«You knew he was weak,» whispered her mother-in-law as he left.
«I dont see why we need so much meat,» grumbled Margaret Thompson, inspecting the fridge. «Three adults could easily make do with half this amount.»
Emily silently continued chopping onions for the salad. Tears ran down her cheeks, but not from the onions. From the daily remarks about how she ran the household.
«And this potatos gone soft,» the older woman went on. «Where did you buy it? Some dodgy corner shop?»
«From the market, Mrs. Thompson,» Emily answered quietly. «The same one I always go to.»
«Right, right. And what good does that do? Money down the drain.»
Emily set the knife down on the cutting board and took a deep breath. Five years of marriage, and every day the samecriticism, disapproval, complaints. And her husband, David, stayed silent, pretending not to hear.
«David, lunch is ready!» she called toward the living room, where he lay on the sofa scrolling through his phone.
«Just a minute,» he replied without looking up.
«What do you mean, *just a minute*?» Margaret snapped. «The foods getting cold, and hes playing with his gadgets. David, come to the table *now*!»
Her son obediently set his phone aside and walked to the kitchen. He took his usual seat beside his mother, facing Emily.
«Whats for lunch?» he asked, unfolding his napkin.
«Beef stew and roast,» Emily said, ladling soup into bowls.
«Beef stew *again*,» Margaret muttered. «Gives me heartburn. Emily, you know I cant handle rich food.»
«You could skip the gravy,» Emily suggested. «I didnt add extra stock this time.»
«Doesnt matter. Still too heavy. And why so many carrots? You know they disagree with David.»
Emily looked at her husband, waiting for him to say *something*. But David slurped his soup quietly, as if the conversation had nothing to do with him.
«Next time, Ill just make broth,» Emily conceded.
«Thats more like it. No need for all these fancy dishes. In my day, people were happy with plain cooking, and they were healthier for it.»
The meal passed in the usual silence. Margaret picked apart every dish, David nodded along, and Emily counted the minutes until it ended.
Afterward, Margaret retreated to her room to watch telly, and Emily cleared the table. David made for the sofa, but she stopped him.
«David, we need to talk.»
«About what?» he sighed, lingering in the doorway.
«Your mother. I cant live like this anymore.»
«Whats the problem? She doesnt mean any harm.»
Emily nearly dropped the plate in her hands.
*No harm?*
«David, she criticises *everything* I docooking, cleaning, shopping. I feel like a servant in my own home.»
«Mums just used to being in charge. She ran her own house for years.»
«Ran her house? So what am I? A temporary lodger?»
David rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
«Em, dont overreact. Shes set in her ways. Give her time.»
«Ive given her *five years*. Five years of waiting for her to adjust, and she only gets worse.»
«What do you want me to do? Kick my own mother out?»
«I want you to stand up to her. Make it clear *Im* the one running *our* home.»
David shook his head.
«I cant talk to her like that. She raised me.»
«And what am I? A stranger? Were supposed to be *family*!»
«Of course we are. But Ive only got one mum.»
Emily felt something inside her shrink. Every time. His mother always came first.
«Fine,» she said, fighting back tears. «Got it.»
«Em, dont be like this. Youve got to be patient with older people.»
He reached out to touch her shoulder. She stepped away.
«Go to your mum. Im sure shes missed you.»
David hesitated, then walked off. Emily stayed in the kitchen, alone with the dirty dishes and the weight of her thoughts.
Shed met David at university. Hed seemed so steady, so calmunlike her past boyfriends, all loud and quick-tempered. David never raised his voice, always polite, always considerate. Soft-spoken, yes, but shed thought that was a good thing. Shed had enough of arguments growing up.
Shed only met Margaret at the wedding. The woman had seemed pleasant, a bit stern but well-meaning. Shed said shed always wanted a daughter-in-law, that shed love Emily like her own.
The problems started when theyd rented a flat near Margarets. She began dropping by dailyfor salt, for sugar, for any excuse. And always with a critical eye.
«Emily, whys the floor so dull?» shed ask. «Youre using the wrong cleaner.»
Or:
«The air in your bedrooms stale. You should open the windows more.»
Emily had tried to ignore it, thinking Margaret was just protective. But the comments grew sharper.
Then David lost his job. Money grew tight, and Margaret generously offered to let them move in. Temporarily, of coursejust until he found something new.
That «temporary» had stretched to three years. David found work at a small firm, but they still couldnt afford to leave. And Margaret no longer hid her belief that Emily wasnt good enough for her son.
«My friend Cynthias daughter-in-law is different,» shed say. «Thrifty, organised. Home like a magazine spread, and she knows how to handle money. And most importantlyshe respects her husband.»
The message was clear. Emily didnt respect David if she dared argue with him.
