«Don’t touch those boxes!» Sophie snatched the old photo album from Paul’s hands. «I’ll sort this out myself!»
Paul raised an eyebrow.
«Sophie, what’s wrong? I was just trying to help with the move.»
«Help?» she pressed the album to her chest. «You threw away my postcard collection yesterday, calling it junk!»
«But those postcards have been gathering dust on the shelves for twenty years!»
«They’re memories! They’re my memories of Grandmother!»
Paul sighed and sank onto the sofa among the piles of cardboard and plastic bags. They were shifting into a new twobedroom flat in a brick tower block on the outskirts of Birmingham. After five years of renting they finally secured a mortgage. The apartment was modest, but it was theirs.
«I’m sorry,» he said quietly. «I didn’t realise those postcards meant so much to you.»
Sophie softened and sat beside him.
«I’m just exhausted. I’ve been packing all day and tomorrow I’m back at work.»
«Maybe you could take a day off?» Paul suggested.
«I can’t. It’s the endofquarter rush.»
Paul pulled her into a hug; she rested her head on his shoulder. Five years of marriage had taught them to defuse arguments quickly, though lately their spats had become more frequent. The cause was Grace ParkerPaul’s mother.
Grace lived in the flat next door. When Paul suggested buying a place right there, Sophie had initially been pleased the neighbourhood was familiar and the commute easy. But when she learned she would be sharing a building with Grace, she hesitated.
«Paul, should we look elsewhere?» she asked.
«Why? This is perfect. And Mum will be close, so we can visit often.»
«That’s exactly what’s worrying me.»
«Sophie, behave. My mother is a good woman, you know that.»
Sophie knew Grace was a decent person. She taught primary school and had raised Paul alone after his parents’ divorce. Yet she treated her son as the centre of the universe and was jealous of anyone who shared his attention, including his wife.
For the first few years of their marriage Grace kept her distance, living in a different part of town and meeting them once a week. A year ago she sold her flat and bought a onebedroom in the same block, saying she wanted to be nearer to her son.
Since then her visits became daily. Grace would show up in the morning with a cake, at lunch with unsolicited advice, and in the evening with complaints. Sophie tolerated it, understanding that Grace was lonely.
«Alright, I’m going to put the kettle on,» Sophie said, rising from the sofa.
A knock sounded at the door. She opened it to find Grace holding a saucepan.
«Hello, love! I brought you some stew. I know you havent had time to cook with the move.»
«Thanks, Grace,» Sophie took the pot. «Come in.»
Grace stepped inside, eyeing the chaos of boxes.
«Oh dear, what a mess! Why do you need so many things?»
«These aren’t junk,» Sophie snapped. «These are our things.»
«I’m not trying to offend, dear. Young couples today have a habit of hoarding. In my day we lived with the bare minimum.»
Paul emerged, giving his mother a quick hug.
«Thanks for the stew, Mum! Were starving.»
«Anytime,» Grace laughed. «Paul, youve put on weight! Sophie not feeding you enough?»
«I’m feeding him,» Sophie replied flatly. «Hes working late and barely has time to eat.»
«Work is work, but meals should be on schedule! You need to eat properly!»
«All good, Mum, dont worry.»
They sat at the kitchen table while Sophie heated the stew and sliced bread. Grace surveyed the room with a critical stare.
«Sweetheart, why isnt the bread fresh?»
«I bought it yesterday. I didnt have time to go to the shop today.»
«Yesterdays bread isnt good for you. You should buy fresh loaf every day.»
«Were adults, well decide what to eat.»
«Oh, Im just looking out for you!» Grace said, pouting. «I want Paul to be well.»
«Thanks, Mum, but Sophie looks after him fine,» Paul interjected.
Graces eyes narrowed, as if she didnt quite believe him.
After dinner Grace stood.
«Ill be off. Ill come back tomorrow to help with the boxes.»
«Thanks, but well manage ourselves,» Sophie replied briskly.
«What do you mean manage ourselves? Im trying to help!»
«Mum, really, weve got this,» Paul said, supporting his wife. «You have school tomorrow.»
«Ill be there after school, around three.»
Grace left, and Sophie sank into a chair, exhausted.
«Paul, is she really going to come every day?» Sophie asked.
«Not every day, just while were moving. She wants to help.»
«Your mother always wants to help, even when we dont need it.»
«Sophie, stop. Shes trying.»
«I know, but Im tired of the constant monitoring.»
