«You should be glad my mum is eating your food,» the husband snapped.
«Did you put on my boots again?» Emma burst into the hallway, spotting the wardrobe doors flung open. «I told you not to touch my things!»
«Darling, what’s the tone?» Margaret Hughes adjusted her scarf in front of the mirror. «It’s raining cats and dogs outside, and I’ve only got my dress shoes. Isn’t that a shame?»
«It’s not about whether it’s a shame,» Emma crossed her arms, feeling irritation boil inside her. «It’s about respecting personal space. I don’t wander into your room or take your belongings.»
Margaret pressed her lips together and gave Emma the regal stare she privately called «royal»: a slow, slightly narrowed gaze with a condescending smile.
«We were very cosy in our day,» she said. «Eight people could share a room and nobody complained about personal space.»
«In your day, maybe they didn’t complain,» Emma muttered, «but times have changed.»
«What are you muttering about?» Margaret leaned in, pretending not to hear. «Speak up, I’m not a spring chicken any more.»
Emma inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. Living with her motherinlaw for the past three months had been a trial. They’d been forced to give up the flat they’d shared, renting it out to cover the mortgage on a new house in the suburbs. The build had stalled, so now they were cramped in Margaret’s twobedroom flat in Bristol.
«I’m saying I’ll pop to the shop and get you some rubber boots,» Emma forced a smile. «So you don’t have to suffer.»
«Oh, no need!» Margaret waved her hands. «My shoe cupboard is bursting. Better buy yourself a pair, so you don’t have to feel sorry for me.»
«Mine,» Emma thought, «not ‘old’ or ‘everyday’, but ‘my’.» It was a silent claim of ownershipwhether to share or not.
«Fine, Margaret,» she said. «Then I’m off to work. I have a late meeting.»
«Again?» Margaret shook her head. «James will come home tired and hungry, and his wife won’t be there.»
«James can heat his own dinner,» Emma threw on her coat. «Everything’s ready in the fridge.»
She stepped out into the wet spring air. The rain had stopped, but the slushy snow underfoot turned to a grey mush. «She really does need boots,» Emma admitted, heading for the bus stop.
At the office, the day crawled by. Emma worked as a designer for a printing firm, usually sinking into her projects. Today, however, thoughts kept drifting back to the morning clash, the missing packet of expensive tea, and the time Margaret had «accidentally» shrunk Emma’s favourite sweater in the wash.
«You’re on edge today,» her colleague Lucy said, sliding into the breakroom seat. «Motherinlaw again?»
Emma managed a weak smile. «You can see that, can’t you?»
«Definitely,» Lucy patted Emma’s hand sympathetically. «Tell me what happened this time.»
«Nothing special,» Emma waved it off. «Just the usual domestic annoyances piling up.»
«And James?»
«James loves his mother, I get that. He tries to stay neutral.»
«Neutral won’t work,» Lucy warned. «Soon or later he’ll have to pick a side. He’d better choose yours, otherwise»
«Otherwise what?» Emma lifted her chin. «Would I leave him because of his mother?»
«Not because of your mother, but because of his stance,» Lucy corrected. «Believe me, I’ve been there. With my first husband.»
Emma remembered a friend’s storyshe’d divorced after five years, the main cause being constant battles with her motherinlaw, with the husband always siding with his mum.
«We’ll get through this,» Emma said resolutely. «The new house will be finished in a couple of months, and things will settle.»
«Let’s hope,» Lucy sighed, doubt shadowing her optimism.
That evening, Emma bought the ingredients for a carrot cakea favourite of James’planning to bake it the next morning. The flat was quiet; only the kitchen light glowed. She slipped off her shoes and entered, stopping at the doorway. Margaret was at the table, eagerly eating a casserole Emma had made for breakfast, the whole dish meant for three.
«Emma!» Margaret startled, as if caught off guard. «Back already? I thought you’d be later.»
«The meeting got cancelled,» Emma said, bewildered, glancing at the almost empty casserole dish. «Where’s James?»
«He’s out with his mates, said not to wait,» Margaret waved a hand. «I thought I’d have dinner. The shop chicken didn’t appeal, so I tried your casserole. Delicious, by the way!»
Emma placed the grocery bags on the table, thinking shed now have to rise an hour earlier to make a new breakfast, ruining her chance to sleep in on Saturday.
«Margaret,» Emma began, keeping her voice steady, «that casserole was meant for breakfastfor everyone.»
«Oh, dear! I didn’t realise,» Margaret flapped her hands, but there was no remorse in her eyes. «I thought it was just sitting there. No matter, you’ll whip up something else tomorrow. You’re a wizard in the kitchen!»
Emma clenched her jaw. Margaret knew the casserole was for breakfast; Emma had mentioned it at dinner the night before when they were planning the weekend menu.
«Fine,» Emma said. «I’ll change my clothes.»
While unpacking the groceries, Emma realised a bar of chocolate was missing. She was certain she’d bought two bars for the cake.
«Margaret,» she called back into the kitchen, «have you seen the chocolate? It should be in the bags.»
Margaret offered a guilty smile. «Sorry, love! I grabbed one for my tea. Thought you wouldn’t notice.»
A surge of anger rose in Emmanot over the chocolate, but over the relentless, systematic breach of boundaries, the blunt disregard, the lack of respect.
«Noted,» she replied shortly. «It was for the cakefor James.»
«Well, buy another tomorrow,» Margaret shrugged. «The shop’s just across the road. No big deal.»
Emma nodded, holding back the sting of humiliation and fury. She didn’t want a scene; what would it achieve? Margaret would just pretend not to understand the problem.
James returned late, finding Emma already in bed with a book, trying to distract herself.
