Dear Diary,
Mum will be moving in with us; your parents can stay in the village, Oliver decided.
You spent four hundred pounds on what? A kitchen unit?!
Oliver slammed the receipt on the table so hard the plates jumped. I flinched, but tried to keep my composure.
On the kitchen. The old set finally fell apart. The door fell off, the worktop is streaked with stains.
Four hundred pounds! We agreed any big purchase would be discussed first!
Oliver, we did discuss it! I told you a month ago! You said, see for yourself!
I never said spend that much!
How much do you think a decent kitchen should cost? Ten pounds? That was the cheapest option!
Oliver paced the kitchen, tugging at his hair nervously.
Were scraping every penny now! Weve been saving for a car!
We were saving. Well save again. But I need somewhere to cook now, not when we finally buy the car.
You could have waited!
Wait? Would we have to cook on two burners for another six months because the rest dont work?
Oliver turned to me.
You know what? If you could actually save, wed have both the car and a bigger flat by now!
I felt a lump rise in my throat.
Dont tell me I cant save! I count every pound each day to make it to payday. I buy the cheapest food and have been wearing the same old coat for three years.
See? Youre playing the victim again!
Im not a victim! Im just stating facts!
We stood facing each other, breathing heavily. Tears welled up, but I swallowed them. No crying. No showing weakness.
Olivers phone rang. He glanced at the screen.
Mum, he muttered and slipped out into the hallway.
I stayed in the kitchen, sat down and rested my head in my hands. Whats happening to us? We never argued about money before. We hardly ever fought.
I remembered how we met. I was working as a receptionist at a dental practice when Oliver came in for a root canal. We chatted while waiting. He invited me for tea. Six months later he proposed.
I was twentysix, he twentyeight. Both of us working, sharing a small flat in Manchester. Then we got a mortgage and bought a onebedroom council flat on the outskirts. Modest, but ours.
Life was ordinary. Not rich, but not destitute. Arguments were rare and usually about trivial things. I thought we were fine.
Then something cracked. Oliver grew irritable, nitpicking. He was constantly bringing up money and saving, even though he earned decently as a manager at a large firm.
I earned less, tried to help around the house, cooked, and saved wherever I could. Yet nothing was ever good enough for him. My cooking, my cleaning, my spending always a fault.
Oliver returned to the kitchen, his face serious.
Lucy, we need to talk.
Im listening.
My mum called. Her health is failing blood pressure spikes, hearts weak. She cant manage alone.
And?
Ive decided shell move in with us until she gets better.
I stared at him.
Oliver, we only have a onebedroom flat. Where will she sleep?
On the sofa in the living room. Well move the bed to the kitchen and use a pullout couch.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Shes my mother. I cant leave her like that.
Im not saying we should leave her, but couldnt we hire a care worker? Or?
A carer costs money money we dont have because of your spending.
I clenched my fists under the table.
What about my parents? Theyre also in their seventies. Dad struggles with chores, Mum cant walk well after a stroke.
Your parents live in the village. They have a house and a garden. Theyre fine there.
Theyre not fine! I drive up every week to help chop wood, fetch water, tidy up!
Keep doing that, but my mum will be here.
Why does your mum get to stay here while my parents have to endure the village?
Olivers gaze turned cold.
Because my mum is alone. Your parents have each other, so its easier for them. Plus, in the city she has access to doctors, whereas your folks are used to village life.
Used to village life? Oliver, are you hearing yourself?
I hear. Mum will live with us, your parents can stay in the village. Thats my decision.
I stood up.
You decided, not us. No discussion, just you.
Im the head of the family.
The head of the family who spends money on fishing gear and a new rod but balks at buying a kitchen unit for his wife?
Dont twist my words!
Im not twisting! Im stating facts. You think you have the right to decide for both of us, yet when it comes to my parents you act differently!
Your parents are fine!
No! Theyre struggling, and you never even ask if they need help!
Oliver snatched the car keys.
Im fed up with this argument. Mum arrives Saturday. Prepare a room.
What if I dont want to?
He stopped at the doorway.
This is my flat. Im paying the mortgage. My mother will live here, whether you like it or not.
He left. I sank to the kitchen floor and wept quietly, hopelessly.
This is my flat. My decision. My mother.
And who am I? A servant? A shadow forced to accept every whim of my husband?
I wiped my tears, grabbed the phone and called my parents.
Hello, love! Mum answered instantly, her voice weak.
Mum, how are you?
Fine, just getting on. Dads stacking firewood, were stoking the stove. Its a chilly winter.
