Tom brought his mother to live in our tiny flat.
«Mums going to stay with us for a while,» he said, shifting awkwardly in the cramped hallway. «Theres been a burst pipe in her house, and the repairs will take ages. I couldnt just leave her with nowhere to go.»
Emily froze, a towel in her hands, having just stepped out of the shower. Her damp hair left dark patches on her old dressing gown. Behind Tom stood his mother, Margaret, with two huge suitcases and a box tied up with string.
«Hello, love,» Margaret greeted cheerfully, as if oblivious to Emilys stunned expression. «Dont worry, I wont be under your feet for long. Just until the plumbers sort things out. A month or two at most.»
A month? Two? In a thirty-square-metre flat where the kitchen was barely bigger than a cupboard and the bathroom was hardly private? Emily felt her chest tighten with dread.
«Margaret, its nice to see you,» she forced a smile, masking her panic. «But are you sure youll be comfortable here? Maybe one of your friends could put you up?»
«Oh, dont be silly, dear,» Margaret waved her off, stepping inside. «At my age, friends are either in care homes or barely getting about themselves. And I wouldnt want to impose.»
*But it’s fine to impose on us*, Emily thought but bit her tongue.
«Lets put your things here, Mum,» Tom said, pointing to a corner by the bookshelf. «Youll take the sofa, and Em and I will use the pull-out bed.»
«Absolutely not!» Margaret huffed. «Ill sleep on the pull-out. You young ones need a proper bed.»
«Mum, your backs bad. The pull-outs too firm for you,» Tom insisted.
Emily watched silently, feeling like an outsider in her own home. Technically, the flat was hersleft to her by her grandmother before the marriagebut that hardly mattered now. Tom had made the decision without even consulting her.
«Ill put the kettle on,» she said at last, retreating to the tiny kitchen where the fridge, stove, and table for two barely fit. «Margaret, you must be hungry after your journey?»
«Dont fuss, I had a sandwich on the train,» Margaret replied, already unpacking onto the armchair. «Tell me, how have you been managing here? Tom says everythings fine, but I can see how cramped it is. You two really ought to get a bigger place.»
Emily pressed her lips together. Money was a sore subject. Of course, she and Tom wanted more space, but between his salary as a car mechanic and hers as a primary school teacher, they barely scraped by. A mortgage was out of the question.
«Mum, weve talked about this,» Tom sighed. «Nows not the right time.»
«When *will* it be?» Margaret shook her head. «Youre thirty-two, Emilys twenty-eight. You should be thinking about childrenwhere would you raise them in this shoebox?»
Emilys cheeks burned. Children were another sensitive topic. Married four years, and Margaret never missed a chance to remind them she wanted grandchildren.
«Mum, lets not do this now,» Tom shot Emily an apologetic glance. «Emilys tired, youve had a long triplets all just relax.»
Margaret sniffed but dropped it, turning her attention back to unpacking.
Emily escaped to the kitchen, taking a deep breath. She loved Tom, truly. But his inability to say no to his mother, his habit of making decisions without her, drove her mad. Bringing his mum here without warninghad he even considered how shed feel?
The kettle boiled, and she mechanically made tea. Through the small kitchen window, grey tower blocks loomed under a heavy October sky. The gloomy view mirrored her mood perfectly.
«Everything alright, love?» Margarets voice made her jump.
«Fine, thanks,» Emily forced a smile. «Just thinking.»
«About what?» Margaret perched on the edge of a chair, which creaked in protest.
«Work,» Emily lied. «Ive got a difficult class this year. Twenty-eight kids, half of them with no discipline.»
«Goodness, thats awful,» Margaret tutted. «In my day, children respected their elders. Whats happened to the world?»
Emily stayed silent, pouring the tea. Margaret always romanticised the past, contrasting it with a «broken» present. Arguing was pointlessshe never listened.
«You settling in, Mum?» Tom poked his head in. «Oh, teabrilliant. Early shift tomorrow, so Ill probably turn in soon.»
«Of course, son,» Margaret patted his arm. «You rest. Emily and I can have a proper chat.»
*Just what I need*, Emily thought but said nothing. Tom gave her a grateful nod and disappeared.
«How are things with you and Tom?» Margaret asked bluntly, sipping her tea. «He never tells me anythingjust fine, fine. But I can tell somethings off.»
«Everything *is* fine,» Emily kept her tone neutral. «Just the usual routine.»
«Routine, exactly,» Margaret nodded. «Wheres the spark? The joy? Hes lost weight, you know. Are you feeding him properly?»
«I do my best,» Emily took a sip to hide her irritation. «We both work lateproper meals arent always possible.»
«Young people today,» Margaret sighed. «In my day, women managed work *and* home-cooked meals. Now its all takeaways. No wonder everyones ill.»
Emily bit her tongue. Margaret was elderly, in a difficult spot. She had to be patientfor Toms sake.
«Ill try to cook more,» she said. «Especially now youre here. Any of Toms childhood favourites you could teach me?»
This pleased Margaret, and for the next half-hour, Emily listened to recipes for shepherds pie, roast dinners, and other dishes Tom supposedly adoredthough hed never mentioned them in four years of marriage.
Finally, pleading exhaustion, Emily excused herself to the bathroom. Locking the door, she sank onto the edge of the tub and let out a long breath. How would they survive in this tiny space? Where could she go just to be alone?
When she emerged, Tom was asleep on the pull-out, and Margaret was flipping through a magazine on the sofa. Trying not to disturb them, Emily slipped into bed beside Tom. *Live and let live*, as they sayexcept right now, she felt anything but *live*d with.
