It’s your mother so it’s your responsibility! he shouted, yet she had had enough.
Emily buttoned her son’s coat, jaw clenched, trying to keep the fury from spilling out. That morning she faced the dread she feared most: a visit to her motherinlaw. From the first hello, their relationship had felt like a perpetual tugofwar.
Margaret Hargreaves had never truly accepted Emily as her sons wife. No matter what Emily did, Margaret could always sniff out a fault, a jab, a fresh criticism.
Again, Emily? Thomas sighed, watching the hard set of her face. You dont want to go, do you?
Emily let out a sour laugh.
Are you really asking me that, Thomas? You know exactly why I dont want to go!
Her eyes flared.
Shell scold me again, belittle me, say Im not raising our boy properly! Shell forget I work, that I run the house, cook, clean and pay every bill in pounds! Im the one holding this family together!
But youre at home all day, Thomas replied, shrugging.
Emilys gaze darkened.
Oh really? You think I just sit idle? Or that money falls from the sky?
I work too, you know, he growled. It isnt my fault they dont pay me more.
The truth was that Emilys freelance design earnings were three times Thomass salary. She was the breadwinner.
Cant you go alone? she asked, hunting for an escape.
Emily, its Mothers Day! You cant ignore my mother!
She sighed, kept dressing her son. Two hours later they stood before Margarets front door, the old terraced house seeming to breathe in the mist.
In the sittingroom, Thomass niece, Lucy, was already perched on the settee, a dolllike figure against the flickering light. Emily had long sensed Margaret favored Lucy, treating her like royalty while barely noticing her own grandson. It wasnt a surprise; Lucys parents had died five years earlier, and Margaret had raised her as her own.
Around them, Margarets sisters chattered loudly, their wine glasses clinking like distant bells.
Then, like a sudden thunderclap, Margaret declared, Ive made a decision. Ill bequeath my flat to Lucy. You, Thomas, already have a home.
Thomas didnt flinch; he merely nodded.
A few days later the paperwork was signed. The flat would belong to Lucy, on the condition she moved in only after Margarets death.
But fate had other plans.
A sudden stroke left Margaret paralysed, unable to tend to herself.
Well have to move into Mums house, Thomas announced, firm, his voice echoing off the walls. She cant be left alone.
A cold shiver ran down Emilys spine. She knew what that meant. She would have to feed, clothe, bathe her, while still working and caring for their son. She said nothing.
Weeks slipped by, and Emilys patience wore thin, each day feeling like a page turning in a dream that refused to end.
Until one night she exploded.
Thomas, the flat belongs to Lucy. Shouldnt she look after Mum?
Lucy is at university, Thomas. She even has a boyfriend. You want him moving in here?
Emily laughed, a dry, icy sound, bordering on madness.
Thomas, I cant take this any longer!
He crossed his arms.
Oh, I see. Youre already exhausted?
Her hands trembled with rage.
Im suffocating! Everything rests on me! YOU, your mother, our child, my job I CANT ANYMORE!
But you work from home, he murmured, smug.
Emilys stare sharpened like broken glass.
And then? You think I dont really work?
Her heart pounded like a drum in the silent hallway.
You know what? From now on, its YOUR turn to look after your mother!
Its my mother, but its also your motherinlaw! Thats your role! You want me to wash her, perhaps?!
A deathly silence fell.
Emilys voice, calm and frosty, whispered, I owe you nothing.
Thomas chuckled.
Then hire a care worker then!
Oh? Youll pay for it?
Why should I foot the bill?
So there wont be any care worker.
He crossed his arms again.
You can use your mothers pension. Or your salary?
Thomass features hardened.
And then, why do I even have a wife?
That was the trigger.
Something inside Emily shattered completely, a blinding clarity spilling like cold water over a glass floor. Thomas had been using her for years. And Lucy? She never even visited her grandmother.
That night Emily lay awake, the house humming softly, the curtains fluttering as if breathing.
By morning she knew what she must do.
The moment Thomas left the house, she packed her things, took her son, and walked out into the foggy London street, the city lights flickering like distant stars.
She sent a single message, then blocked his number: I will not bear this burden alone any longer.
That same evening Thomas stormed in, shouting, Either you come back or Ill file for divorce!
Emily smiled softly. Do it then. I was about to.
For the first time Thomas looked lost, his eyes reflecting the empty hallway.
But she wasnt waiting for apologies. Her decision was set.
A month later the divorce was final. Thomas never apologized.
And Emily? She never regretted leaving.
Six months later
Emily heard the news. Margaret had died.
And Lucy?
She threw Thomas out without a flicker of remorse.
Only then did he understand. He had lost everything.