Mum, could you move to the city? Ill find a flat to rent
No, love! Weve lived here all our lives. And where will you get the money for a rental?
Ill figure something out.
Dont. Well manage. You already do so much for us. Just dont wear yourself out.
I swallowed another sob.
Mum, Ill be home on Sunday with groceries.
Come over, darling. Well be glad to see you.
My parents never complained; they always said theyd manage. Yet I could see how hard it was the old house, the coal stove, the water fetched from the communal tap, the endless chopping of wood. Dad, seventythree, barely walks after a heart operation. Mum, after a stroke, cant use her left hand well. They stubbornly refuse to be a burden.
My motherinlaw, Valerie, lived in a twobedroom flat in Leeds. She was younger than my parents sixtyfive and, though not in perfect health, managed on her own.
Oliver was the only son, the beloved boy of his mother. Valerie called him ten times a day, giving advice on everything from what coat to wear to where to shop. Oliver obeyed without question.
At first I tolerated. Then I began to complain, but Oliver always sided with his mother, claiming she only wanted the best for him.
Now shes moving into our tiny flat. Im expected to look after her, cook, clean, while my own parents are left to the village.
Oliver came home late that night, went straight to the bedroom without a word. I lay on the sofa, pretending to sleep.
In the morning he left early for work, leaving a note on the table: Prepare a room for Mum on Saturday. Wash the floors, change the linens.
I crumpled the note and tossed it in the bin.
Friday evening I drove to the village, delivered groceries and medicine, helped Dad stack firewood, tidied the house. Over tea, Mum looked at me sharply.
You look pale. Everything alright?
Its fine, Mum.
Dont lie. I can see when youre upset.
I sighed.
Valerie is moving in with us. Oliver decided.
Well, thats that, Dad shrugged. Old folk can stay wherever.
But we only have a onebedroom. Shell take the bedroom. Oliver and I will have to sleep on the sofa in the kitchen.
Give it time. She wont be here long, will she?
I dont know. Oliver said until she gets better. No end date.
Mum sighed.
I understand, love. Its hard sharing a roof with a motherinlaw. But a son must look after his mother.
Doesnt a daughter have to look after her parents? I blurted.
Dad stared at me.
What are you talking about? he asked.
I suggested we bring you both to the city, find a bigger flat, help more. He refused, said village is better for us.
Mum, were used to this place. In the city it would be cramped for us.
Your health is failing, Dad, and you cant use your left hand!
We manage. The important thing is youre healthy, and Oliver too. Dont worry about us.
I pressed my forehead to Mums hand and wept.
Im so tired. Tired of his attitude. Tired of being the second priority. Tired that his mother means more to him than my own parents.
Shhh, dear, she soothed. Itll sort itself out. Mum will stay only a short while, then shell go back.
I didnt believe her.
Saturday morning Valerie arrived with three massive suitcases.
Lucy, help me with these! she shouted from the doorway.
I silently lifted the bags. She inspected the flat.
So cramped, huh? We should get a bigger place!
We cant afford it, I replied bluntly.
You need to earn more! Oliver, ask for a bonus at work!
Mom, it doesnt work like that, Oliver tried to mediate.
Back in my day we worked for conscience, not for a paycheck! she declared, pushing me away from the stove.
I began cooking stew. Valerie hovered, ordering Oliver where to put things, what to hang.
What are you making?
Beef stew and minced meat patties.
Oliver cant have fatty food his livers weak!
Chicken patties, steamed.
Still not good enough. Bring some fish. I brought a pike, Ill show you how to cook it.
I can cook fish myself.
Sure you can, but not the way I do. Watch
She pushed me aside and took over the pan. I stood there, teeth clenched.
The lunch was a tense affair. Valerie babbled about health, neighbours, grocery prices. Oliver nodded; I stayed silent.
Afterward she retired to the sitting room. I washed dishes when Oliver approached from behind.
Thanks for taking my mum in.
Did I have a choice?
Lucy, dont start
Im not starting. Im stating facts. You decided, I complied.
You could have been kinder to her.
I was polite.
You were cold. She feels it.
I turned to Oliver.
Your mothers taken our bedroom, pushed me from the stove, criticised my cooking, and you expect me to be sweet?
Shes ill!
Shes used to ordering people around! And you let her!
Enough! Oliver raised his voice. Shes my mum! I wont let you insult her!
Im not insulting! Im telling the truth!
From the bedroom Valeries voice drifted in.
Oliver, whats happening? Are you two fighting?
No, Mum, everythings fine! Oliver called back, trying to sound calm.
