Emily lined up three yoghurt potsstrawberry, peach, and blackberry. In that exact order. Rules were rules. The yoghurts stood shoulder to shoulder, perfectly aligned, like soldiers on parade.
The click of the front door latch broke the silence. David was home from work earlier than usual.
«Em, you there?» He poked his head into the kitchen and beelined for the fridge.
«No, Im a figment of your imagination,» Emily replied dryly, sorting lentils without glancing up.
«Whats with the mood?» David grabbed the blackberry yoghurtthe last in lineand plonked himself at the table.
«Where are the bank statements? I left them right here.»
«Oh, those,» David hesitated. «In the study. I was sorting a few things.»
Emilys frown deepened. Something in his tone was off. She marched to the study. The desk drawer wasnt quite shut. She yanked it open and froze. Beneath the folder of bank papers lay a stamped document. She pulled it out.
A certificate of residency. Margaret Elizabeth Whitmore. Registered at the address *their* address. Dated three weeks prior.
«David!» Emily stormed back into the kitchen, waving the paper. «Care to explain *this*?»
David nearly choked on his yoghurt.
«Em, I can explain»
«Explain?! You registered your *mother* in our flat without telling me?!»
«Shes getting on, she needs security»
«Security?!» Emily smacked the table. «We bought this place *together*! Did you ask me? No!»
«Mums worried about her future»
«And Im not? *She* gets a say, but your wife doesnt?»
David stayed silent. Emily stared at him, seething. Twenty-five years of marriage! Shed scrimped on holidays, skipped meals outall for this flat. Twenty-five years! And now *this*, behind her back
«How long have you been planning this?»
«Em, its just paperwork.»
«Paperwork?!» Her voice wavered. «Adding someone to our home is *just paperwork*?»
«It puts her mind at ease. Shes terrified of ending up alone, with nowhere to go»
«And *I* should be terrified of a third owner in our flat?»
Emily crumpled the document in her fist. David looked at his shoes like a scolded schoolboy.
«Does Margaret know Ive found out?»
«Not yet.»
«Brilliant!» Emily tossed the paper onto the table. «Just brilliant, David.»
He reached for her.
«Em, dont be cross. Mum meant no harm.»
Emily stepped back.
«Its not about *her*! Its *you*! You lied to me for *three weeks*!»
«I didnt *lie*»
«Oh? What do you call it, then? Creative omission? A *tiny* secret? Im speechless, David!»
Emily left the kitchen and slammed the bedroom door. Her pulse roared in her ears. Shed never expected this from David. For the first time in twenty-five years, she wanted to scream from sheer hurt. Her phone buzzed. Caller ID: *Margaret Whitmore*. Of *course*.
«Hello, love! How *are* you?» Her mother-in-laws voice dripped saccharine sweetness.
«Fine,» Emily said flatly.
«Ive got news! Ill pop round tomorrow. Need to bring my things, clear a bit of wardrobe space, all right?»
Emily nearly dropped the phone.
«*What* space?»
«Well, *obviously*,» Margarets tone turned smug. «Ive got *rights* now. Didnt David tell you? Im registered at yours.»
«I know.»
«Lovely! Expect me tomorrow, then. And do make that leek soupI adore yours.»
Emily hung up. So *that* was the game. Not just registrationshe meant to *move in*! Over her dead body.
The next morning, Emily took the day off and went to the council offices. There, she was told: registration without both owners consent was invalid.
«I need a solicitor,» she said firmly.
An hour later, Emily sat across from Anthony Clarke, sliding the property deeds across his desk.
«Registration without your agreement is void,» the solicitor confirmed. «Ill draft the appeal. Should take about a week.»
«Do it,» Emily nodded.
That evening, she cooked dinner calmly. David hovered, guilt written all over his face.
«Em, still cross?»
«Nope,» she smiled. «All sorted.»
«Really?» David brightened.
«Absolutely. Ive handled it.»
David froze.
«Handled *what*?»
«Youll see,» Emily shrugged. «Dinners ready.»
On Saturday, she invited Margaret for supper. The woman arrived with a bulging suitcase.
«Brought my bits and bobs,» she announced. «And my own bedding. Cant stand strange linens.»
«*How* thoughtful,» Emily smiled.
At the table, Margaret held court:
«Now well be one big happy family! Ive already picked my roomthat little study of yours.»
«Mum, we never agreed to that,» David said weakly.
«Whats to agree? Im *registered* here, Ive every right!»
Emily stood, retrieving a folder from her bag.
«Margaret, heres the ruling voiding your registration. As of tomorrow, youre no longer on the deeds.»
«*What*?!» Margaret turned puce. «David, explain this!»
«Em, what have you *done*?» David gaped at his wife, then his mother.
«Justice,» Emily said coolly. «No consent, no legal registration. *I* didnt give consent.»
«How *dare* you?!» Margaret slammed the table. «David, *say something*!»
David studied his plate in silence.
«Take your things, Margaret,» Emily gestured to the suitcase. «Moving days cancelled.»
«*David*!» Margaret shot up. «Youll let her treat me like this? Im your *mother*!»
David kept his head down. Emily met his mothers glare evenly.
«Mum, Emilys right. I shouldve talked to her first.»
«*Talked*? To your *wife*? About your own *mother*?» Margaret clutched her chest. «My *blood pressure*! My *pills*! Where are my pills?»
She fumbled in her handbag. David leapt up.
«Mum, sit down. Ill fetch water»
«No *water*!» Margaret snapped. «Get my things and *drive me home*! I wont stay another *minute*!»
Emily folded her arms.
«Best idea youve had all day.»
When the door shut behind David and his mother, Emily sank into the armchair, exhaling hard. Her hands shook, but shed done it. No one would swindle her out of her homenot after a lifetime of saving for it.