«Hey, sunshine,» he leaned in to kiss her. «How was your day?»
«Fine,» Emma set the book aside. «And yours?»
«Great! Met the lads, had a pint at the pub. Long time since we caught up.»
Emma nodded, unsure whether to mention the eaten casserole and the missing chocolate. She didn’t want to seem petty.
«Is your mum still up?» James asked, pulling his sweater over his head.
«She’s in her room, watching TV.»
«I’m off to say hello,» he said, rising.
Emma heard muffled laughter through the wallMargaret’s chuckle. She wondered if her motherinlaw had told James about the casserole, probably embellishing the story to look better.
James came back twenty minutes later, relaxed.
«Can you believe it? Mum loved your casserole,» he said, climbing under the duvet. «Says it’s fingerlicking good.»
«Yes, I know,» Emma replied dryly. «It was for breakfast.»
«So what?» James turned to her. «Make something else. At least mum appreciated your cooking!»
Emma stared at her husband.
«James, it’s not about the casserole. It’s that your mum constantly takes my things without asking, eats food I set aside for special occasions, never considers my feelings.»
«Come off it,» James waved a hand. «It’s just a casserole. Mum was hungry.»
«And the chocolate for your cake? She just ate it, right?»
«What chocolate?» James frowned.
«I bought chocolate for a cake, wanted to surprise you tomorrow. Your mum ate it, just like that, with her tea.»
«And what then?» James’s tone grew irritated. «She felt sorry for the chocolate?»
«It’s not the chocolate!» Emma felt tears welling. «She does this to test limits, to show who runs the house.»
«Nonsense!» James sat up, baffled. «You’re blowing this out of proportion. Mum just wanted a bite.»
«Yesterday it was the casserole and chocolate, the day before it was my tea, the day before my bootseverything’s mine, taken without asking,» Emma snapped, shaking her fingers. «It’s a pattern.»
James stared at her, baffled. «Are you serious? You count every little thing? Splitting everything into ‘mine’ and ‘hers’? We’re a family!»
«Family means respecting personal boundaries,» Emma said quietly. «Asking before you take, not barging into other people’s stuff or eating what was prepared for everyone.»
«Enough drama!» James shouted, throwing the blanket aside. «I’m exhausted, had a hard day, and you’re making a mountain out of a casserole!»
He grabbed a pillow and tossed it onto the sofa. «I’m going to the lounge to sleep on the couch. I have an early start tomorrow. Goodnight.»
Emma was left alone, tears tracking down her cheeks. She hadn’t expected such a reaction. She’d hoped James would understand, would side with her, but he chose his mother’s side without even trying to see her point of view.
The next morning, the scent of pancakes filled the flat. Margaret was bustling in the kitchen, while James sat at the table grinning.
«Oh, you’re up?» he said, as if the argument never happened. «Mum decided to treat us. Have a seat.»
Emma reluctantly sat. Margaret placed a plate of pancakes before her.
«Eat, dear. I made some scrambled eggs too, I’ll bring them over.»
«Thanks,» Emma whispered. «Just a coffee, I’m not hungry.»
«Not hungry?» Margaret spluttered, arms waving. «I’ve prepared a feast! You’ll offend me if you don’t eat.»
James watched, waiting for Emma’s reaction, as if any refusal would be a declaration of war.
«Alright,» Emma took a fork, nibbling halfheartedly.
«Good girl!» Margaret patted her head like a child. «You look so skinny, you’d better eat before you end up in a coffin!»
James snorted, but stayed silent. Emma chewed mechanically, thinking this house was no longer hers. Was it ever truly hers?
After breakfast, when Margaret left for the shop, Emma finally faced James. The conversation could no longer wait.
«James, we need to talk about your mum,» she began, sitting opposite him on the sofa.
«Again?» he grimaced. «Everything seems fine. She even made us breakfast.»
«That’s a nice gesture,» Emma agreed. «But the real issue is the lack of respect for my boundaries. I feel like a guest, not a family member.»
James sighed. «Emma, Mum’s used to being the lady of the house. It’s hard for her to change. Hang in there; we’ll move soon.»
«And when we move?» Emma asked quietly. «Will she still come over and run the show? Take my things without asking? Eat food I’ve prepared for everyone?»
James looked away. «She’ll visit, of course. She’s my mum.»
«And you don’t see the problem?» Emma pressed. «I don’t mind your mum, I mind the disrespect. And you don’t understand that.»
«I’m worried you’re dividing everything into ‘yours’ and ‘hers’,» James retorted. «We’re a family; we share.»
«Sharing yes,» Emma said, «but with mutual agreement, not because someone grabs without permission.»
They stared at each other, and Emma realised James couldn’t grasp the core of the issue. To him, his mother would always occupy a special, untouchable position. For Emma, the constant erosion of her personal space was unbearable.
«You know what?» she said finally. «I need a break. I’m going to Lucy’s cottage for the weekend.»
«What?» James raised his eyebrows. «All because of a casserole drama?»
«Not the casserole,» Emma shook her head, weary. «Because you won’t listen to me. I need time to think.»
She rose, gathering her things. James stayed on the couch, staring into the void.
As Emma walked out with her bag, he asked, «What should I tell mum?»
«The truth,» she replied. «That I’m leaving to think about our future. You should think too.»
She stepped out into the crisp spring air, feeling a strange lightness. The decision felt impulsive, but undeniably right. Sometimes you have to step back to see the whole picture.
Her phone buzzeda message from Lucy confirming the cottage key was with the neighbour. Emma inhaled the cold air, ready for a weekend of solitude and reflection. She knew a serious conversation with James awaitedabout family, boundaries, and respect. Even the smallest things, like a breakfast casserole, mattered when they revealed how a family should truly live.
