«You knew he was weak,» murmured her mother-in-law as he left.
«I dont see why we need so much meat,» grumbled Margaret Whitmore, peering into the refrigerator. «Half this amount would do for three grown adults.»
Elena remained silent, slicing onions for the salad. Tears ran down her cheeksnot from the onions, but from the daily barrage of remarks about her housekeeping.
«And these potatoes are all soft,» the older woman went on, relentless. «Where do you even buy them? The first corner shop you see?»
«From the market, Margaret,» Elena answered quietly. «The same place as always.»
«Right, right. And what good does that do? Money down the drain.»
Elena set the knife down on the cutting board and sighed deeply. Five years of marriage, and every day the samecriticism, dissatisfaction, complaints. And her husband, Edward, stayed silent, pretending not to hear.
«Edward, lunch is ready!» she called toward the sitting room, where he lay on the sofa with his phone.
«In a minute,» he replied, not looking up.
«What do you mean, a minute?» Margaret huffed. «The foods getting cold, and hes playing with his gadgets. Edward, come to the table at once!»
Obediently, her son set aside his phone and wandered into the kitchen. He took his usual seat beside his mother, across from his wife.
«Whats for lunch?» he asked, unfolding a napkin.
«Beetroot soup and cutlets,» Elena answered, ladling soup into bowls.
«Beetroot soup again,» Margaret grimaced. «It gives me indigestion. You know I cant handle anything sour.»
«You could have it without cream,» Elena suggested. «I didnt add lemon this time.»
«What difference does it make? Its still too sharp. And why so much cabbage? You know it upsets Edwards stomach.»
Elena glanced at her husband, waiting for him to say somethinganything. But Edward slurped his soup in silence, as though the conversation had nothing to do with him.
«Next time, Ill just make plain beef broth,» Elena conceded.
«Thats more like it. No need for all these fancy ideas. People used to make do with simple stews and were healthier for it.»
The meal passed in the usual quiet. Margaret systematically found fault with every dish, Edward nodded along, and Elena counted the minutes until the ordeal ended.
Afterward, her mother-in-law retired to her room to watch television, and Elena began clearing the table. Edward made to return to the sofa, but she stopped him.
«Edward, we need to talk.»
«About what?» he sighed, lingering in the doorway.
«Your mother. I cant live like this anymore.»
«Whats the matter? Mother hasnt done anything wrong.»
Elena nearly dropped a plate at the sheer blindness of it.
«Nothing wrong? Edward, she criticizes everything I do! The food, the cleaning, the shopping. I feel like a servant in my own home.»
«Shes just used to managing things. Shes been the lady of the house all her life.»
«Lady of the house? And what am I? A temporary lodger?»
Edward rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
«Elena, dont make a drama of it. Mothers getting onits hard for her to adjust. Just bear with it a little longer.»
«Ive borne it for five years! Five years waiting for her to adjust. And she only gets worse.»
«What do you want me to do? Throw my own mother out into the street?»
«I want you to stand up to her. Tell her that in this house, *Im* the mistressyour wife.»
Edward shook his head.
«I cant speak to her like that. She raised me.»
«And what am I, a stranger? Were a family!»
«Of course we are. But I only have one mother.»
Elena felt something inside her twist with resentment. Always the same. His mother would always come first.
«Fine,» she said, fighting back tears. «I see how it is.»
«Elena, dont be like that. You have to make allowances for older people.»
He reached out to touch her shoulder, but she stepped away.
«Go to your mother. Shes probably missed you.»
Edward hesitated, then turned and left. Elena stayed behind in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes and bitter thoughts.
She had met Edward at university. He had seemed so dependable, so steadynot like her previous boyfriends, all shouting and temper. Edward never raised his voice, always polite and considerate. Though at times, perhaps, too soft. But she had thought that a good thingshe was tired of the arguments in her own family.
She hadnt met Margaret until the wedding. The older woman had seemed pleasant, a bit stern but kind. She had spoken of how shed always wanted a daughter-in-law, how she would love Elena as her own.
