I remember the day Eddie tossed the receipt onto the kitchen table so hard the mugs jumped. Eleanors breath caught, but she forced herself to stay calm.
Forty hundred pounds on a kitchen set? I asked, eyes narrowing.
It was a set. The old one had finally collapsed the door fell off, the worktop was mottled with stains.
Forty hundred! We agreed any big purchase would be discussed first.
I told you a month ago, Eddie. You said, look for yourself, and never warned me not to spend that much.
How much should a decent set cost? Ten hundred? That was the cheapest I could find!
Eddie paced the kitchen, his fingers twisting his hair. Every penny counts now. Weve been saving for a car.
Well still save. But I need somewhere to cook tonight, not when the car arrives.
You could have waited.
Wait? Another six months cooking on two burners because the rest are broken?
Eddie turned to her, his voice sharp. If youd learned to be frugal, wed have bought both the car and a bigger flat by now.
A knot rose in Eleanors throat. You say I dont know how to save? I count every pound so the salary stretches, I buy the cheapest groceries, Ive been wearing the same coat for three winters.
See? Youre the victim again!
Im not a victim, Im stating facts!
They faced each other, breaths heavy, Eleanors eyes welling but she held back tears, refusing to show weakness.
Eddies phone rang. He glanced at the screen, muttered Mum and slipped out of the room.
Alone, Eleanor sank into a chair, head in her hands, wondering what had become of them. They hadnt fought over money before; arguments had been rare and petty.
She recalled how they met: she was a receptionist at a dental practice, he came in for a filling, they struck up conversation in the waiting room, he invited her to a café, and six months later he proposed. She was twentysix, he twentyeight; both working, sharing a modest flat, then buying a onebedroom council flat on the outskirts simple, but theirs.
Life was modest, not rich but not desperate. Arguments were few, usually about trivial things. Then something shifted. Eddie grew irritable, constantly nagging about money and saving, despite earning a respectable managers salary at a large firm. Eleanor earned less, tried to help at home, cooked, and cut costs wherever she could.
One evening Eddie returned to the kitchen, his face serious.
Eleanor, we need to talk.
Im listening.
My mum called. Her blood pressures erratic, her hearts weak. She cant live alone any longer.
And?
Ive decided shell move in with us until she gets better.
Eleanor stared at him.
How? Our flat is onebedroom.
Shell sleep on the sofa in the living room. Well shift the bed to the kitchen, set up a cot.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Shes my mother; I cant leave her in that state.
Maybe we could hire a carer?
A carer costs money we dont have, thanks to your spending.
She clenched her fists under the table.
What about my parents? Theyre about seventy, my dad cant manage the house, my mum struggles after her stroke.
They live in the village. They have a cottage, a garden. Theyre fine.
Theyre not fine! I travel every week to help chopping wood, fetching water, cleaning.
Keep doing that, but my mum will stay here.
Why does your mum get priority while my parents have to stay out in the country?
Eddies stare was cold.
Because my mum is alone. Your parents have each other and can get to doctors in the city. My mum needs city care.
Your mum will live with us, your parents can stay in the village, thats what you decided, not us.
Im the head of the household.
The head of the household who splurges on fishing gear but balks at buying a kitchen set for his wife!
Dont twist my words, Eleanor snapped.
Im not twisting, Im stating. You think you can decide for both of us, yet when it comes to my parents you change the tune.
Your parents are fine!
No, theyre struggling, and you never offer to help. You never accompany me, never ask what they need.
Eddie snatched the car keys. Im tired of this. Mum arrives Saturday. Prepare a room.
What if I dont want that?
This is my flat, I pay the mortgage. My mother will be here whether you like it or not.
He walked out, leaving Eleanor alone. She sank to the kitchen floor and wept, silent and hopeless.
This is my flat, my decision, my mother, she thought, and I? A servant? A shadow that must obey every whim?
She dried her tears, grabbed the phone, and called her parents.
Hello, love, her mothers voice sounded weak but bright.
Mum, how are you?
Fine, just chopping firewood, stoking the stove. Its a cold winter.
Should you move to the town? I could find a flat
Dont be ridiculous, love! Weve lived here all our lives. Where will you get the money for a city flat?
Ill manage.
No need, well get by. You already do so much for us. Just dont wear yourself out.
Eleanor swallowed another sob. Ill be there on Sunday with groceries.
Come soon, darling. Well be glad to see you.
