The air in the small London flat was thick with tension as Eleanor Spencer stood in the hallway, her coat half on. The sharp voice of her mother-in-law, Margaret, cut through the quiet.
«Emily, up so early?» Margaret called from her bedroom, her tone laced with feigned surprise. «Its barely half six.»
«Ive got an early meeting,» Emily replied, shoving papers into her bag. «Unplanned briefing today.»
Margaret shuffled into the kitchen in her slippers, the clatter of cutlery following. Emily tried to slip past, but Margaret wasnt having it.
«Breakfast? Youd let my boy go to work on an empty stomach?»
«Olivers a grown man,» Emily said, pulling on her jacket. «He can make his own breakfast.»
Margaret turned sharply, arms crossed. «In my day, wives knew their place. They took care of their husbands.»
Emily inhaled deeply. This same conversation had played out every morning since Margaret moved in six months ago after her surgery. Half a year of constant nitpicking, and still, no end in sight.
«Margaret, Oliver and I share responsibilities. We have a partnership, not a hierarchy.»
«A partnership!» Margaret scoffed. «My boy never missed a meal before you came along. Look at him nowthin as a rake.»
Emily bit back the urge to point out that Oliver, at thirty-two, was hardly a boy. Arguing with Margaret was like shouting into the wind.
«Right, Im late. Olivers still asleepwake him at eight, would you?»
«Of course Ill wake him. Unlike some, I know my duties.»
Work offered no respite. By lunch, her colleague Sophie noticed her distraction.
«You look wrecked,» Sophie said, sliding into the chair beside her with a coffee. «Still the mother-in-law from hell?»
«Its relentless. The house isnt clean enough. You dont cook properly. You speak to Oliver wrong.»
«And he just lets her?»
Emily gave a bitter laugh. «Shes fragile after her surgery. He says we have to be patient.»
«But shes better now, right? Doctors cleared her?»
«Months ago. But Olivers terrified to let her live alone. What if something happens?»
Sophie shook her head. «Bloody nightmare.»
That evening, Emily returned to the smell of roast beef and potatoes. Oliver lounged on the sofa, plate in hand, eyes glued to the telly.
«Hey, love,» he said absently. «How was work?»
«Fine. Whats for dinner?»
«Mum made roast. Theres some left in the kitchen.»
Emily walked in to find Margaret at the sink.
«Evening, Margaret.»
«Evening,» came the clipped reply.
She lifted the lid of the roasting tin. One thin slice of beef and a spoonful of potatoes.
«This is it?»
Margaret turned, eyebrows raised. «Youre always going on about your waistline. Thought Id help.»
«I wasnt complaining. Just mentioning my jeans were snug.»
«Exactly. Im looking out for you.»
Emily took her plate to the living room. Oliver was engrossed in a nature documentary.
«Ol, can we talk?»
«Sure. Whats up?»
«Go look at what your mum left me for dinner.»
With a sigh, he trudged to the kitchen and back.
«So? Normal portion.»
«For a sparrow, maybe. Ive been at work all day. Im starving.»
«Mum!» Oliver called. «Why so little food?»
«Thought Emily wasnt hungry, dear,» Margaret trilled. «Shes always talking about diets.»
«See?» Oliver turned to Emily. «She was trying to help.»
Something inside Emily snapped.
«Your mother gives me scraps on purpose. Every. Single. Day.»
«Dont be daft. Mums kindhearted.»
«Kind to you. To me, she treats me like hired help who isnt good enough.»
A loud sniffle came from the kitchen. Oliver shot up.
«Now youve upset her! Shes not well!»
«And I am?»
But he was already gone, murmuring comforts. Emily sat alone, her half-eaten dinner cold.
Later, Oliver returned, guilt written across his face.
«Sorry, love. Mums just sensitive. Says she feels like a burden.»
«Good. She is one.»
«Emily!»
«What? Were newlyweds. Were supposed to be building our life, not living under her microscope.»
«Shes not spying. She cares.»
«Cares?» Emily laughed harshly. «She critiques everythinghow I wash clothes, how I cook, even how I speak to you!»
Oliver sat beside her. «Just a bit longer. Shell adjust. Then well find her a nice flat nearby.»
«When?»
«I dont know. But we will.»
The next day, Emily left work early, determined to cook dinner herself. She bought groceries, hoping to reset the mood.
But as she opened the door, Margarets voice drifted from the kitchen.
«Yes, darling, I understand your wife. Young, inexperienced. But my patience isnt infinite.»
Emily froze. Olivers reply was quiet but clear.
«Mum, dont say that. Emilys wonderful.»
«Wonderful? Look how thin youve gotten! And her temperalways sulking, never happy.»
«Shes just tired from work.»
«Work, work! What about home? Family? Her priorities are all wrong. Tell me, Oliverdid you rush into this marriage?»
A chill ran down Emilys spine. She forced herself forward, feigning normalcy.
«Evening,» she said brightly.
«Oh! Emily, love, we didnt hear you,» Margaret said, not a trace of guilt. «How was work?»
«Fine. I thought Id make dinner.»
«No need. Ive made beef stew. Your favorite,» she added, smiling at Oliver.
«Thanks, Mum. Em, that alright?»
«Perfect,» Emily lied.
Dinner was strained. Oliver chatted about work, Margaret oozed faux concern, and Emily ate in silence, the stew sitting like lead in her stomach.
«Emily, any weekend plans?» Margaret asked sweetly.
«Not really. Why?»
«I need Oliver to take me to the clinic. Tests.»
«Course, Mum. No problem.»
