The air hung thick with unspoken tension as her brother-in-law leaned against the counter, his smirk not quite reaching his eyes. «Why the fuss yesterday? Your fridge is stocked, youre hardly skint,» he quipped, though a flicker of irritation betrayed him.
The next midday found Eleanor by the cooker, stirring a light broth. Shed hoped for a quiet day, free from unwelcome chatter, but the doorbell shattered that illusion. At first, she assumed it was Mrs. Thompson from next door borrowing sugar or a parcel delivery. Peering through the peephole, however, she saw a face she knew too well. Oliver.
There he stood, that same cocky grin plastered across his face, clutching an empty Tupperware container.
Eleanor opened the door but stayed planted on the threshold, making no move to invite him in.
«Alright, love?» he said breezily, as if yesterdays words had never been spoken. «Just passing by. Thought, since youre such a dab hand in the kitchen any chance youve got a bit of roast going spare? The kids adore your cooking.»
She didnt answer immediately. Just watched him, the door barely ajar.
«Charity gone cold, has it?» he pressed, that smirk widening. «Not like you to be tight-fisted.»
«You know, Oliver,» Eleanor finally said, her voice steady, «was last nights helping not enough? And hiding behind the kidsreally? Im not William. You wont soften me with that act.»
«Come off it,» he chuckled, echoing his own words like a broken record, «youre loaded. You wont go skint.»
That phrase ignited something in her. Shed had enough.
«Youre wrong. I will go skint. Not from foodfrom letting people like you treat my home like a bloody soup kitchen.»
His grin faltered.
«Bit touchy, arent we?» he joked, though his voice had gone taut.
«No, Oliver. Ive just stopped being convenient.»
Without another word, she shut the door in his face.
William, roused by the slam, wandered into the hall.
«Who was that?»
«Your brother,» she replied coolly. «Back for seconds.»
William frowned.
«Whatd you say?»
«That weve nothing left for him.»
He was silent a long moment, then sank into a chair, rubbing his face.
«Ellie, you know hell take it to heart.»
«Let him. Better him upset than me feeling like a glorified housekeeper every time he fancies a free meal. Make that clear to your brother.»
In that moment, Eleanor realised she feared neither Oliver nor Williams disapproval anymore. From now on, her house ran by her rulesfull stop.
Dawn crept in with the scent of coffee and the clink of a spoon against ceramic. William was already at the table, scrolling absently on his phone. He glanced up as she entered, feigning normalcy. Eleanor said nothing, pouring herself tea with deliberate calm.
Yesterdays exchange played on loop in her mindevery word, every glance. The more she replayed it, the clearer it became: this conversation wasnt over.
«Did you ring Oliver? Explain things?» she asked, eyes fixed on the steaming kettle.
«Yeah,» he said after a pause. «Told him its fine. No hard feelings.»
Eleanor looked up sharply.
«*Fine*? Thats what you call it?»
William leaned back, sighing.
«Ellie, I dont want rows. Hes family. So what if he nicked a bit of meat? Times are tough for them.»
«I see one thing,» she cut in, «its easy for them to take, and easier for you to pretend thats just how it is.»
William fell silent. He hadnt expected her to push back.
Eleanor stood, setting her cup in the sink with a quiet clink.
«From today,» she said, low but firm, «this house has new rules. Help if you wantbut not at my expense, and not by making me small.»
William stared at her, then dropped his gaze to his phone. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and shrugged.
That morning, Eleanor felt different. Not just resentmentcertainty. She wouldnt bend to keep the peace anymore.
She grabbed her handbag and keys.
«Off out,» she called over her shoulder.
«What about dinner?» he asked.
«Youll manage. Fridge is full,» she replied, shutting the door behind her.
Outside, the breeze tangled in her hair. As she walked, she knew this was the first step. It might hurt. William might resist. But there was no going back to being ignored.
Deep down, she knewthered be more words, choices, perhaps even a reckoning. But for now, striding through the morning light, she felt stronger than ever.