Her parents never complained, always saying theyd manage, but Eleanor knew how hard it was: a cracked stove, water drawn from a communal pump, firewood that needed endless splitting. Her father, seventythree, limped after a heart operation; her mother, after a stroke, could barely use her left hand. Yet they persisted, refusing to be a burden.
Her motherinlaw, Margaret Whitaker, lived in a twobedroom flat in Leeds, sixandahalf decades old, health still shaky but she managed. Eddie was her only son; Margaret called him ten times a day, offering advice on everything from clothing to travel. He obeyed without question.
At first Eleanor endured, then protested, but Eddie always sided with his mother, claiming she only wanted his good.
Now Margaret was moving into their cramped flat, and Eleanor was expected to tend to her, cook, clean, while her own parents were left to the cold village.
Eddie returned late one night, went straight to the bedroom without a word. Eleanor lay on the sofa, pretending to sleep.
The next morning he left a note on the kitchen table: Prepare a room for Mum on Saturday. Clean the floors, change the bedding.
She crumpled the note and tossed it in the bin.
Friday evening she drove to the village, delivered food and medicine, helped her father split firewood, and tidied the cottage. Over tea her mother looked at her keenly.
You look pale, love. Everything alright?
Its fine, Mum.
Dont lie. I can see youre upset.
Eleanor sighed. Margaret is moving in with us. Eddie decided it.
Her father shrugged. Old people need somewhere to stay.
Its a onebedroom flat. Shell take the bedroom. Well sleep on the kitchen couch.
Itll be temporary, right?
I dont know. Eddie says until shes better.
Her mother sighed. I understand, dear. Its hard when a mother lives under the same roof as her daughterinlaw. But a son must look after his mother.
Eleanor burst out, And a daughter isnt obliged to look after her parents?
Her father asked, What do you mean?
I suggested bringing you both to the town, a bigger flat. He refused, saying the village is best for you.
Her mother patted her hand. Were used to this place. The town would be cramped for us.
Youre struggling! Dad can barely walk, you cant use your left hand!
We manage. The important thing is youre healthy, and Eddie is too.
Eleanor pressed her face to her mothers shoulder and wept. Im exhausted. Im tired of being second, of his mother always coming first.
Her mother whispered, Calm down, love. Shell stay only a short while, then shell go back.
Eleanor didnt believe it.
Saturday morning Margaret arrived with three huge suitcases.
Eleanor, dear, give me a hand! she called from the doorway.
Eleanor helped carry the bags in silence. Margaret surveyed the flat, then declared, Youre living too tightly. You need a bigger place!
We cant afford one, Eleanor replied dryly.
Margaret barked, Earn more, Eddie! Ask for a bonus!
Eddie tried to placate her, Mum, thats not how it works.
Back in my day we worked for conscience, not just a paycheck!
Eleanor retreated to the kitchen, began cooking stew. From the living room she heard Margaret ordering Eddie about where to put things, what to hang, what to discard.
When Margaret stepped into the kitchen she asked, What are you cooking?
Stew and meatballs.
Eddie cant have heavy food; his livers weak!
Chicken meatballs, steamed.
Its still too rich. Better fish. I brought a pike, Ill show you how to prepare it.
I can cook fish.
Its not the same as my way. Watch.
Margaret pushed Eleanor aside, taking over the stove. Eleanor clenched her teeth, watching the tension rise.
After dinner the atmosphere was brittle. Margaret lounged, Eddie nodded, Eleanor washed dishes in silence.
Later, Eddie approached from behind, Thanks for taking my mother in.
Did I have a choice?
Dont start, he warned.
Im not starting anything. Im stating facts. You decided, I complied.
You could have been kinder.
Im polite.
Cold. She feels it.
Eleanor turned to him. Your mother has taken our room, pushed me from the stove, criticised my cooking, and you expect me to be sweet?
Shes ill!
Shes used to ordering! And you let her?
Enough! Eddie raised his voice. Shes my mum! I wont let you insult her!
Im not insulting, Im telling the truth!
Margarets voice floated from the bedroom, Whats that, Eddie? Are you arguing?
No, Mum, everythings fine, he called back, stepping into the room.
Eleanor stayed in the kitchen, drying tears, finishing the dishes.
A week later Margaret had claimed half the wardrobe, spread her belongings across the flat. Eleanor and Eddie slept on a foldout couch in the kitchen; her back ached from the hard mattress.
Each morning Margaret thundered about how to wash floors, how to set the washing machine, how Eleanor should dress. Eleanor endured, keeping her head down. Eddie would side with his mother, berating Eleanor for not listening.
