You’re poor and youll always be living in a rented flat, my motherinlaw used to say. And now shes paying for a room in my old manor.
Can we change the curtains? she asked, her voice as heavy as velvet on the windows the very thing she never liked. That colour it feels oppressive, makes the room gloomy.
Emily turned slowly. Shed picked that fabric herself a deep burgundy velvet that matched the light walls and the antique sideboard perfectly. It was a tiny triumph of her own design sense.
You dont like it? she asked.
Oh, dear, you know the old saying, dont look a gift horse in the mouth Im just giving my opinion. I have a right to my own thoughts in my sons house, dont I?
Emily stared at her motherinlaw, hands clasped delicately over her chest, a faint disgust flickering across her face as she surveyed the room the very room theyd handed over to her in the new house, the castle James liked to joke about when he looked at the towers hed dreamed of as a child.
Of course, you do, MrsGriffiths, James said.
Good, because I was beginning to think Id have to report even my right to breathe here, his mother replied with a dry laugh.
Twenty years had slipped by, and nothing really changed. Only the décor had. Once theyd been renting a onebed flat with floral wallpaper; now it was a spacious house, every square foot a product of the hard work Emily and James had put in together.
The massage chair helps even when Ive got the nerves, James joked, but Emily was already rolling her eyes.
I just want a bit of cosiness, she said, running a finger over the polished sideboard. Dust. It needs a wipe. But youre used to it, arent you? You two have been living in someone elses rooms for ages.
A tight knot formed inside Emily, not painful but familiar, like the phantom ache after a longlost limb. She remembered.
She remembered moving into their first flat a tiny place on the outskirts, a leaky tap, squeaky floorboards. Theyd been thrilled to bits.
Then Agnes swept in, eyed their modest home, pursed her lips and delivered a verdict, not at James but at Emily.
Youre poor and youll always drag him down. Remember my words: youll have nothing of your own, ever.
Emily kept silent. What could she say? She was a twentyyearold, head over heels, convinced love would conquer all.
It did, but it cost her two decades of life: endless work, sleepless nights, two engagement rings tied up in a bank, and a risky IT startup that finally took off, letting them afford everything. Meanwhile, Agnes had lost everything first her husband, then a central London flat after a bad investment suggested by some highsociety lady.
A thirst for quick cash and status left her with nothing.
James says you gave me the best guest room, Agnes said, moving to the window. With a garden view, so I can see you fussing with roses and remember your place.
Our place is right here now, Emily replied firmly. And yours too.
My place, dear, was my flat, Agnes snapped. This is just a temporary shelter, a generous gesture so everyone sees what a good wife my son has. Not a grudge.
She turned, and Emily saw the same cold, poisonous disdain that had been there twenty years ago.
The only thing that matters is that your castle doesnt turn out to be a house of cards, Emily. Falling from that height hurts a lot.
Later, over dinner, Agnes brought up the curtains again, this time addressing James only.
James, now youve got your own company, youll have partners over. The house should reflect that. Those dark rooms give off a stifling vibe.
Emily set a salad on the table, hands steady. Shed learned not to shake.
Mom, we like it, James said gently. Emily chose everything herself, she has great taste.
Emilys taste is practical, Agnes replied with a patronising smile. Shes used to things being neat forever a good trait for lean times. But now we can afford a bit of lightness. I know a brilliant decorator who could give a few tips.
Emily felt cornered. Refuse and youd be seen as stubborn, agree and youd admit your taste was rubbish.
Ill think about it, she said evenly.
Thinking wont do, love. You need to act before the house gets soaked in this middleclass blandness.
The next morning Emily walked into the kitchen and froze. All her spice jars collected over years from around the world and neatly arranged had been shoved into a corner. In their place sat Agness own tea set, the only thing shed taken from her past life.
I just tidied a bit, Agnes said from behind her. Your place was getting a bit chaotic. A man likes a tidy home, it calms him.
Emily silently gathered her spices and began putting them back.
You didnt have to, Agnes muttered. Of course you did it yourself. Youre always on your own, a strong woman. Strong women make weak men. Youve taken everything on, thats why James is used to it. He needed to feel like the head from the start.
It hit Emily like a punch. All those years coding at night, supporting James after failures, hunting investors for their first project they were all dismissed in one sentence. Shed been making him weak.
That evening she tried to talk to James. He listened, hugged her.
Emily, shes an old lady whos lost everything. She just wants to feel useful, to help in the way she knows. Are those spice jars really that important?
Its not about the jars, James! Its that she undervalues everything I do, everything I am!
She just doesnt get you yet, he said calmly. Give her time. Shell see how wonderful you are.
Emily stepped back. He didnt see the poison seeping from every word her motherinlaw spat. He only saw the drama, not the source.
That night Emily stared out of the bedroom window at the garden shed planted herself, designed every path. The house was her fortress, proof that Agnes was wrong.
But now the enemy was inside, and she wasnt going to let him steal her victory.
She realised compromise was useless. There would be no peaceful life.
Saturday was the turning point. Returning from town, she heard an unfamiliar female voice from the terrace, sounding like her motherinlaws inspired tone.
On the terrace, in her favourite chair, sat a wellkept lady, Agnes gesturing toward the garden.
and here, Rose, I see a lovely alpine ridge. Those oldfashioned roses can go, they just take up space. Lets put in a lawn, more air, more room!
Emily halted in the ivycovered arch, unseen, listening to every word.