Now, Emily finished the washing-up and went to the bathroom. She studied herself in the mirror. Thirty, but she looked forty. The strain and sleepless nights had taken their toll.
From the living room came the murmur of the telly and Margarets voice, low but audible. She was telling David about the neighbour whod parked badly again.
«You should have a word with her,» Margaret said. «But you know how rude she is.»
«Mum, just leave it. Not worth the hassle.»
«Right, son. Best not to bother with difficult people.»
Emily knew the conversation wasnt just about the neighbour. Margaret often hinted that her daughter-in-law was another «difficult person» best avoided. But David, it seemed, had already gotten tangled up, and now had to endure it.
That evening, she tried talking to him again. She waited until Margaret went to bed, then sat beside him on the sofa.
«David, Im serious. Im miserable here.»
«Em, not this again.»
«What am I supposed to do? Suffer in silence forever?»
«Not *forever*. Mum wont live forever.»
Emily went cold.
«So youre saying I should wait for your mother to *die*?»
«No! I just mean… shes getting on. Maybe we *will* move out soon.»
«Move where? On your salary, we cant even rent a room.»
«Ill find something better.»
«Youve been saying that for three years.»
David exhaled sharply.
«Why do you always nag me? Ive got enough stress without this.»
«And what about *my* stress?»
«Em, just drop it. Lets watch something.»
He grabbed the remote and changed the channel. Conversation over. Emily sat a moment longer, then left.
In the bedroom, she pulled an old notebook from the drawerone shed kept in their first year of marriage. Flipping through the yellowed pages, she read her own hopes.
*I want our own place. Just us. Children running around, me deciding what to cook, how to clean.*
Children. Shed wanted them, but David always said it wasnt the right time. First, they needed stability, their own home. Now, there was no space, no money.
*Davids so kind and patient. Never shouts, always listens. Hell be a wonderful father.*
A wonderful father to children theyd never havenot while they lived under Margarets roof.
Emily closed the notebook and lay down. David came in an hour later, careful not to wake her. She pretended to sleep.
Breakfast the next morning brought another announcement from Margaret.
«Cynthias visiting today. Havent seen her in ages. Emily, do a proper cleanI dont want to be embarrassed.»
«I clean every day, Mrs. Thompson.»
«Not well enough. Theres dust *everywhere*.»
«Where?»
«On the bookshelves, the telly. And the hallway mirrors filthy.»
Emily walked through the flat. No dust in sight, the mirror spotless. But she didnt argue. She grabbed a cloth and wiped everything down again.
Cynthia arrived at lunchtimea loud, confident woman in a bright dress.
«Margaret, how are you?» she boomed from the doorway. «And this must be Emily! Margarets told me *all* about you.»
Emily offered tea. The women settled at the kitchen table, swapping gossip.
«My Lindas divorced again,» Cynthia said. «Third husband. Says the last one was spineless, no drive.»
«Men these days,» Margaret agreed. «No backbone.»
Emily, washing dishes, couldnt help listening.
«And hows your David? Working?»
«Oh, yes. Good lad, just too soft. Lets his wife walk all over him.»
Emily nearly dropped a cup.
«Really?» Cynthia said. «He seems so steady.»
«Steady, yes. But no spine. She snaps at him, and he just takes it. Ive told himDavid, youre the man of the house! But he says, *Mum, stay out of it*.»
«Ah. And whats *she* like, then? Bossy?»
Margaret lowered her voice, but Emily still heard.
«Not bossy, just… ordinary. Doesnt respect him. And no childrentoo busy with her *career*.»
Emilys face burned. Her mother-in-law was airing their private life to a strangerand making *her* the villain.
Cynthia left by evening. David came home tired and hungry.
«Dinner ready?» he asked, hanging up his coat.
«Ill heat it up.»
Over the meal, Margaret chatted about Cynthias visitconveniently leaving out the personal remarks.
«Cynthia kept asking about us,» she said. «Lovely woman. Shame we dont see her more.»
David nodded, chewing his food. Emily wondered how many people would soon hear about «spineless David» and his «difficult» wife.
Later, when Margaret went to watch telly, Emily confronted him.
«David, your mother discussed our marriage with Cynthia today.»
«What did she say?»
«That we dont have children. That I dont respect you. That youre spineless.»
David frowned.
«She wouldnt say that.»
«She *did*. I heard her.»
«Maybe you misunderstood. Mums not cruel.»
«David, she called you *spineless*! To someone elses face!»
«Em, who cares what people say?»
«*I* care. This is *our* life. I wont let her gossip about us.»
«Nobodys gossiping. Women just talk.»
Emily realised he still didntor wouldntunderstand.
«Fine,» she said. «Then *Ill* talk to her tomorrow.»
«Dont. Why start a fight?»
«What choice do I have? You wont defend us.»
«Defend *what*? Mums not hurting anyone.»