The next day Sophie took a halfday off to continue unpacking. At three oclock, as promised, Grace arrived.
«Oh dear, youve got the dishes all wrong!» she exclaimed, pointing at the cupboard. «The plates belong on the top shelf, the pots on the bottom. Its elementary!»
«I prefer it the other way,» Sophie answered, clenching her teeth.
«Prefer? You just dont know how to organise a kitchen!»
Grace began rearranging the dishes. Sophie counted to ten in her head.
«Please, Grace, leave it as it is. This is my kitchen.»
«This is yours? Where will Paul cook then?»
«He doesnt cook.»
«Because you never taught him! I tried to get him to help, and you spoiled him!»
«What? I didnt spoil anyone!» Sophie felt heat rising. «Its you whos been coddling him! He couldnt even fry an egg before we married!»
«How dare you speak to me like that!» Grace flared. «Im not your friend!»
«I’m sorry,» Sophie whispered. «Just please stop moving my kitchen.»
Grace huffed, stopped moving the dishes, and moved to the living room, now critiquing the furniture placement.
«The sofa should be against the other wall! And that old chest of drawers»
«Its my grandmothers chest,» Sophie said firmly. «It stays.»
«Your grandmother! Always with the old things! You should throw them out!»
Sophie left the room, closed the door, and slipped into the bathroom. She stared at herself in the mirrorpale, dark circles under her eyes. The move and her motherinlaw were wearing her down.
That evening Paul came home, tired but smiling.
How did it go?
Some. Your mum stopped by.
And?
Exactly as usualshe criticised everything and rearranged the kitchen.
Paul sighed.
Give it time. Shell get used to not meddling.
Its been a year, Paul. When will she get used to it?
I dont know. Shes my mother; I cant just push her away.
Im not asking you to push her away. Just talk to her, explain that were adults now.
Ill try.
The conversation didnt help. Grace kept dropping by almost daily, offering soup, doing laundry, or just chatting, always with a commentdust on the shelves, food too bland, Pauls shirt wrong.
Sophie endured it, aware that Grace was lonely and that her son meant the world to her. But her patience thinned.
The climax came on a Saturday. Sophie woke with a pounding headache after a grueling day at work and another at home. Paul was away on a threeday business trip. She lay in bed, unable to sit up. A painkiller did nothing. A knock sounded at the door. She forced herself up and opened it.
Grace stood there, another saucepan in hand.
Sweetie, Ive made cabbage soup. Paul isnt home?
Hes on a trip.
Right, Ill leave it for you then.
Grace set the pot on the stove. Sophie clutched the wall, her head spinning.
Whats wrong with you? You look pale.
My head hurts. Ill just lie down.
Headache? From being idle all day, I suppose! Youve been at home all day!
I work five days a week, Grace.
Work? Sitting all day isnt work! Im on my feet all day at school!
Sophie said nothing and retreated to the bedroom, pulling the blanket over herself. Grace roamed the flat, tidying as she went, then entered the bedroom.
Ill tidy up while you rest, she said.
No, Ill manage later.
Dont be stubborn! Look at the dust on the nightstand!
Grace started dusting, moving things around. Sophie closed her eyes, trying to block out the noise.
Later, through the thin walls of the council block, Sophie heard Grace on the phone.
Linda? Its me, Grace. Yes, Im at the house. The daughterinlaw is ill, lying in bed on a Saturday
Sophie listened, her heart sinking as Grace complained about the young womans incompetence and lack of gratitude.
When Grace finally left, Sophie stared at the ceiling, the anger bubbling up. She recorded a video of Grace pounding on the door, shouting, Open up, you ungrateful girl! and sent it to Paul later that night.
Paul called. Grace called, shes crying. She says you wont let her in.
I wont let her in. She called me a ungrateful brat and threatened to break my door down.
Shes upset! Paul protested.
Its been a year of her insults. Im not upset, Im exhausted.
He was silent, then sighed. Ill come home and well sort this out.
The next day Sophie hired a locksmith and changed the locks. Graces keys no longer worked.
Grace still called, knocked, begged, threatened, but Sophie never opened.
Neighbours whispered about the feud; Sophie gave a brief, diplomatic answerjust family disagreements.
Paul returned from his trip on Monday evening. Sophie greeted him calmly.
Hey.
Hey. Mums waiting. Im going to see her, then we can talk.
He left, returned two hours later, looking grim.
Mums in a panic. She says you insulted her.
I? Shes the one insulting me!
