No, Mum. Youre not welcome here anymore. Not today, not next week, not ever. A story about the moment enough was enough.
Honestly, I wrestled with how to tell this, but two words kept circling my mind: sheer cheek and blind loyalty. One from my mother-in-law, the other from my husband. And caught in the crossfire? Me. A woman who played nice, kept her head downuntil I realised silence was turning our home into a free-for-all.
Ill never understand how someone can stroll into another persons house and help themselves like its a charity shop. But thats exactly what my mother-in-law did. All for her golden child. My husbands sister.
Every visit left us shortroast beef from the fridge, a whole tray of lasagne from the oven, even my barely-used curling wand. Sophies hairs a nightmare, and youre always in joggers anyway, shed say.
I swallowed it. Gritted my teeth. Brought it up with my husband, James. Hed just sigh. Thats Mum for youno malice in it. Well replace it.
Then came the tipping point. Our fifth anniversary. Wed booked a posh restaurant in London, like we used to. Id found the perfect dressjust needed the right heels. So I treated myself. A stunning pair Id saved for since last summer, tucked in their box under the bed.
But fate had other ideas.
That afternoon, work ran late, so I asked James to collect our little one, Poppy, from nursery. He agreedthen, classic him, an emergency came up. He called his mum. Handed her our keys to fetch Poppy and wait at ours.
When I got home, I went straight to the bedroom. The box was gone.
James, where are my shoes? I asked, already knowing.
How should I know? He shrugged.
Was your mum here?
Yeah, she picked up Poppy, stayed a bit, then left.
And the keys? I kept my voice steady.
I gave them to her. What was I meant to do?
I rang her. She answered straight away.
Evening, I said, frosty. I think you know why Im calling.
No, I dont, actually, she replied, all innocence.
Where. Are. My. Shoes?
Oh, I gave them to Sophie. Youve got piles of them, and shes got nothing for her graduation do.
Click. No sorry, no remorse. Just gone.
James, of course, sighed. Well get you another pair, love. Dont kick off. Shes my mum.
I dragged him to Selfridges. Straight to the exact heels Id been drooling over. The price made him blanch.
Charlotte, thats half my wages! he spluttered.
You said wed replace them. So we are, I smiled.
And replace them he didsigning off on years of turning a blind eye.
But the drama wasnt done. On the drive home, his phone buzzed. It was Mum. James answered on speaker. Those shoes were meant for Sophies big night, she huffed. Youre throwing a tantrum over a pair of heels?
I leaned forward, snatching the phone. No. Im ending the lie that I dont matter in my own home.
Her breath caught.
I dont want your excuses, your visits, or your hands in our fridge, our closet, or our lives. Not today, not next week, not ever.
I hung up.
James stared at me, stunned.
I unbuckled my seatbelt. If you follow her, dont bother coming back.
He didnt go.
And for the first time in years, the silence wasnt suffocatingit was free.