Youre ungrateful, he would say. Shes only trying to help!
Youre rude and selfish! she snapped back. Their fights became daily, draining Eleanors spirit.
She tried to keep helping her own parents, but Margarets demands left little time. Eleanor hired a neighbour to run errands for her parents, paying her out of her dwindling wages.
One evening Eleanor sat at the kitchen table, tallying expenses. Money was short for her fathers medication, the neighbours fees, and the looming council tax.
Margaret entered, Eleanor, I need new slippers. These are too tight. Can you lend me some money?
I have nothing spare.
How can that be? Eddies been paid this month!
The salary goes to the mortgage and food.
And yours?
My pay covers my parents meds, utilities, the basics.
Your parents again! You always fund them, never the motherinlaw!
Margaret, you have a pension.
Its tiny! I need more!
Mines the same. Im not asking you for cash.
Margaret turned and left. A minute later she complained to Eddie, She refuses to give me money for slippers!
Eddie stormed into the kitchen, face flushed. Youre seriously refusing my mothers request for shoes?
I have no extra cash!
And your parents?
My parents need medicine!
My mother also needs shoes! Give her something!
Give it yourself! Shes your mother!
I cant! I cant! They shouted, while Margaret stood in the doorway, smiling.
Eleanor saw the scene from a new angle: a mother manipulating her son, a husband blind to his wifes plight, herself cornered.
Thats enough, she said softly. Im done.
What do you mean, enough? Eddie asked, baffled.
Everything. Im exhausted. I wont be your servant any longer. Im leaving to live with my parents. If my help isnt wanted here, Ill be elsewhere.
Are you mad?
No, Ive simply decided. You two can manage without me.
She gathered her things, moving toward the bedroom.
Stop! You cant just go! Eddie pleaded.
I can, and I will.
What about me?
Youll manage. Your mother will cook, clean, and look after herself.
But I love you!
Eleanor halted, meeting his eyes. If you truly loved me, you wouldnt let your mother push me aside. You wouldnt ignore my parents.
I didnt forget!
You forgot my fathers birthday next week, never asked if he needed help, never suggested a visit.
Eddie was silent.
Im tired of being alone in this marriage, tired of shouldering everything. Im going to care for the people who value my care.
She closed her suitcase, lifted her bag.
Eleanor, wait! Lets talk!
Its too late for talk. It should have been earlier.
She walked out, the hallway echoing with Margarets voice, Youre leaving? Fine, go. Eddie will be better off without you.
Eleanor paused. Youve won, Margaret. Youve taken my husband for yourself. But I dont envy you. Living in a cramped flat with a motherinlaw is no happiness.
She stepped out into a cold, snowy night, hailed a cab, and rode to the train station. She bought a ticket to her village, the journey long and solitary.
Arriving late, she slipped into the quiet cottage, the old sofa in the hall waiting. The next morning the smell of pancakes drifted from the kitchen.
Eleanor! her mother cried, beaming. Youre here!
Im staying, for good.
Will Eddie join us?
Hell stay with his mum. Itll be easier for them.
Her mother hugged her tightly. My poor child, how did it come to this?
It happened, Mum. Thats all.
They sat over tea, Eleanor recounting the battles, the decisions, the resolve to leave.
You did right, her father said. You cant endure such treatment.
But I love him, she whispered.
Love isnt about tolerating humiliation. Love is respect. He hasnt given you that.
She nodded, the truth settling.
She found work at the village library, a modest wage but enough to help her parents. Life settled into a slow rhythm of chores, reading, and evenings by the fire.
Eddie called at first, begging her to return, promising change. She listened, skeptical.
A month later he turned up at the cottage gate, eyes hopeful.
Eleanor, I understand now. My mother pushed me too far. I sent her back to her flat.
Why?
Because living with her was suffocating. I realised I was losing you.
What now?
I want you back. Ill start over, help your parents, listen to you, give you equal say. Ill sell the flat and buy a threebedroom house, so your family can move in if they wish.
Eleanor studied his earnest face, the calloused hands that had tended the garden that morning.
Ill come back, but on one condition we are equals. My parents matter as much as yours, my opinions count as yours.
He nodded, Agreed. I promise.
They embraced on the old porch, the coldYears later, they stood together in the new garden, watching the sun set over the blooming roses, knowing that love, once tempered by respect, had finally rooted itself in the soil of mutual dignity.