«Really? She tells strangers about our marriage, criticises everything I do, interferes in *our* decisions. Thats normal to you?»
David stood.
«Im tired. Well talk tomorrow.»
«Tomorrow youll be tired again. And the next day.»
But he was already gone.
The next morning, David left early for work. Emily waited until Margaret had her coffee, then sat across from her.
«Mrs. Thompson, we need to talk.»
«About what?»
«Last night. You discussed our private life with Cynthia.»
Margaret set her newspaper down.
«What of it? Friends chat.»
«About what? That your sons spineless?»
«Isnt he?» Margaret said calmly. «Look at him. Thirty-three and still a boy. Lets you have your way, too scared to argue.»
Emilys hands trembled.
«Hes not *scared*. He *trusts* me.»
«Trusts one thing. A man should lead. Not hide behind his wife.»
«*Hide*? From what?»
Margaret studied her.
«From standing his ground. From telling you *no*. Thats not how a husband behaves.»
«I dont *command* him!»
«You do. And he lets you. A real man wouldve put you in your place by now.»
Emily stood.
«Put me in my place? For *what*?»
«For cheek. For disrespect. For forgetting who runs this house.»
«*Runs* it? I live here, work, clean, cook. What more do I need to do?»
Margaret rose slowly.
«This is *my* home, dear. Davids *my* son. *Youre* the guest here. Best remember that.»
The words hit like a slap.
«A *guest*? Weve been married five years!»
«And? A ring doesnt guarantee anything. If a wife doesnt suit, shes replaced.»
«You want to *replace* me?»
«I want my son happy. With you, hes clearly notthough hed never admit it.»
Emily sank into a chair, dizzy.
«Has David complained about me?»
«Not in words. But a mother knows. Hes tired of your demands, your sulking. Used to be cheerful. Now hes closed off.»
«*Closed off*? From *your* constant meddling!»
«*Mine*?» Margaret laughed. «Im nothing but kind to him. *Youre* the one always on at him.»
Emily saw the futility. Margaret would never take responsibility.
«Fine,» she said, standing. «Ill discuss this with David.»
«Do. Though I doubt hell tell you the whole truth. Probably pities you.»
Emily locked herself in the bedroom and criedproperly, for the first time in years.
David came home late, grim-faced.
«Whats wrong?» she asked.
«Work trouble. No bonus this month.»
«Im sorry. But we need to talk.»
«Not now, Em. Im shattered.»
He showered and went to bed. Emily lay awake, replaying Margarets words. *Was* David unhappy? Was he hiding it?
In the morning, she asked him outright.
«David, tell me the truthare you happy with me?»
He blinked.
«What kind of question is that? Of course.»
«Your mother thinks otherwise.»
«What did she say?»
«That youre tired of my nagging. That I bully you. That youre miserable.»
David hesitated.
«Mum worries. Thinks we argue too much.»
«We argue *because of her*!»
«Em, this isnt about her. *We* cant agree on anything.»
«Like what?»
«Kids. Work. The future.»
Emily saw the evasion.
«David, be honest. Do you want me to leave?»
A long silence. Then:
«No. But I cant go on like this.»
«Like *what*?»
«Caught in the middle.»
«Then pick a side,» Emily said. «Your wife or your mother.»
David stood.
«Im late for work. Well talk tonight.»
But that evening, he hid in the shower. Later, Margaret cornered him about redecorating her room.
Emily understood. He was avoiding the conversation. That *was* his answer.
That night, she made her decision. By morning, shed packed a suitcasejust the essentials.
Margaret noticed as Emily carried it to the hall.
«Going somewhere?»
«My friends. For a while.»
«Long?»
«Dont know yet.»
Margaret nodded.
«Maybe its for the best. David could use a break.»
Emily turned at the door.
«Mrs. Thompsontell David if he wants me back, he comes alone. Without you.»
«Well see if he *does*,» Margaret said.
Emily shut the door behind her. On the landing, she paused. No sound from inside.
Downstairs, the morning air was crisp. She breathed deeplyand felt something like relief.
That evening, David called.
«Em, Mum said you left. When are you coming back?»
«I dont know. Maybe never.»
«What? Were *married*.»
«On paper. In reality?»
Silence.
«David, heres my ultimatum. We live apart from your mother, or we divorce.»
«Em, dont do this.»
«Do *what*? Im asking you to chooseyour mother or your wife. Any decent man would pick his wife.»
«What if I *cant* choose?»
The words hung between them. Emily understood. Hed already chosen. He just wouldnt say it.
«Then Ill choose for us,» she whispered, and hung up.
She slipped the phone into her bag and walked away. Where to, she wasnt sure yet. But with every step, she felt lighter. Not because it was easybut because now, she was choosing *herself*.
And no one could take that away.