Brilliant idea, Rose, replied the decorator, the garden lacks a cityslick look. Well redo it, James will love it.
Inside Emily, something snapped not with a bang, but a quiet finality. This was her garden, her creation, the place shed nurtured from buds to blossoms. They were deciding its fate without asking.
Enough.
She didnt cause a scene. She turned, got into the car and drove off in silence.
There was no lingering anger, just a crystalclear calculation the same one that had saved their business before. She called her realtor, Simon, good morning. Need a flat to let immediately. VIP client, Ill send the terms.
Three hours later she was back. James was in the kitchen, midargument. Emily placed the keys and a folder of documents on the table.
Good evening, MrsGriffiths, Rose. Glad you could find time to discuss my garden design, she said.
Rose flushed, while Agnes straightened.
We were just sharing ideas, love, for the common good, Agnes said.
Of course, Emily nodded, turning to James. Ive solved the problem.
He looked puzzled. What problem?
Your mothers discomfort. Shes right: she needs her own place where she can be the lady of the house, not forced to live with someone elses taste.
Emily opened the folder. Ive arranged a new flat for MrsGriffiths a brandnew development with concierge, ten minutes away, spacious, bright, topnotch finish. We can view it tomorrow at ten. Everythings already agreed.
The room fell deathly quiet. James stared between his wife and his mother, speechless. Agnes went pale.
What does that mean? Youre kicking me out? she asked.
Its what you wanted, Emily replied, her smile devoid of warmth. Im giving you what youve been asking for freedom.
Freedom from my curtains, my spices, my roses. You can buy any furniture, hire any designer, create the cosy home youve always wanted, on our tab.
It was a flawless move. She wasnt evicting; she was gifting. Refusing the gift would mean admitting this was about power, not comfort.
James tried to joke, Emily, youre a proper schemer. Why complicate things? Mum didnt mean it that way. But Agness face hardened.
Youll let her treat me like this? Throw me out of your home? she demanded.
This is my home too, Emily said firmly. Im not throwing anyone out. Im offering better terms.
The rest of the evening James spent smoothing things over. When Rose hurried away, he slipped into the bedroom where Emily was packing Agness things.
It was harsh. We couldve just talked, he said.
I told you a hundred times, Emily replied, looking straight at him. You heard only the curtains and the jars. To me, its my life shes been trampling daily, proving Im nothing.
She walked to the window, the garden darkening behind her.
Twenty years, James. Twenty years of being told Im worthless. I kept quiet, worked, built this house to prove Im worth something. She came to take it all away. I wont let that happen. This house is our fortress, not a battlefield where I have to fight for each breath.
I wont fight your mother, James said. Ill just move her out of the line of fire. Its your call now.
He fell silent, and in that silence Emily knew he finally understood her limits.
The move happened in three days. Agnes never spoke to Emily, only tossed icy looks. All the furniture was shifted quietly. When it was done, Agnes stood in the empty, bright new flat that was now hers.
I hope youll like it here, Emily said as she left.
No answer.
Two months later the air in the house felt lighter. Emily sang while making breakfast. She and James laughed more, recalling small things. The castle was no longer a fortress to defend; it was simply a home.
Every Sunday they visited Agnes. Shed decorated her flat to her taste, hung light curtains. Yet the cosy feeling was missing a sterile, almost hotellike cleanliness. She chatted with James, barely noticing Emily.
One day Emily heard her muminlaw complain to James about a broken tap: Called the council, they said wait three days. Imagine if your dad could just sort it in one go.
Thats when Emily realised it wasnt about her. It was about losing control. Agnes was desperately trying to reclaim authority by meddling in her daughterinlaws world.
But Emily was no longer the girl from that rented onebed flat.
She took Jamess hand, faced her motherinlaw and said, Well call a plumber, Agnes. Dont worry.
There was no glee, no spite, just an empty calm. The woman whod once condemned her now lived in the room of Emilys life, and the rent for that room was paid with Emilys peace of mind the best deal shed ever made.
A year passed.
Golden autumn flooded the garden with warm light. Emily sat on the terrace, wrapped in a blanket, watching her roses fade beautifully.
James came with two mugs and sat beside her.
Cold? he asked.
No, Im fine, she replied, smiling.
He hugged her shoulders. Their relationship had shifted; the old resentment was gone. They were just a team.
Mum called, James said gently.
Emily stayed calm. Her calls no longer stirred emotion; they were routine.
She was asking if we could move the wardrobe. Says theres dust piled up.
They exchanged a glance. It was a new script tiny requests to keep her weakness alive and pull them into her world.
Tell her well get a removal company, Emily answered. Well pay, weve got a trusted firm.
James nodded, dialed the number. No arguments, no do it yourself, shell love it. Hed learned the new rules and accepted them.
The next day Emily flipped through old photo albums and found a picture of her and James, young and smiling, hugging in front of the peeling wall of their first flat.
She stared at their faces, remembering how terrified shed been of Agness verdict of eternal poverty and rented corners.
Now she understood: Agnes was right about one thing poverty is terrifying. But it was her own temporary poverty that had sparked her drive, pushed her to fight and build.
Agness poverty was spiritual, a constant need to belittle others to feel powerful.
Emily closed the album. She no longer felt like a victor in some ancient war. There was no war, just the tragedy of a woman who locked herself in a cage of envy.
And her castle with its towers wasnt a trophy or a fortress. It was simply a home, scented with apples from her garden.
A place where she and James could sit in silence, hand in hand, and finally find not wealth, but peace.