The trouble began when the newlyweds rented a flat near Margarets home. She took to visiting dailyfor salt, for sugar, for any excuse. And while there, she cast a critical eye over everything.
«Elena, why is the floor so dull?» she would ask. «You must be using the wrong cleaner.»
Or:
«Something smells musty in the bedroom. You ought to air it out more.»
Elena tried to ignore it, telling herself Margaret was just concerned for her son. But the remarks grew sharper.
Then Edward lost his job. Money grew tight, and Margaret generously offered to take them intemporarily, of course, until he found something new.
That temporary arrangement had stretched to three years. Edward found work at a small firm for little pay, but moving out remained impossible. And Margaret no longer hid her belief that Elena was an unsuitable match.
«My friend Dorothys daughter-in-law is quite different,» she would say. «Thrifty, capable. Her home looks like a magazine spread, and she knows how to handle money. And most importantlyshe respects her husband.»
The implication was clear. Elena did not respect Edward if she dared argue with him.
Now, after washing up, Elena went to the bathroom and studied herself in the mirror. Thirty years old, but she looked forty. Stress and sleepless nights had taken their toll.
From the sitting room came the murmur of the television and the low voices of mother and son. Margaret was telling Edward about the neighbor whod parked her car wrong again.
«You ought to have a word with her,» Margaret said. «But you know how rude she is.»
«Best leave it, Mother. No sense in aggravation.»
«Quite right, dear. No point dealing with foolish women.»
Elena knew the conversation wasnt just about the neighbor. Margaret often hinted that her daughter-in-law, too, was best avoided. But Edward, it seemed, was stuck with her now.
That evening, Elena tried once more to speak to her husband. She waited until Margaret had gone to bed and sat beside him on the sofa.
«Edward, I mean it. Im miserable here.»
«Elena, not this again.»
«What am I supposed to do? Stay silent forever?»
«Not forever. Mother wont live forever.»
The words chilled her.
«So youre suggesting I wait until your mother dies?»
«No! I just meanwell, shes getting on. Maybe we *will* move out soon.»
«Move where? On your wages, we cant even rent a room.»
«Ill find better work.»
«Youve been saying that for three years.»
Edward sighed irritably.
«Why must you go on at me? Ive enough headaches without your complaints.»
«*You* have headaches? What about me?»
«Elena, enough. Lets just watch something.»
He picked up the remote and changed the channel. The discussion, for him, was over.
That night, as Edward slept, Elena took out an old notebook from their first year of marriage, filled with her thoughts, plans, dreams. She turned the yellowed pages.
*»I want a home of our own, just our family. Children running about, deciding for myself what to cook, how to clean.»*
Children. She had wanted them, but Edward always said it wasnt the right time. First they needed to stand on their own feet, find their own place. And now there was neither space nor money.
*»Edward is so kind, so patient. Never shouts, always listens. Hell be a wonderful father.»*
A wonderful father to children they would never havenot while living under Margarets roof.
The next morning, Margaret announced at breakfast:
«Dorothy is visiting today. Its been so long. Elena, do tidy up properlyI wont have guests thinking we live in a pigsty.»
«I clean every day, Margaret.»
«Not well enough. I can see dust on the shelves.»
«Where?»
«Everywhere! The bookshelves, the telly. And the hall mirror is filthy.»
Elena walked through the flat and found no dust, no smudges. But she didnt argue. She took a cloth and wiped every surface again.
Dorothy arrived at noona stout woman in a gaudy dress, loud-voiced and self-assured.
«Margaret, how are you?» she boomed from the doorway. «And this is your daughter-in-law? Elena, yes? Margarets told me all about you.»
Elena served tea, and the two women settled at the kitchen table, trading gossip.
«My Cynthias gone and left her third husband,» Dorothy declared. «Says hes spineless, no initiative at all.»
«Men arent what they used to be,» Margaret agreed. «No backbone nowadays.»
