Blythe stared at the flour scattered across the linoleum, fighting back tears. In the dim glow of the kitchen lamp the white streaks glistened like odd snowflakes, but there was no time for poetryguests would arrive in an hour and the cake hadnt even been started.
Raising a mess again? Olivers voice cut sharply as he entered. My mothers coming and you
Blythe pressed her lips together.
It wasnt on purpose, Oliver. The sack tore, she said.
Everything in this house ends up ripped, dropped, broken, he snapped, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of sparkling water. Thirtyfive years old and still as clumsy as a child.
She began scooping the flour into a dustpan, swallowing her resentment. Ten years of such a life had taught her to swallow her pain.
I’m off to meet my mum, Oliver glanced at his watch. Have the table set by seven. Try not to embarrass us, alright? Its her anniversary after all.
When the door slammed shut behind him, Blythe sank onto a stool and breathed deeply. She remembered meeting Oliver in the town library where she worked. He had seemed so attentivecoming in daily, borrowing books shed recommended, staying late. Then hed invited her to the theatre and shed felt like the heroine of a romance: a single mother from a previous marriage, rescued by a handsome, independent man. Who could have guessed the fairytale would unravel so quickly?
Her son Harvey appeared in the doorway, silent as a ghost.
Are you doing that again? he asked, nodding toward the front door.
Enough, Blythe snapped. Dont bring your stepfather into this.
…who treats you like a servant.
Harvey, sixteen, saw everything with brutal clarity.
You should be doing your homework, not eavesdropping on adult arguments, she muttered, returning to the cleaning.
Harvey grunted, rolled up his sleeves, and began helping.
We need to talk, Mum, he said seriously. I want to apply to university in London for computer science after school.
London? Blythe froze, a dishcloth in her hand. But wed agreed on a local college theres a dormitory, and
And Oliver, who will keep picking on you whenever he can, Harvey interrupted. I cant watch this any longer, Mum.
Its adult life, Blythe tried to soothe. Families have their quirks.
This isnt a family, he replied, turning and walking out.
By the time the guests arrived, Blythe had composed herself, set the table, and baked an apple pieher culinary pride. Margaret Whitaker, Olivers stately mother in an elegant dress, inspected the spread with a critical eye but said nothing. That alone felt like a victory.
Please, sit down, Margaret, Blythe hustled. Harvey and his friend will be here any minute.
Margaret eased into a chair, smoothing her silvered hair.
And wheres your boy? she asked, as if speaking of a pet.
Hes in his room, Ill fetch him, Blythe replied.
Studying, is he? Margaret pressed. All that learningwhats the point? Hell just end up like his father, doing nothing.
Blythe stayed silent. Margaret never spoke kindly of her late husband, though shed never met him. Insulting a dead man felt indecent, but she dared not contradict her motherinlaw.
A knock announced the arrival of Gwen and her husband Victor, Olivers sister and a successful entrepreneur whose presence always seemed to irritate Oliver.
Happy birthday, Mum! Gwen threw her arms around Margaret. You look stunninghardly anyone would guess youre sixty!
Margaret beamed. Gwen always knew the right words.
Blythe, Victor kissed Blythes hand, you look lovely. New haircut?
Yes, thank you, Blythe answered shyly, catching Olivers displeased stare.
Oliver began pouring champagne, deliberately ignoring Harvey, who stood off to the side.
To the birthday girl! he proclaimed. To the most wonderful mother in the world!
And to Grandma! Gwen added. By the way we have a surprise for you.
What surprise? Margaret asked, wary.
Were expecting a baby! Gwen announced, beaming.
Margaret clapped her hands and wept with joy. Victor smiled broadly. Oliver forced a tight grin.
Congratulations, Blythe said softly. Thats wonderful news.
Then why arent you having any? Margaret blurted, turning to Blythe. Olivers almost forty, yet no children of his own. Only someone elses kid in the house.
A heavy silence fell. Blythe felt her face flush.
My dear, weve talked about this, Oliver muttered through clenched teeth.
What about? That your wife is building a career? Margaret sneered. What career in a library? All my grandchildrens mums are nannies, and here I am, watching over your son. If only you had a decent boy
Enough, Margaret! Blythe erupted. Harvey is right here.
What? Im lying? Margaret turned to her grandson. Always tucked away in your corner, never saying a word. London, you say? What rubbish?
Blythe stared at Harvey, stunned. How did his grandmother know his plans?
Ill earn my own money, Harvey said calmly. Ive already found a parttime remote job coding websites.
What websites? Oliver interjected. You should be studying properly, not fooling around.
Its not fooling, its my future profession, Harvey replied firmly. And it pays well.
Who gave you permission? Oliver raised his voice. You live under my roof, you follow my rules!
My roof, my rules Harvey murmured. Im not even your son, am I? So I dont have to obey.
Olivers face turned beet red.
Exactly! Not my son! And youll never be one!
Oliver! Blythe shouted, frantic. Stop this right now!
What did I say? Oliver shrugged. I spoke the truth. Ten years Ive fed and clothed him, and what do I get? He sits in his room staring at a screen. Now he wants to head to London behind my back!
Behind your back? Harvey smirked. I dont care what you think. Youre nothing to me.
