estate, and she the rightful mistress.
Katie said nothing. Arguing was like banging ones head against a wall. She turned back to the dishes, the water murmuring softly as it washed away the sudsand her unshed tears.
When Oliver came home that evening, he kissed his mothers cheek first, then brushed his lips absently against Katies hair.
«Exhausted. Whats for dinner?»
«Roast chicken and potatoes,» Katie said without looking up.
«Again?» Margaret piped up from her perch on the stool. «Oliver, my boy, Ive told youyou need proper meat. She feeds you nothing but scraps. Youll waste away!»
Oliver sighed and retreated to the bedroom. He never interfered. His stance was simple and convenient: «This is womens business; sort it out yourselves.» He saw no waronly petty skirmishes between two women he supposedly loved equally.
Later, when they were alone in the kitchen, Margaret leaned in close. She smelled of expensive perfume and something darker, more commanding.
«Listen well, girl,» she hissed, low enough that Oliver wouldnt hear. «Youre nobody here. Just an appendage to my son. An incubator for my grandchildrennothing more.»
She snatched a napkin and wiped away an invisible stain.
«Remember this: your place is at my feet. Youre a servantnothing more.»
At that moment, her face twisted strangely. The right corner of her mouth drooped, her hand with the napkin went limp, and she slid slowly to the floor.
The hospital corridor smelled of antiseptic and distant grief. Oliver sat with his head in his hands.
«A stroke. The doctor says shell need constant care. The right side is paralyzed.»
He looked up at Katie with red-rimmed eyesnot pain in them, but irritation and cold calculation.
«Katie, I cant do it. Work, you know. Itll have to be you. Youre the wifeits your duty.»
He spoke as though handing off a relay baton in a race hed already quit.
He would visit. Supervise. But the daily drudgery? That would be hers.
Katie looked at him and felt nothing. No pity, no anger. Just emptinessa scorched field.
She nodded.
Back home, standing in the now-empty kitchen, Katie gazed out the window. In the courtyard, Veronicatheir neighbour from the fifth floorplayed with her little girl, Emily.
Young, loud, the kind of woman Margaret had despised with a fury for her short skirts, her laughter, her «cheeky grin.»
Katie watched her for a long time. Then, slowly, a plan formed in her mind. Cold. Precise. Cruel.
She took out her phone and dialed.
«Veronica? Its Katie. I need a carer for my mother-in-law.»
Margaret came home a week later, hunched in a wheelchair, a blanket over her lap. Her right side was useless, her speech a slurred mumblebut her eyes
Those were the same. Commanding. Piercing. Full of undiminished malice.
When Veronica walked in, those eyes flared with such fury the curtains might have caught fire. She recognized her.
«Good afternoon, Margaret,» Veronica said brightly, her most disarming smile in place. «Im Veronica. Ill be looking after you now.»
Margaret made a guttural, snarling sound. Her good hand clenched into a fist.
«Katie, could you give us a moment?» Veronica asked sweetly. «Margaret and I need to get acquainted.»
Katie left without a word. She didnt eavesdrop. She didnt need to.
Veronica was the perfect weaponimmune to hatred.
First, she threw open the window:
«Oh, what lovely fresh air! Lets air out this prison of yours.»
Then she turned on the radio. Pop musicthe sort Margaret called «mindless noise.» She thrashed, eyes wild, but Veronica only smiled.
«Like it? So do I! Perfect for chores!»
She spoon-fed her soup, ignoring Margarets feeble attempts to resist. It dribbled down her chin, staining her nightgown.
«Tsk, like a baby,» Veronica scolded lightly. «Make a mess, and Ill change you. I dont mind.»
Oliver visited in the evenings. By then, Margaret transformedher eyes pleading, her good hand reaching for him, whimpering accusations at Veronica.
«Dont fret, Mum,» Oliver would say, avoiding Veronicas gaze. «Shes good. Shell take care of you.»
He brought oranges, stayed half an hour, then leftexhaling relief on the landing.
Katie watched it all from the sidelines. She rarely entered Margarets room. She simply handed Veronica money and brief instructions:
«Today, switch the photos on her dresser. And put lilies in the vase. She hates the smell.»
Veronica obliged with gusto. She rearranged furniture, read romance novels aloud. Once, she brought Emily along. The little girl laughed, touching Margarets porcelain figurinesher sacred collection.
