15October2025 London
My wife Emily suggested we go to the theatre on Saturday while the kettle was whistling over a pot of soup. Theres a new production, Laura raved about it, she said.
I flicked the TV off, glanced at her and said, The theatre? Im knackered after the week.
She sighed, Youre always exhausted. We havent been out together for six months.
Fine, Ill think about it, I muttered, eyes glued to the footie match on screen.
Emilys lips pursed. Think and maybe later have become our usual refrain. Fifteen years of marriage have taught me to expect excuses, not action.
She turned off the stove and called me over, We really need to talk.
I didnt look away from the broadcast, About what?
About my mum. She called today. Her country cottage in the Cotswolds is leaking after the rain; the roof needs fixing. I thought maybe she could stay with us for a couple of weeks while the tradesmen sort it out.
I frowned, My mum called too. Shes about to start a renovation and wants to move in with us as well.
Emily sat down, Then let both of them stay. We have enough space.
I shook my head, Two mums under one roof is too much. Theyll end up stepping on each other’s toes.
She wont, Emily replied. They get along fine.
I rose, poured a glass of water, drank, and faced her, My mum will live with us. Your mum should go to her cottage, I decided, firm as a judge.
Emilys face went cold. So what, my mum stays in a leaky cottage while yours enjoys our flat?
Yes, I shrugged. My mum is sixtyfive, she cant be out on a build site. Yours is younger, shell manage.
My mum is sixtytwo! Emily snapped. Three years isnt a gap.
There is a gap, I said obstinately. My mum is ill and needs peace.
Emily rose, And mine? Her blood pressure spikes, her back aches!
Everyone feels pain, I waved it off. Bottom line my mum arrives the day after tomorrow, yours stays at the cottage.
He turned back to the telly. Emily stood in the kitchen, stunned that I could decide without a word.
She tried to continue, Ian, we havent finished talking.
Ive got nothing more to say, I replied, changing the channel. Its settled.
No, it isnt! Emilys anger rose like a tide. This is my flat too! I live here, I have a say!
My name is on the lease, I said coldly. I decide.
She fell silent, the words great dripping from her teeth. She fled to the bedroom, closed the door, and slumped on the bed, cheeks pressed to her palms.
The evening passed without a word. She set the table in silence; I ate in silence and returned to the TV. When we finally went to bed, each turned to the opposite wall.
Morning came and I left for work without a goodbye. Emily called her mother, Mum, Im sorry, but you cant stay with us. Ians mum also needs a place, were short of rooms.
Her mother, Mrs. Parker, replied cheerfully, No worries, dear. Ill just stay at the cottage, what can I do?
But the roof is leaking! tears tinged Emilys voice.
Mum, Ill just stretch a sheet, put buckets under the drips. Ill manage, her mother said. Emily broke down, realising that my mum would be warm in our flat while hers endured a soggy roof.
An hour later Ian called, Mum will be here tonight. Prepare the spare room.
Emily answered curtly, Alright, and hung up. She tidied the guest room, laid fresh linen, placed flowersmechanically, without thought.
That night my motherinlaw, Mrs. Thompson, a stout woman with a perpetual frown, arrived. She planted a kiss on Emilys cheek, Hello, love, she said, What a dreadful taxi driver!
Emily helped her out of the coat, Come in, the room is ready.
Mrs. Thompson threw herself around me, My son, Ive missed you! I smiled, hugged her, asked about her journey. Emily watched, feeling the room close in on her.
At dinner Mrs. Thompson complained, Can you believe the builders want £100,000 for everything? Its daylight robbery!
I think those rates are normal now, I said.
Normal? she scoffed. Back in my day you could buy a flat for that!
Emily ate her borscht in silence, while Mrs. Thompson jabbed at everything: the price of tea, the weather, the neighbours.
Later, Mrs. Thompson asked, Why so glum, Emily?
Im just tired, I heard Emily answer.
Mrs. Thompson mimicked, Tired? Sitting at home all day and youre tired? I worked three jobs at your age and never complained!
Emily kept quiet, knowing arguing would be futile.
After dinner, Mrs. Thompson retired to her room, Emily washed the dishes. I leaned over, Why so angry?
My mum will be drenched in the rain, yours will be cosy here, she said, finally looking at me. You never asked my opinion.
Dont exaggerate, I shrugged. Your mum will manage.
She asked, What if the tables were turned? What if I said my mum should come and yours should stay in the cottage?
Thats different, I growled.
How?
My mum is older and sicker.
Its only three years! Emily snapped. Thats no difference!
I waved my hand and walked away. Emily stood alone, tea cooling in her cup, wondering if she should just leave for her mothers cottage, leaving me with my precious mum.
She tried to convince herself it would be easy, but the flat was hers too.
The next morning Mrs. Thompson rose early, rummaged through the cupboards, and asked where the colander was for her porridge. In the top left shelf, I told her.
