«You have no right to behave like this in my house!» Emily’s voice trembled with barely contained fury. She stood in the hallway, clutching her handbag to her chest like a shield.
«This is my flat, Margaret! Mine!»
Something akin to contempt flashed in her mother-in-laws eyes.
«And what am I to do if you cant keep the place tidy yourself?» Margaret hissed through gritted teeth. «Dust on the shelves, dirty dishes in the sink. Is this how respectable people live?»
Emilys grip tightened on her bag until her knuckles turned white. Resentment and helplessness churned inside her.
«I work, Margaret! I dont always have the time»
«You make time for what matters,» Margaret cut her off, lifting her chin with pride as she marched toward the door. «Im only trying to help, and this is the thanks I get?»
The door clicked shut, leaving Emily alone in the stifling silence of the hallway. The stillness pressed against her ears, but inside, a storm still raged. She kicked off her heels and wandered into the living room, then the kitchen, peering into the bedroom. Everywhere bore the marks of Margarets «care.»
In the bedroom Her mother-in-law must have finished her meddling just minutes before she arrived. The tube of hand cream was gone from the bedside table. The little porcelain figurine from their holiday had vanished from the dresser.
Emily paced the flat like a trapped animal, her hands shaking with anger. Shed come home exhausted from work, longing for a shower, a cup of tea in her favourite mug And now, in her own home, nothing was where it should be.
The front door clicked. James was back. The moment he saw his wife standing frozen in the kitchen, he knew something was wrong.
«Em, whats happened?» He moved to hug her, but Emily twisted away.
«Your mother was here again!» Her voice cracked. «She was tidying our bedroom, James! Our bedroom! Do you have any idea how messed up that is?»
James ran a hand through his haira gesture Emily knew well. He always did it when he was at a loss.
«Em, she just wants whats best…»
«Best for who?» Emilys eyes darkened. «I cant find my phone charger! My favourite mugs been movedIve been searching for half an hour! And shes hidden the bath towels somewhere!»
James reached for her hands, but she retreated to the window.
«Shes always throwing my things away, James!» Emilys voice broke as she blinked back tears. «Things that mean something to me! And she calls them useless junk!»
«Em, shes just showing she cares,» James murmured. «She likes things a certain way»
«Her way!» Emily snapped. «Im sick of someone else running my home! Your mother moves my things, decides what stays, what goes. Ive had enough!»
She sank onto a chair, covering her face with her hands. Her shoulders shook. James stepped closer and tentatively wrapped his arms around her.
«Im sorry, love. Ill talk to her, all right? Ill ask her to stop.»
Emily let out a bitter laugh.
«And shell listen to you, wont she? Right.»
James managed to calm her eventuallymade her tea, found her missing mug tucked away in the back of a cupboard.
But Margaret didnt stop.
Three days later, Emily came home and knew instantlyshed been there again. The lingering scent of heavy, cloying perfume hung in the air. On the kitchen shelves, every jar and tin had been rearranged by size. She opened the fridgegroynes lined up with infuriating precision.
Exhausted, Emily collapsed onto the sofa. Anger simmered inside her, but she had no energy left for another argument.
A week later, it happened again. This time, Margaret had «organised» the wardrobe. Every piece of clothing had been rearranged. Emilys favourite dress, always within easy reach, had been crumpled and shoved onto the top shelf.
She stood staring at the open wardrobe, swallowing back tears. This wasnt her safe haven anymore. Every day, she wonderedhad Margaret been here? What had she touched, moved, thrown away now?
On Friday evening, the phone rang.
«Yeah, Mum Of course Saturday? Sure, well be there Yeah, Ill tell her.»
James turned to Emily with a guilty expression.
«Mums invited us for dinner tomorrow. Says shes got news.»
Emily went still.
«Do we have to go?»
«Em, dont be like that. Shes trying. She always cooks your favourites.»
Saturday evening, they climbed the stairs to Margarets flat. The fifth floorno lift in the old council block. Emily dragged her feet, each step heavier than the last. Shed rather be anywhere elsestuck at work, crammed on the Tube, even at the dentistthan here.
«Itll be fine,» James squeezed her hand. «Shes made your favourite dishes. And she baked that cake you liked last time.»
Emily forced a tight smile.
At dinner, Margaret chatted only to Jamesabout the neighbour downstairs, a new TV series, the price of groceries. Emily picked at her food in silence.
«Emily, not hungry?» Margaret finally addressed her.
«Just thinking,» Emily replied automatically.
«Well,» Margaret set down her fork and folded her hands. «The news. Gladys and I are off to a spa retreat. Ten daysa bit of rest.»
«Brilliant, Mum!» James smiled. «Youve needed a break.»
«Yes, I have,» Margaret nodded, fishing a set of keys from her apron pocket. «Heres the spare set. Just in case. And could you water my plants?»
Emily stared at the keys. Two on a plain metal ring. A plan began forming in her mind. She smiled.
The next week, Emily was radiant. Her colleagues noticedshe hummed at her desk, smiled more.
«Youre cheerful,» James remarked over dinner on Wednesday. «Bonus at work?»
Emily smirked and waved him off.
«Just in a good mood.»
The day before Margarets return, Emily left work earlya doctors appointment, she said.
Now, she stood outside Margarets flat, keys in hand, heart pounding like before an exam. My turn, she thought, and turned the key.
On Sunday, they met Margaret at the station. She looked refreshed, glowing, chattering about treatments, new friends, the food.
«Porridge with honey and nutscan you imagine? Ill make it at home now!»
Emily sat quietly in the back seat, her stomach tight with nerves.
Margaret unlocked her front doorand froze. A beat. Then another. She stepped inside, her eyes darting around the hall.
«What is this?» Her voice wavered.
She rushed into the living room. Everything was spotlessbut nothing was where it belonged.
«My figurines!» Margaret flew to the display cabinet. «Where are they?»
She tore through the flat, checking drawers, cupboards. Her face turned crimson. Then she whirled on Emily, eyes blazing.
«You!» she spat. «You did this!»
Emily lifted her chin, a faint smile playing on her lips.
«Yes. I did.» She feigned innocence. «Dont you like it? I wanted to help. Save you the trouble.»
James gaped, glancing between them. But he stayed silent.
«Oh, and by the way,» Emily added sweetly, «I threw out those old figurines. And the teacups. You never used themjust collected dust. Junk, right? Like my things?»
«You had no right!» Margaret shrieked. «My home! My things! How dare you?»
«You did the same to me,» Emily said calmly. «Doesnt feel good, does it?»
«James!» Margaret turned on him. «Are you seeing this?»
James opened his mouth, but Emily cut in.
«Look at the time! Weve got to go.» She tugged his arm. «But dont worry, MargaretIll thank you properly next time you help me clean.»
She dragged a stunned James outside. They descended the stairs in silence. Only once they reached the pavement did he exhale.
«Bloody hell, Em.»
Emily grinned. Satisfaction warmed her chest. Perfect.
Two months passed. Margaret never set foot in their flat again.
I won, Emily thought with quiet triumph.
