**Diary Entry**
I still remember the day everything changed. I walked into the hospital room, heart pounding, trying to sound cheerful. «Surprise, lovewe’re moving in with Mum,» I said, forcing a grin.
Emmas face fell. Her hospital gown hung loosely on her slim frame, and her exhausted eyes widened in disbelief. «Have you lost your mind? We agreed on Oliver! Not Paul!» Her voice was quiet but sharp, still weak from labour.
I shifted uncomfortably, gripping a polystyrene cup of cold tea. «Em, pleaseMum begged me. Its for my dads sake. He meant everything to her.»
«And what about what means everything to *us*?» Her words trembled. «We spent *months* picking that name. Reading meanings, arguing, laughingfinally agreeing on one we *both* loved. Since when does your mum get a say?»
I couldnt meet her gaze. «Shell be devastated if we dont name him Paul. Says its about respect.»
«Respect is remembering someone, not forcing a child to carry a name he never chose!» Emmas voice cracked. «You *promised* me, James!»
«I know, Im sorry. But I couldnt say no to her.» When I turned, my eyes pleaded, but the stubborn set of my jaw made her recoil. «Lets not fight now. You need rest. Theyre discharging you tomorrowMums already prepping the house.»
I tried to hug her, but she stiffened. The word *house* soured the air. Just yesterday, shed dreamt of stepping into *our* cosy flat, tucking our son into the crib wed built together. Now, the word felt like a betrayal.
The next day, chaos masked her unease. Flowers, clumsy congratulations from nurses, the blue-ribboned birth certificatelight as paper, heavy as the world. I played the doting husband, carrying bags, opening car doors. Emma cradled Ollie, breathing in his milky scent. Maybe this *was* happiness. Maybe the fights were just noise.
Then I drove past our street.
«James, where are you going?» Emma frowned out the window.
«Surprise!» I said brightly, avoiding her eyes.
Her breath hitched as she recognised the neighbourhoodthe peeling paint, the wrought-iron gate. My mothers house.
«*What* surprise?» Her voice was thin.
I parked, silence swelling between us. «Were staying with Mum,» I said, like it was good news. «I thought youd need help with the baby. And moneys tight while youre on maternity leave.»
Emma stared at me, pale. «You decided this *without* me?» she whispered. «You waited until I was trapped with a newborn to tell me?»
«Emma, its for the best!» My tone turned defensive. «Mums given us the big roomshes been preparing for weeks!»
The front door flew open. Mum rushed out, beaming. «My darlings! Finally! James, grab the bags. Emma, bring my little Pauloh, hes *perfect*!»
*My little Paul.* The words struck like a slap. Emmas face went blank.
Inside, the house smelled of lavender polish and mothballs. The «big room» was crowded with mahogany furniture. Our crib sat awkwardly by the window.
«Make yourselves at home!» Mum chirped. «Ive cleared two shelves for you. Jamesll fetch the rest tomorrow.»
«*What* rest?» Emma asked flatly.
«From your flat, of course! Were renting it outextra income never hurts!»
Emma looked at me. I winced, silently begging: *Not now.*
She didnt fight. That night, though, she hissed under the hum of Mums telly: «You sold our life, James. *Our* home.»
«Its just temporary!» I whispered back. «Until Ollies older. Mums rightwe need the help.»
«I need *you*,» she said bitterly. «Not a man who runs to Mummy for everything. And his name is *Oliver*.»
The weeks blurred. Mum wasnt crueljust *helpful*. Too helpful. She barged in at dawn («Up! The baby needs feeding!»), rewashed nappies («Your detergents full of chemicals!»), overruled every choice («Dont cuddle himyoull spoil him!»).
Emma shrank. I came home to idyllic scenesMum cooing at Ollie, dinner readyand brushed off Emmas tears. «She means well,» Id say.
Then came the bath incident. Emma had used chamomile, as the GP advised. Mum marched in. «That herbs nonsense! He needs potassium permanganatekills germs!» Before Emma could stop her, she dumped crystals in. The water turned violet.
Emma snatched Ollie out. «Youll burn his skin!»
«Nonsense! I know what Im doing!»
That night, I found Emma packing. «Were leaving.»
«*What?* Where?»
«Anywhere. My mums. A rental. *Not here.*»
Mum stormed in. «Ungrateful girl! After all Ive done»
«Thank you,» Emma cut in, icy calm. «But were fine on our own.»
Mum rounded on me. «Youre letting her disrespect me?»
I faltered. Emmas gaze never wavered. «Choose, James. Your familyor your mother.»
The longest minute of my life. Then: «Sorry, Mum. Emmas right.»
Mums face twisted. «*Traitor!* After all my sacrificesget *out*!»
We left under her screams. In the car, Emma cried silentlynot from grief, but relief.
At her mums, there were no questions. Just tea and quiet. Slowly, Emma bloomed. Ollie slept better.
One night, I broke. «Im sorry. I was scared I couldnt provide. I took the easy way out.»
«For *you*,» she said softly.
«Yeah.» I swallowed. «I love you. Both of you. No one comes between us again.»
A month later, we reclaimed our flateating into savings to break the lease. Stepping inside, Emma exhaled. *Home.*
She tucked Ollie in. «Sleep well, love. Its all alright now.»
Mum never forgave us. I visit alonebrief, tense. She refuses to see Ollie.
Lifes not perfect. Moneys tight. We argue. But its *ours*. A fortress were building together. And thats everything.
**Lesson learned:** A marriage isnt a triangle with parents at the top. Sometimes, love means choosing your partnereven when it hurts.