She muttered about the chaos, You live in a mess! I replied, It works for me.
She huffed, Youre comfortable in disorder, no wonder Ian is always grouchy! I clenched my fists, holding back a retort.
Later, looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, I saw the exhaustion, the dark circles, the tension. I was tired of being the invisible housekeeper.
That evening I left for work without a word. Emily called her mother, Mum, Im heading to the cottage. My mum is ill, she needs me.
My dear, Ive put buckets under the leak and stretched a sheet. Itll be fine, Mrs. Parker said.
I hung up, feeling the weight of my decisions.
A week later Mrs. Thompson settled in, rearranging the kitchen, hanging towels in the bathroom, claiming the fridge shelf. She critiqued every little thing: the curtains, the couch, the wallpaper.
Emily endured it all, teeth clenched, holding back the urge to explode.
One afternoon my mother called, her voice hoarse, Ive got a fever, 38°C.
I told her, Rest, love.
I went to see Emily, she said, My mum is sick, I need to fetch her.
I answered coldly, Your mum can stay in the cottage. Mine isnt moving.
She exploded, Shes 62, her heart is weak! She cant be out in the cold!
I stood, Im not changing my mind.
In that moment I realised I barely knew the woman Id lived with fifteen years. She felt like a stranger.
I said softly, Fine, Ill go to my mums. She replied, At least bring dinner.
I packed, left a list of where things were, and headed to the cottage.
My mother, Mrs. Parker, lay in bed with a cough, shivering. I stoked the wood stove, brewed tea with honey, and asked, Why did you come?
She answered weakly, Ian, youre alone here.
Three days passed; I tended to her, watched her improve, and returned home to find the flat a disaster zone. Mrs. Thompson lounged on the sofa, eyes glued to the telly.
I asked, Wheres Ian?
Off work, as usual. No one to cook, no one to clean.
I started washing dishes, anger boiling insidewhile I was caring for my mother, they had been waiting for a servant.
When I finally returned to work, I walked in to find Ian removing his shoes. Wheres dinner?
I said coldly, I havent cooked.
He stammered, What? I was only here half an hour!
I was here half an hour, I came back to a mess and you expect me to tidy?
He looked stunned. Emily, why?
Im tired, I said. Tired of being the housemaid.
He tried to argue, but I walked away to the bedroom, closed the door, and refused to speak.
The next morning I announced, Im leaving to stay with my mum, permanently.
Ian shouted, Youve lost your mind! Why this drama?
I replied, Because you chose your mum over me.
He tried to protest, Your mum is older, she needs care!
Three years isnt a reason to ignore my mothers health, I said.
He begged, Come back, please.
I said, I wont return until you apologise to both our mums and put me back on equal footing.
He left, and I felt a strange lightness. I finally said what Id been holding inside.
Days later, while helping my mother with chores at the cottage, a car pulled up at the gate. Ian stepped out, looking worn and lost.
Ive taken my mums flat for the renovation, he said. Ive thought a lot.
He looked down, You were right. I was selfish, putting my mum above you and yours.
I nodded, letting him speak.
My mum told me Ive ruined your life. The flat turned into a pigsty, food was scarce, I was angry as a dog. She said, value her before its too late.
He took my hand, Im sorryfor everything. For not valuing you, for hurting your mum.
I felt a flicker of hope.
Ill come back, I said slowly, but on conditions.
He listened.
First, never again put your mum above me. Im your wife; I should be your priority.
He agreed.
Second, respect my mum as you respect yours. If one needs help, the other does toono hierarchy.
He nodded.
Third, I am not a servant. I am your partner. All decisions must be joint.
He squeezed my hand, I understand, truly. Im sorry.
We walked inside. My mum, Mrs. Parker, sat with tea. Ian bowed his head, Im sorry, Mum. I shouldnt have left you at the cottage when you were ill, nor favoured my mum over you.
She looked at me, then at him, Alright, I forgive you. Just dont make me fight for you again.
The flat was spotlessapparently Ian had cleaned before his return. I looked around, seeing my home, my space, my place. I stayed not out of duty but because I chose to, on my terms.
That night we shared tea, Ian admitting how miserable life was without me.
Cooking was a nightmare, my mums back hurt, we survived on ready meals. I missed you, not just the food.
I replied, You missed me, not the meals.
He smiled, Yes, Emily, I need you.
A month later Ian had truly changedhelping with chores, asking after my mums health, thanking me for dinner. Mrs. Thompson softened too, apologising for her earlier harshness.
When my mum visited London, Ian suggested, Shall we have your mum stay with us? Ill drive her to the cottage later.
I smiled, seeing the family Id wanted finally forming.
This whole mess taught me a vital truth: you must never let anyone, even a loved one, dictate your worth. If youre not respected, you have the right to walk away. Only then can you demand the respect you deserve.