Elena, washing dishes, listened despite herself.
«And your Edward? Still at that little firm?»
«Of course. Good boy, but soft. Lets his wife walk all over him, would you believe?»
Elena nearly dropped a cup.
«Really?» Dorothy gasped. «He seems so steady, so confident.»
«Confident? Not a bit of it. She snaps at him, and he just takes it. I tell himEdward, are you a man or a mouse? And he says, *Mother, dont interfere.*»
«I see. And whats she like, this daughter-in-law? A tyrant?»
Margaret lowered her voice, but Elena heard every word.
«Not a tyrant, no. Just ordinary. But she doesnt understand a man must be respected, not nagged at every turn.»
«And no children?»
«None yet. Elenas all about her career. Edward wont push her, of course. Too soft, my boy.»
Elenas cheeks burned with shame. So Margaret was airing their private life to strangersand painting her as the villain.
That evening, when Edward returned from work, Margaret recounted Dorothys visitomitting, of course, the personal remarks.
«Dorothy was asking after you,» she said. «Such a good womana shame we dont see her more.»
Edward nodded, chewing his dinner. Meanwhile, Elena thought of Dorothy spreading tales of weak-willed Edward and his difficult wife.
Later, alone with her husband, she confronted him.
«Edward, your mother discussed our marriage with Dorothy today.»
«What about?»
«That weve no children. That I dont respect you. That youre spineless.»
Edward frowned.
«Shed never say such things.»
«She did. I heard her.»
«Maybe you misunderstood. Mother isnt cruel.»
«*She called you spineless*, Edward! To someone elses face!»
«Elena, calm down. What does it matter what people say?»
«It matters to *me*! This is my family, my husband. I wont have us gossiped about.»
«Nobodys gossiping. Women just talk.»
Elena realized he would never grasp the hurt of itor didnt care to.
«Fine,» she said. «Then tomorrow, *Ill* speak to your mother.»
«Dont. Theres no need for a row.»
«And what *is* there need for? You wont defend your own wife.»
«Defend against what? Mother hasnt done anything wrong.»
«Hasnt she? Shes telling strangers about our marriage, picking apart everything I do, meddling in our lives. Is that normal?»
Edward stood.
«Im tired. Well talk tomorrow.»
But tomorrow, he left early, claiming an important meeting. That evening, he came home late and shut himself in the bathroom. When he emerged, Margaret distracted him with talk of redecorating her room.
Elena understood. He was avoiding the conversation. And that, in itself, was answer enough.
That night, sleepless, she made her decision. The next morning, after Edward left, she packed a suitcasejust the essentials.
Margaret noticed it in the hallway.
«Going somewhere?» she asked.
«To a friends. For a while.»
«Long?»
«I dont know yet.»
Margaret nodded.
«Perhaps its for the best. Edward could do with a break from all this domestic trouble.»
Elena picked up her keys and turned.
«Margaret, tell your son that if he wants me back, he must come alone. Without you.»
«Well see if he wants to,» the older woman replied.
Elena stepped out and closed the door. On the landing, she paused, listening. Silence.
Downstairs, the morning air was fresh, the sun bright. She took a deep breathand felt something like relief.
That evening, Edward called.
«Elena, Mother says youve left. When are you coming back?»
«I dont know, Edward. Maybe never.»
«Dont say that. Were married.»
«On paper. But in truth?»
Silence.
«Edward, Ill make this simple,» she said. «Either we live apart from your mother, or we divorce.»
«You cant ask me to choose like that.»
«I can. Any real man would choose his wife.»
«And if I cant?»
The question hung between them. She understood thenhe had already chosen. He just lacked the courage to say it.
«Then Ill choose for us both,» Elena said softly, and ended the call.
She slipped the phone into her bag and walked awaynot knowing yet where she would go, but with each step feeling lighter. Not because it was easy, but because now, at last, she was choosing herself.
And no one would take that choice from her again.