Morning was chaos. The tiny bathroom now served three people, all rushing for work. Emily, who cherished her slow routinea quiet shower, coffee in peacehad to adapt to Margarets early-bird schedule.
«Emily, I washed your blouse,» Margaret announced at breakfast. «The white one on the chairit was covered in stains.»
«What?» Emily nearly choked on her coffee. «Id soaked it in a special solution! It had red wine on itordinary detergent will set the stain!»
«Nonsense,» Margaret dismissed. «Ive used washing powder for fifty years. Never ruined a thing.»
Emily marched to the bathroom. Her favourite blouse, bought on sale at a posh boutique, now had a yellowish tinge where the wine stain had been.
«Everything okay?» Tom appeared. «Mum said you were upset about the blouse. Dont worry, Ill buy you a new one.»
«Its not the blouse,» Emily said quietly. «Its that your mum goes through my things without asking. And Tomwhy didnt you *warn* me you were bringing her? We couldve planned.»
«Sorry,» he looked guilty. «I knew youd say no, so I thought itd be easier this way. She wont be here long, promise.»
«I hope not,» Emily sighed. «Just talk to her, please? Explain we have our own way of doing things.»
«Course,» he kissed her cheek. «Itll get better.»
But it didnt. Margaret rearranged cupboards, criticised Emilys cooking, even commented on how she folded laundry. Emily stayed late at work, visited friendsanything to avoid going home.
«Youre never home anymore,» Tom noted after two weeks. «Mum said you got in at nine last night.»
«Parents evening,» Emily said tiredly. «Waityour mums tracking me now?»
«Shes just concerned,» Tom said. «Thinks youre avoiding us.»
«Maybe I am,» Emily met his eyes. «Tom, I cant do this. Every move I make is judged. I feel like a guest in my own home.»
«Youre overreacting,» he frowned. «Mums trying to help.»
«Not *me*,» Emily pulled away. «I need space, Tom. To be *me*, not who someone expects.»
«Wheres she supposed to go?» Tom snapped. «Her house is unliveable. You want me to kick my own mum out?»
«Of course not,» Emily shook her head. «But there were other optionsher sister in Manchester, or a short-term let»
«With what money?» Tom threw up his hands. «You know what I earn. Were barely managing.»
Emily stayed silent. Money was always the issue. Tom was kind but unambitioushe couldve been a senior mechanic by now, even opened his own garage, but he preferred his current job: no stress, no responsibility.
«Fine,» she said at last. «Ill manage. But *talk* to her. Explain I dont need constant advice.»
«Alright,» Tom nodded, relieved the argument was over. «Ill sort it.»
He didnt. Maybe he tried, but Margaret either didnt listen or didnt care. Life revolved around her routinesmeals at strict times, laundry on certain days, even the TV schedule: news first, then *her* soaps.
The last straw came on Sunday morning. Emily, finally catching up on sleep, found Margaret rifling through her makeup bag.
«Margaret, what are you doing?» Emily snatched it back.
«Oh, youre awake,» Margaret said breezily. «Just checking your moisturiser. My hands are drythought Id borrow some.»
«You couldve *asked*,» Emily said tightly. «These are my things.»
«Dont be silly,» Margaret scoffed. «Were family. Everythings shared.»
«Not in my family,» Emily felt anger rising. «I value my privacy. Please respect that.»
«Selfish, thats what you are,» Margaret pursed her lips. «Tom, are you hearing this?»
Tom, silent until now, coughed awkwardly. «Mum, Emilys right. You should ask before taking things.»
«*Taking*?» Margaret gasped. «Im taking now? For my own son, Im a stranger?»
«Its not about the moisturiser,» Emily said wearily. «Its about boundaries.»
«Boundaries? In a *family*?» Margaret scoffed. «No wonder marriages fail these days. Mine, mine, mineno wonder kids grow up selfish.»
Emily snapped. Three weeks of tension boiled over.
«You know what?» she said, startling herself with her calm. «Im going for a walk.»
She dressed quickly and left, ignoring Toms bewildered look and Margarets frown. Outside, a chilly November drizzle fell, but Emily barely noticed. She walked fast, directionless, just putting distance between herself and the suffocating flat.
In a deserted park, she sat on a wet bench. Her phone buzzedTom. She ignored it. Let him worry. Let him feel what it was like to be disregarded.
An hour later, when he called again, she answered.
«Emily, where are you?» Tom sounded anxious. «Its been an hourIve been worried.»
«The park,» she said. «Thinking.»
«About what?»
«Us,» Emily sighed. «About how I cant do this anymore. Either your mum leaves, or… I dont know what happens next.»
«Dont be dramatic,» Toms voice hardened. «Its just moisturiser.»
«Its *not* about the moisturiser!» Emily raised her voice. «Im suffocating, Tom. I dont feel like a person anymorejust an extra in your and your mums life.»
«What do you want me to do?» Tom asked after a pause.
«Im renting a room,» Emily said firmly. «For a month, until your mums repairs are done. Then we talkproperlyabout our future.»
«Youre serious?» Tom sounded stunned. «Youre leaving over *this*?»
«Its not this, Tom,» she said quietly. «Its me trying to hold onto myself. Maybe save us, too.»
Hanging up, she felt relief. For the first time in weeks, shed made a decision for *herself*.
Emily stood, walking out of the park. Her friend Sarah had just split with her husbandshe could stay there for a while.
As for the rest? Shed figure it out. But one thing was certain: she wouldnt go back to a home where she had no spacenot today, maybe not ever.
Sometimes, stepping away is the only way to make others see what theyre about to lose.