I stayed in the kitchen, wiping tears, finishing the dishes.
A week later Valerie had settled in, occupying half the wardrobe, spreading her belongings everywhere. Oliver and I slept on a pullout couch in the kitchen; my back ached from the awkward position.
Valerie rose early, clanged dishes, made a heavy breakfast I couldnt stomach, then turned the TV up loud. She kept giving unsolicited advice.
Lucy, youre washing the floor wrong. Look, this is how you should do it.
Youre not washing the laundry correctly. Raise the temperature.
Youre dressed badly. That doesnt suit you.
I endured, doing as I always had. Valerie complained to Oliver, who scolded me.
Why cant you listen to my mum? She wants to help!
I dont need her help!
Youre rude and ungrateful!
Arguments became daily. I felt my strength draining work, the house, Valerie, Oliver, and my own parents. I barely managed to visit them because Valerie demanded my attention. I had to ask a neighbour to look after my parents and pay her.
One evening I sat at the kitchen table, tallying expenses. Money wouldnt stretch to the next payday. I needed to buy my fathers medication, pay the neighbour, and cover the utility bill.
Valerie entered.
Lucy, I need new slippers. These hurt. Can you give me some money?
I have no spare cash.
How can that be? Oliver got his salary!
My salary goes to the mortgage and food.
And yours?
My wages cover my parents meds, utilities, household costs.
Parents! Always you paying for them, never any for me!
My pension is tiny, Valerie.
My pension is tiny too! Im short of cash!
She turned and left. A minute later I heard her complain to Oliver.
She refused! I asked for money for slippers and she said no!
Oliver stormed in, face flushed.
You really turned down my mothers request for slippers?
I told you I have no spare cash!
And you have money for your parents?
My parents are sick! They need medication!
My mother is sick too! She needs slippers! Give her something!
Do it yourself! Its your mother!
I have none!
We both have none!
They shouted at each other while Valerie watched, smirking.
I finally saw the whole picture: a motherinlaw who manipulates her son, a husband blind to it, and me backed into a corner.
Thats enough, I said quietly. Enough.
What do you mean enough? Oliver looked bewildered.
Everything. Im tired of this. Tired of being treated like a servant. Tired that my parents mean nothing to you.
Lucy, stop being dramatic!
This isnt drama. Its a decision. Im leaving.
Oliver froze.
Where?
To my parents. Ill live with them. If my help isnt needed here, Ill go.
Youve gone mad!
No. Ive simply decided. Youll manage without me.
I love you!
I stopped, looked him in the eyes.
If you loved me, you wouldnt put your mother above my needs. You wouldnt forget my fathers birthday next week. You wouldnt ignore my parents altogether.
He was silent.
Im exhausted being alone in this marriage. Ive been carrying everything. I want to care for those who value my care.
I packed my suitcase, Oliver followed.
Lucy, stop! You cant just walk out!
I can, and I will.
What about me?
Youll manage. Your mum will cook, wash, and iron for you.
But I love you!
I paused, meeting his gaze.
If you loved me, you wouldnt let your mother push me aside. You wouldnt make her wishes trump mine. You wouldnt forget my fathers birthday next week. You didnt even ask if I wanted to visit.
He said nothing.
Im leaving now, I said, closing the suitcase, grabbing my bag.
Lucy, wait! Lets talk!
Its too late. It should have been earlier.
I walked out of the flat. Valerie stood in the corridor.
Youre leaving? Fine, go. Oliver will be better off without you.
I halted.
Youve won, Valerie. Youve taken my son. I dont envy you. Living in a cramped flat with a motherinlaw is a dubious happiness.
She sneered, Enjoy your new life in the village then.
Outside it was cold, snow drifting. I hailed a cab, headed to the train station, bought a bus ticket to the village.
I arrived late, the house asleep. I slipped inside, stripped, and collapsed onto the old sofa in the lounge.
Morning brought the smell of pancakes. Mum was at the stove, beaming.
Lucy! Youre here! Stay forever?
Im staying for good, I replied.
How about Oliver?
Hes staying with his mum. Itll be easier for them.
Mum hugged me tightly.
My poor girl, how did it come to this?
It came, Mum. Its what it is.
We sat over tea, I poured out the whole saga, the fights, the decision.
You did the right thing, Dad said. You cant endure that kind of treatment.
But I love him, I whispered.
Love isnt about tolerating humiliation. Love is respect. He hasnt given you thatIn the quiet of the village kitchen, I finally felt peace return, knowing I had chosen my own worth over anyone elses expectations.