Margaret screamed silently, tears of helplessness rolling down her cheeks. She looked at Katie, who stood in the doorway, and for the first time in her lifebegged.
Katie met her gaze coolly.
«Veronica, make sure Emily doesnt break anything,» she said, then walked away.
Revenge was a dish best served by anothers hand.
The end came unexpectedly. One day, while Veronica «tidied» the wardrobe, a wooden box tumbled from the top shelf.
Letters, photos, a thick notebook spilled out.
«Katie,» Veronica called. «Youll want to see this.»
Margaret let out a mournful groan. Katie picked up the notebooka diary.
That night, she read it cover to cover.
The words shattered everything.
This wasnt the diary of the tyrant Margaret, but of young Vala woman who had loved a test pilot named James desperately. Who lost him. Who bore his son, named him James too, then buried him at two years old.
*»The sky took my love. The earth took my son.»*
Years of poverty followed. A second, meek husbandOlivers fathermarried out of necessity. Olivers birth, her last hope.
And her terrorthat hed grow up weak like his father. So she hardened him with cruelty.
*»I wanted a warrior. I got Oliver.»*
She wrote of her envyof those who laughed loudly, like the girl from the fifth floor. She hated them not for themselves, but for the life shed lost.
Katie read until dawn.
In the morning, she handed the diary to Veronica.
«Read it.»
Veronica sat on the park bench, turning pages. When she returned, her face was grave.
«Horrible. But it doesnt excuse her.»
«No,» Katie agreed. «But Im done. Revenge is pointless now. Like kicking a broken thing.»
From that day, everything changed.
Veronica stopped the pop music. Instead, she played old recordssongs from the diary. She found a book of Keatss poetry. At first, Margaret resistedbut once, as Veronica read aloud, a tear rolled down her cheek.
Katie began visiting too. She brought tea, sat quietly, spoke of her day.
When Oliver came home, he frowned.
«Why so quiet? Mum needs cheering up!»
«She needs peace, Oliver,» Katie said softly. «And she needs her son. Not a visitor. A real son.»
She handed him the diary.
«Read it. Maybe youll finally know who she really is.»
He left with it and didnt return that night. Katie didnt call.
Two days later, he reappearedolder, shadows under his eyes. He stood in the hallway before entering Margarets room. Katie heard him whisper:
«His name was James, wasnt it? My brother James too?»
Margaret shuddered. Fear flickered in her eyes.
«I never knew, Mum. I thought you were always this strong. You spent your life fearing Id be weak. And I was. Hiding behind you. Behind Katie. Letting the current take me. Forgive me.»
Margaret squeezed his handweakly, but deliberately.
Later, Oliver found Katie in the kitchen.
«Ive enrolled Mum in rehab. Ill take her myself. And Ill pay Veronica. My responsibility. Always should have been.» He paused. «Katie I dont know how to fix this. But I want to try. If youll let me.»
She looked at him. For the first time in years, his eyes held real pain.
«Wash your hands,» she said calmly. «And get the other chopping board. Youre dicing the cucumbers.»
For a moment, he froze. Then, almost imperceptibly, he smiled.
Epilogue
Two years later, autumn light gilded the kitchen. The air smelled of baked apples and cinnamon. Katie pulled a dish from the oven.
Oliver entered, guiding Margaret by the arm. She walked slowly, leaning on a canebut she walked. Her speech, though measured, was clear.
«Mind the step, Mum,» Oliver murmured.
They sat at the table.
«Smells lovely,» Margaret said, eyeing the apples. From her, it was high praise.
Katie set a plate before her.
«Help yourself.»
She hadnt forgiven. Hadnt forgotten a single word, a single slight. But she understood. Saw the broken woman behind the monster. It didnt bring lovebut it brought peace.
Her marriage wasnt a fairy tale. Oliver and she still argued. But now, he stayed. Listened. Tried.
He was learningto be more than a son. A husband. A father.
She hadnt told him yet. She was waiting for the right momentnot for surprise, but for calm. For the words to feel natural, like part of the life they were rebuilding.
Katie picked up a warm, baked apple. She hadnt won the war.
She had simply survived itand stepped out the other side. Not unscarred, but whole.
And for now, that was enough.