Shes old, you have to be patient.
Shes fiftyseven! Shes younger than my mother!
It doesnt matter. Shes my mum.
And Im your wife! Does that matter?
Paul sat down, rubbing his temples.
Lets find a compromise. Mum promises not to criticise you, and you let her visit occasionally.
No.
Why?
Because she wont change. Shell smile to my face and then talk behind my back.
Youre exaggerating.
Im not. Ive opened my eyes. Grace hates me. She thinks you deserve better and will keep pushing us apart.
Thats nonsense!
Its not nonsense. Its the truth you refuse to see.
They went to bed unsatisfied. In the morning, over breakfast, Paul tried again.
This cant go on. We live in adjacent flats, Grace wants to be involved.
So what? Let her stay where she is, and we stay here.
But she wants contact!
Let her contact you. Visit her.
What about holidays? New Years is coming.
Celebrate together, just the two of us.
Youre giving an ultimatumher or me?
Sophie met his gaze.
No. Im setting boundaries. Your mother will not enter our home again. If thats unacceptable, youll have to decide.
Paul stood abruptly, slammed the door, and left for work.
He didnt return that night. He called later, saying he was staying with his mother. Sophie didnt argue; she simply went on with her life.
A week passed. Paul lived at his mothers, only coming over to collect things. At work, a colleague, Emma, noticed Sophies change.
You look brighter, Emma said. What happened?
Just got more sleep. No one ringing my doorbell at seven.
What about Paul?
Hes staying with his mum.
Seriously? Over a fight?
Sophie gave a short version. Emma shook her head.
You did right. I fought with my motherinlaw for ten years before we split.
I dont want a divorce. I love Paul.
Does he love you? He chose his mum.
Sophie didnt know what to answer.
On Saturday, the doorbell rang. Paul stood there alone, no mother in sight.
Can I come in? he asked.
Of course. Youre still the tenant.
He sat at the kitchen table, looking weary, unshaven.
Sophie, lets talk calmly, without yelling.
Alright.
I spent a week at my mums. I realised a few things.
And?
Shes truly overinvolved, constantly criticizing you behind your back.
Finally you see it.
But shes my mother. I cant just kick her out.
Im not asking you to. Just let us live separately.
She doesnt get that. She thinks family should be together.
Your mother lives in the past. It isnt common now to live under the same roof.
I know. I cant change her.
They fell silent. Sophie poured tea.
What do you want, honestly?
I want to live with you, but I dont want to hurt my mum.
Can she hurt me?
No, not intentionally. But youve endured a year of her insults.
Ive had enough. She wont be allowed in unless she apologises sincerely and promises to change.
She wont apologise. She thinks shes right.
Then she stays out.
Paul lowered his head.
I was blind. I thought youd sort it out yourselves.
Weve already sorted it. I wont let her in.
Never?
Until she genuinely apologises.
He stood, hugged her.
Sorry I hid behind my mums skirt. I should have defended you.
Its better late than never.
Ill come home, if youll let me.
Come back, but remembermy rules now. Your mother can only enter with my permission.
He agreed.
When Paul moved his things back, Grace threw a tantrum, but Paul stood firm.
Mum, this is my family. If you want to see me, respect my wife.
She shouted, She wont let me in!
Because you insulted her. Apologise, and we can move forward.
She left, slamming the door.
A month later Grace hadnt called or visited. Paul saw her once a week, but never invited her over. Sophie enjoyed the quiet. No early morning knocks, no unsolicited critiques, no rearranged furniture.
Just before New Years, Grace called.
Sophie, can we talk?
Yes, go ahead.
I want to apologise for my words and behaviour.
Continue.
I was wrong to interfere, to criticise. Please forgive me.
Sophie paused, hearing the sincerity.
Very well, I accept your apology.
May I come for tea?
Sure, but no criticism, no unsolicited advice.
Grace agreed.
She arrived with a cake, sat politely, sipped tea, and left after an hour, thanking Sophie for the hospitality.
That evening Paul asked, How was it?
Satisfactory. Lets see if she sticks to it.
She did. Grace only came when invited, never critiqued, never gave unwanted advice. Sophie realised changing a motherinlaw is hard, but Grace was trying, and that was a victory.
Sometimes you must draw firm borders so people start to respect you. Sophie set those limits and never regretted it. Her home became her sanctuary again, and the former antagonist turned into a neutral neighbour. The lesson is clear: establishing healthy boundaries protects your peace and teaches others how to treat you.