«Lovely. Was worried youd already claimed him.»
The smirk in Margarets voice was unmistakable. Emily looked up, meeting her gaze. The triumph in Margarets eyes was unmistakable.
Later, Emily feigned a headache and retreated to bed, thoughts racing. Margaret had declared war. And Oliver was blind to it.
He joined her late, perching on the edge of the bed.
«Hows your head?»
«Better.»
«Em Mums been odd lately.»
«How so?»
«One minute she says shes in the way, the next she refuses to leave. Today she said she worries our marriage was a mistake.»
Emily sat up. «And you said?»
«That we love each other and can handle anything.»
«Oliver, your mother hates me. Shes trying to split us up.»
«Dont be ridiculous. She worries, thats all.»
«She wants me gone.»
«Emily, youre exaggerating. Mum says daft things sometimes, but shes not cruel.»
«Then watch her tomorrow. Properly.»
The next evening, Olivers expression said it all.
«You were right,» he admitted heavily. «Mums been odd.»
«What happened?»
«All day, it was Emilys messy, Emilys rude. Then she outright said I shouldnt have married you.»
«And you said?»
«That I love you and wont let anyone interfere.»
«And her?»
Oliver hesitated. «She cried. Said Id chosen a wife over my own mother.»
«Classic guilt trip.»
«Emily, shes unwell. The surgery, her nerves»
«How long will you excuse her? Shes deliberately trying to turn you against me!»
«Alright, Ill talk to her. Make it clear shes out of line.»
The next morning, raised voices woke Emily. She crept to the kitchen doorway.
Oliver sat at the table, head in hands. Margaret stood rigid, face flushed.
«You dont see what she really is!»
«Mum, stop! Emilys my wife. You will respect her.»
«Respect? For stealing my son?»
Emily stepped in. «I didnt steal anyone.»
Margaret whirled. «You took my boy, and Ill take everything from you.»
«Mum!» Oliver gasped.
«Everything?» Emily asked calmly.
«Youll see. Think I dont know how to handle your sort? Forty years Ive lived. I know every womans weakness.»
«Is that a threat?»
«A warning. My son lives as I say. Cross me, and youll regret it.»
«Christ, Mum!» Oliver stood. «How can you speak to my wife like that?»
«And how does she speak to me? Think I dont see her sneers? Her whinging about me to you?»
«Mum, Emily never»
«Quiet! Youre blind, boy. Cant see what that girls doing to our family.»
Emily had had enough.
«Margaret, I didnt steal anyone. Oliver chose me. If you dont like it, move back to your own flat.»
Margarets eyes flashed. «Throwing out a sick woman from her sons home?»
«Im not throwing you out. Im suggesting we all live our own lives.»
«Shes right, Mum,» Oliver said quietly. «Maybe its time.»
Margarets face crumpled. «So its her, then.»
«I chose my wife when I married her. Youll always be my mother.»
«Fine. Lets see how you feel when she leaves you.»
«Whatre you?»
But Margaret was already gone, the door slamming behind her.
Oliver sank into a chair. «God, Em. I never thought shed go this far.»
«Oliver, your mothers serious. Im scared of what shell do.»
«What can she do? Its just words.»
He pulled her into a hug. «She wont hurt us.»
But Emily knew better. War had been declared. And Margaret didnt lose.
At lunch, Sophie called.
«Em, did you know your mother-in-law rang my mum?»
«What? Why?»
«Asking about you. School, exes, if youd ever had problems.»
Emilys blood ran cold.
«Whatd your mum say?»
«Nothing bad. Said you were a good student. But whys she digging?»
Emily knew. Margaret was gathering ammunition.
That night, Margaret ignored Emily, lavishing attention on Oliver.
«Darling, I made your favoriteshepherds pie.»
«Cheers, Mum. Lovely.»
«And for you, Emily, plain steamed veg. Watching your figure, arent you?»
Emily stared at the bland pile. «Im not dieting.»
«Oh, dont be shy. Girls your age are always fussing.»
Over dinner, Margaret prattled about neighborhood gossipuntil a familiar name dropped.
«Linda from number twelve says her daughter-in-law came home drunk again. Hit her husband. Some women, eh?»
«Awful,» Oliver murmured.
«Thank God my boy knows how to pick a decent girl.»
Emily met Margarets gaze. The warning was clear: *I can make them believe anything.*
Later, as Emily washed up, Margaret appeared.
«Spoke to your old schoolmate today. Sarah Wilkins. Heard some interesting things.»
«Like what?»
«How you got pissed at prom. Snogged some boy behind the gym.»
«And?»
«Oliver thinks he married a saint. Imagine his surprise.»
«Youre threatening me with teenage gossip?»
«Just giving you a choice. Leave now, or Ill tell him what you really are.»
«And whats that?»
Margaret leaned in. «A slut who trapped my boy. Think I didnt know you slept together before marriage? Didnt see how you bewitched him?»
Emily recoiled. «Youre ill.»
«Ill, but not blind. Ive seen your kind. Pretty, cunning. Leeching off men till theres nothing left.»
«I have a job. I pay my way.»
«For now. Have kids, quit work, and youll suck him dry.»
Oliver walked in. «Everything alright?»
«Just girl talk,» Margaret simpered. «Emily was telling me about work.»
That night, Emily lay awake, dread pooling in her stomach. Margaret was playing dirty. And Oliver still saw only his saintly mum.
She needed to tell him everything. But would he believe her?
Tomorrow would bring fresh attacks. And Emily feared she was losing before the fight had even begun.