Harvey! Blythes voice cracked, eyes darting between son and husband. Oliver, pleaselets not ruin Margarets birthday.
No, this is perfect timing! Oliver insisted. Ive tolerated your…lets call it creature for ten years, and now I have to fund his London education?
Margaret nodded approvingly, Gwen and Victor ate in silence, and Harvey stood pale but composed.
Ill earn it myself, Harvey repeated. I dont need anything from you.
Is that so? Oliver sneered. And the roof over your head? Food? Clothes? All mine! If you want to keep living like that, no London for youstudy here under my watch. Thats my condition.
Blythe felt something snap inside her. Ten years of tolerating criticism, neglect, and petty tyranny for the sake of stability, for the roof, for Harvey. Now Oliver was dictating terms to her son.
Maybe thats enough, she whispered. Its Margarets birthday, and weve turned this into a circus.
Its your son who caused the scene, Oliver retorted. As always, its his fault. You keep covering for him! Ungrateful brat and a motherhen. Is that how you want to live on my purse?
Blythe rose slowly from the table. The room fell into a heavy hush.
I spent thirtyfive years in the library, she said, voice suddenly steady. I hold two degrees. I never asked you to support my sonwe managed before you.
Is that so? Oliver mocked. Didnt notice, did you?
Because I chose not to, Blythe replied. You wanted a compliant housekeeper, not a wife. I became that, but enough.
What does that mean now? Oliver asked, frowning.
It means, Blythe turned to Harvey, that were leaving.
The silence grew oppressive.
Youre out of your mind, Oliver finally blurted. Where will you go?
For starters, to my sisters flat, Blythe said calmly. Then well find a place of our own. Ill get a better jobmaybe even in London.
Harvey looked at his mother with awe. Hed never seen her like this.
Dont be ridiculous, Oliver laughed nervously. Youll starve. How will you afford a flat?
Thats no longer my concern, Blythe cut in. By the way, Im not just a librarianIm the head of the department, and my salary is respectable. You never bothered to ask.
Enough! Victor intervened, eyes on Oliver. Its a birthday, not a circus. Stop this.
Mind your own business, Oliver snapped back, turning to his mother. Did you hear? We have a careerwoman in the house now!
Your mother has heard enough, Victor said firmly. And perhaps its time to stop. Ten years of watching this nightmare, and Im done. Oliver, youve become a tyrant. If Blythe is leaving, thats the best thing she can do.
Margaret gasped, horrified. How dare you! My son does everything for them, and they
Mother, Gwen interjected gently, Victors right. Look at whats happening. Its terrible.
Without waiting for more, Blythe slipped out, Harvey following. In the bedroom she grabbed a suitcase and began packing the essentials.
You serious? Harvey asked, eyes wide.
More than serious, Blythe replied. Gather your things. Were leaving.
What about? he began, faltering. We need money, a place
I have some savings, she said, pulling a small jewelry box from the wardrobesomething Oliver never knew existed. Not much, but enough for a start. My sisters offering a room, and Ive got you, my brilliant boy. Well make it.
A knock at the door. Gwen stood there.
Youre really going? she whispered.
Yes, Blythe answered firmly. Weve had enough.
Gwen hesitated, then reached into her purse and handed Blythe an envelope.
Take this. Its from Victor and me. We wanted to help, but were scared Oliver would find out.
Gwen, I cant
You can, Gwen insisted. You endured ten years of his abuse. This isnt charity; its compensation for the damage he caused.
Blythe took the envelope, eyes glistening.
Thank you, she said quietly. And sorry for ruining the celebration.
What celebration? Gwen waved it off. Maybe now Oliver will finally think about his behaviour. Though I doubt it.
When Blythe and Harvey emerged into the living room, tension hung thick. Oliver sat scowling, Margaret pressed her lips together, Victor observed with a faint grin.
Were leaving, Blythe said simply. Thank you, Oliver. And sorry if anythings amiss.
Yyou, Oliver stammered, rising, words choking.
No more drama, Victor snapped. Were fed up. Blythe, need a lift?
No thanks, she shook her head. We called a taxi.
The door closed behind them, and Blythe felt a sudden lightness, as if a decadelong weight had been dropped. Harvey squeezed her hand like he used to when she read bedtime stories.
Youre amazing, Mum, he whispered. Im proud of you.
Thanks, love, she smiled. Maybe London isnt such a bad idea after allnew city, new life.
They descended the stairs and stepped into the early May evening, the scent of hawthorn filling the air.
Blythes phone buzzed. It was Oliver.
Dont answer, Harvey urged.
Blythe stared at the screen, then pressed decline.
Return immediately! Oliver roared through the speaker. I wont let you go! Take the boy, but you stay. Thats my condition!
She laughed, a sound she hadnt made in yearsfree and unrestrained.
You no longer have the right to give me conditions, Oliver, she said firmly. No conditions, ever.
She hung up, the taxi pulling up. As it rolled away, Oliver, fuming, smashed his phone against the wall and turned to Margaret, expecting support. She looked at him with a strange, sudden clarity.
You really are unbearable, Oliver, she whispered. How did I not see it before?
Tears slipped down her cheeksnot of bitterness, but of regret for the years shed enabled his cruelty. Perhaps it was not too late to change.