David returned two hours later, creeping in like a burglar.
«Em»
«Hows your mum?» Emily cut in. «Calmer?»
«Not exactly. Says Ive betrayed her.»
«And you?»
«I» David rubbed his temples. «I dont know, Em. Shes my mum. Shes scared of getting old.»
«And *that* justified secretly registering her here?» Emily shook her head. «You know what stung most? Not the actthe *lie*.»
David sat beside her.
«I was afraid youd say no.»
«*Obviously* Id say no! So lying was the answer?»
«I didnt *mean* to lie. I just didnt know how to tell you.»
«And now you do?»
He sighed.
«Now Ive made a right mess.»
They sat in silence. Then Emily asked quietly:
«Why didnt you tell her *I* cancelled it?»
«Didnt you?»
«No, David. The *law* cancelled it. Because its illegal without my consent. *You* broke the law, not me.»
David groaned.
«Mum says shell die alone. That no one cares.»
«So her solution was to *move in*?»
«I never thought shed actually *do* it!»
«Really?» Emily raised an eyebrow. «Then why the registration?»
«For later,» he faltered. «If something happened to me.»
«David,» Emily took his hand. «Your mum was testing boundaries. First registration, then moving in, then running the show. Ill *help* herbut live with her? No.»
David was quiet a long while, then nodded.
«Youre right. I wimped out. Im sorry.»
«I can forgive cowardice. Not deceit.»
«So what now?»
Emily stood.
«New rules. One: no secrets. Two: your mum stays in *her* place. We visit, we helpbut *separately*. Three: big decisions? *Together*.»
«And if I disagree?»
«Then choose: me, or your mum in this flat.»
He looked up, startled.
«Em, is that an ultimatum?»
«Im drawing a line, David. Twenty-five years, and you pull *this*? How do I trust you now?»
Davids phone rang. *Mum* flashed on the screen.
«Not answering?» Emily asked.
David stared at the phone, then hit *decline*.
«Ill call her later,» he said. «We sort *us* first.»
Emily nodded.
«Good. Were a team. No more secrets.»
The next day, David visited his mother. He returned three hours later, red-eyed.
«Rough?» Emily asked, pouring tea.
«Understatement,» David collapsed into a chair. «She sobbed. Said Id stabbed her in the back. That shed *sacrificed* everything for me And I» He waved vaguely.
«And you?»
«I told the truth. That *were* husband and wife. That this is *our* home. And that I was wrong to go behind your back.»
Emily set his tea down.
«How is she?»
«Furious. Says Im whipped. That I chose you over her.»
«*Did* you choose?»
David met her eyes.
«I chose *fairness*, Em. Twenty-five years together. Everything fifty-fifty. I messed up.»
Emily smiled faintly.
«You know, I feared a different answer.»
«Which?»
«That youd say, I chose *you*, not Mum. Thatd be wrong. Theres no *choosing*we help her, but we live *here*.»
David nodded.
«Thats what I told her. But she thinks youve poisoned me against her.»
«Shell cope,» Emily shrugged. «Main thing is *you* get it now.»
For a week, tension hung thick as London fog. Margaret didnt call. David twitched at every ringtone but held his ground.
Then, Saturday morning, the doorbell chimed. Margaret stood there, holding a Victoria sponge.
«Hello,» she said stiffly. «May I come in?»
Emily stepped aside.
«Of course. Davids home.»
Margaret bustled to the kitchen. David nearly knocked over his chair.
«Mum? Whats wrong?»
«Nothing,» she set the cake down. «Ive had a think, and» She hesitated. «I was out of line.»
Emily and David exchanged glances.
«Sit down, Mum,» David pulled out a chair.
Margaret perched primly, smoothing her skirt.
«I got ahead of myself. Youre right, David. You and Emily have built a life here. This is *your* home. And I I panicked about ageing alone.»
«Mum, were *here*,» David took her hand.
«I know,» she sighed. «But sometimes it feels like Im just *in the way*.»
«Dont be daft, Margaret,» Emily said. «No one thinks that. We all need our *own* space, thats all.»
«Youre right, dear,» Margaret surprised them with a smile. «Im too used to calling the shots. Raised David alone, made all his decisions. Now» She spread her hands. «Now I must learn to *let go*.»
They ate cake. Margaret chattered about her neighbour who helped with errands.
Emily suddenly said:
«David and I want to refurbish your flat. The wallpapers peeling, the taps drip.»
«Why?» Margaret tensed.
«So youre *comfortable*. So youre not tempted to relocate.»
Margaret pondered.
«But I cant afford»
«Well cover it,» David said. «Emilys right. Fresh paint, new fittings. Well visit more, too.»
When Margaret left, David hugged Emily.
«You were amazing.»
«*We* were,» she corrected. «Ive learned something this week.»
«Such as?»
«You cant make one person happy by trampling another. I wanted Mum secure, but I went about it all wrong.»
«And I learned to fight for whats *mine*,» Emily said. «Even if it hurts people I love.»
A month later, Margarets flat gleamed with fresh paint, new taps, and a plush sofa. She softened, even hosted them for tea. They visited oftenand she visited *them*, but always as a *guest*.
One evening, Emily found the fateful residency certificate while sorting files.
«Look,» she showed David. «The spark that started it all.»
He glanced at it, then tore it in half.
«And how it ended. No more secrets.»
Emily smiled.
«None. And no ones taking our home.»
«Funny, isnt it?» David mused. «Mums actually *happier* now. Less terrified.»
«Because she knows were *there*but *here* is *ours*.»
They curled up on the sofa as rain pattered outside. Their home stood firma castle with rules set by *two*, not three. Just as it should be.