She stopped at a boutique, buying a new handbagjust for her. Not for the house, not «for everyone.» Just hers. At the till, her phone buzzed. Williams name flashed on the screen.
«Yes?» she answered, keeping her voice even.
«Ellie Olivers here,» came his reply, laughter faint in the background. «Says he wants to apologise»
Her chest tightened. Oliver apologising? Unlikely.
«Be home soon,» she said curtly, hanging up.
The walk back felt endless. Was this a peace offeringor another ask?
Inside, Oliver lounged at the kitchen table, a plate of sandwiches before him. Beside it sat a bulging carrier bag.
«Ellie,» he drawled, «whyd you kick off yesterday? Were all good Anyway, your fridge is packed. You wont miss it.»
Eleanor hung up her coat, setting her bag aside.
«All good is when you ask. Taking without asking? Thats something else.»
Oliver smirked, but irritation flashed in his eyes.
«Listen, thats how our lots always done it. Whats mines yours.»
«Maybe for you,» she said calmly. «But this is my home. My rules.»
William hovered by the cooker, twisting a mug in his hands. Torn.
Oliver stood, snatching up his bag.
«Suit yourself. Dont come crying when you need a hand. Tough times come to us all. And you, mateyouve let your wife get too big for her boots. Youll regret it.»
The door slammed. Eleanor turned to William.
«You heard. Next time, either back me up or Ill handle it myself.»
William nodded slowly. Something shifted in his expressionunderstanding, or perhaps fear of losing her.
Eleanor tipped her cold tea down the sink, relief washing over her. This wasnt the end. But now she knewher voice in this house would never be silenced again.
That evening, as shadows lengthened, William drifted into the kitchen. He looked weary, treading carefully, as if on eggshells.
«Ellie,» he began, perching on a stool, «yesterday, today its been rough. I just I dont know how to be hard on them. Theyll take it to heart.»
«Let them,» she said. «Im done being convenient.»
He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze.
«What if they cut ties?»
«Then so be it. I wont play doormat so someone can empty my fridge and call me tight.»
Doubt flickered in his eyes, but he didnt argue. Instead, he shuffled off to the living room, the telly humming to life. Eleanor stayed, listening to the muffured voices.
Change wouldnt come overnight. Oliver and Lydia would test boundaries. Thered be whispers, attempts to turn William. But now, she had a spine of steelready to stand her ground, even if it cost their peace.
Days later, Lydias name lit up her phone. Eleanor watched it ring. Let her try three times. Shed answer on her own terms.
That night, soft lamplight bathed the kitchen. Fresh scones cooled on the rack. For the first time in ages, Eleanor tasted food made purely for herself. Not to impress. Not to please. Just because.
William wandered in, took a scone without meeting her eye.
«Nice,» he mumbled.
«Glad you like it,» she said, then met his gaze squarely. «This is our home, Will. Im the mistress here too.»
He nodded. The old uncertainty was gone. Something new flickered thereacceptance.
Inside, she felt a quiet victory. Small, but hers. And that mattered more than any scone, any bag, any honeyed words. Respect began here, at their kitchen table.
Three months on, Eleanor sat with her coffee, watching frost melt on the neighbours roof. The house was stillWilliam asleep upstairs. Much had changed. Oliver and Lydia never dropped by, though they rang William occasionally. To her surprise, he kept visits short, never inviting them over.
The absence of tension was strange at firstlike a shadow lifted. She breathed easier.
And William hed changed too. Not perfectstill a peacekeeper, but no longer at her expense. He asked her thoughts, included her in decisions.
One evening, hed admitted:
«Thought if I kept everyone happy, theyd respect us more. Turns out, thats what made them respect us less.»
Eleanor had smiled thennot the tight, practised smile, but a real one.
Now, in the morning quiet, she knew it had started that nightwhen Oliver scooped up leftovers, tossed out «you wont go skint,» and shed finally said no.
Inside, certainty hummed: boundaries, once set, hold firm. And if tested again, shed stand her groundready.
