«Go back to your mother,» ordered her husband, shoving the bags into her hands.
«Mum, stop calling him,» Emily set her cup down with a sigh. «Pauls at workhes in a meeting.»
«At work, is he?» Margaret pursed her lips. «I know all about these meetings. He was in one last night too, wasnt he, when he rolled in at midnight? You could smell the whisky on him from a mile away.»
Emily rubbed her temples. Since she and Paul had moved back in with her mother, every morning started this way. Just for a couple of months, theyd agreed, while their flat was being renovated. But the second month was nearly over, and the work showed no sign of ending.
«Mum, please,» Emily kept her voice steady. «You promised not to interfere.»
«Im not interfering,» Margaret set her phone aside. «Im just worried. Youre working yourself to the bone while hes out gallivanting. What sort of man does that?»
«A good one,» Emily stood up. «And hes not gallivanting. It was an important client meetingI told you.»
Margaret huffed but didnt argue. Emily knew that lookher mother didnt believe a word of it.
«Im going to work,» Emily said, grabbing her bag. «Ill be back by eight.»
«What about lunch? I made soup.»
«No time, Mum. One oclock meeting, then a client after.»
«Youre always starving yourself,» Margaret shook her head. «No wonder youre not pregnant. How can a body make babies on an empty stomach?»
Emily exhaled. The topic of children was a sore one, but her mother brought it up with relentless frequency. Five years married, and still no grandchildren. Unforgivable.
«See you tonight,» Emily kissed her mothers cheek. «Paul promised hed be back early, so well have dinner together.»
«If he comes back at all,» Margaret muttered.
Emily stepped out, closing the door behind her, and leaned against the hallway wall. The stairwell smelled of damp and catsthe scent of her childhood. Once, it had felt comforting. Now it just grated.
In the car, she called Paul first.
«Paul, did Mum ring you again?»
«Three times,» his voice was weary. «I didnt pick up.»
«Sorry. She worries.»
«Worries?» Paul scoffed. «She monitors my every move. Last night, it was an interrogationwhere was I, who was I drinking with, why so late? Im not a teenager, Em.»
«I know,» Emily started the engine. «Just hang in a bit longer. The builder promised to finish the bathroom this week, then its just the kitchen left. Well be home soon.»
Paul was silent. When he spoke again, his voice was dull.
«What if I dont want to go back?»
«What do you mean?» Emily frowned.
«Never mind. See you at work.»
He hung up. Emily stared at her phone, a knot tightening in her stomach. What had he meant? Didnt want to go back to their flat? Or didnt want to go backto her?
Work dragged endlessly. She couldnt focus, fumbling through numbers in meetings, forgetting key points with clients. Paul was out on-site all day, returning only by evening.
She got home late, past nine, after fixing her paperwork errors. The flat was quiet, just the muffled hum of the telly from the kitchen.
«Im home!» she called, kicking off her shoes.
No answer. Oddusually, her mother came out to ask about her day. Emily walked in and froze.
At the table sat Margaret and Paul, the air between them crackling. Margaret glared at the telly, pointedly ignoring her son-in-law. Paul twisted a cold teacup in his hands.
«Whats going on?» Emily asked.
Paul looked up, his gaze icy.
«Ask your mother,» he said. «Shes been ripping into me for the last half-hour.»
«Margaret, what happened?»
Margaret sniffed.
«Nothing happened. Just told your husband a few hard truths. That hes not much of a man. Cant even provide properlyliving off his mother-in-law because he cant afford his own place.»
«Mum!» Emily gasped. «We have our own place!»
«A shoebox in some concrete block,» Margaret waved her off. «In my day, men built homes. Fed their families. And this one? Some sort of office drone…»
«Im a project lead,» Paul ground out. «And I earn enough. Were only here because of the renovations.»
«Five years together, and whatve you got?» Margaret barrelled on. «No kids, no proper home. Your wifes breaking her back, and you»
«Mum, enough!» Emily raised her voice. «We agreedno pressure, no baby talk!»
Margaret pressed her lips together.
«I only want whats best. Youre thirty-two, love. Times ticking.»
Emily sat beside Paul, taking his hand. He didnt pull awaybut didnt squeeze back.
«Paul, Im sorry. Shes just concerned.»
«Concerned?» He laughed bitterly. «She thinks Im a failure. Always has.»
Emily stayed quiet. What could she say? Her mother *had* opposed their marriage from the start. *»No prospects,»* shed said. *»No money, no connections. And five years youngerstill wet behind the ears.»*
«Go to bed,» Margaret grumbled, standing. «Ive got my blood pressure check in the morning, and you two are making a scene.»
She shuffled off, slamming her door. Emily and Paul were alone.
«Sorry,» she said again.
«For what?» Paul looked exhausted. «That your mother thinks Im worthless? Or that you never stand up to her?»
«I *do* stand up to her!»
«No, Em. You nod along, then tell me to *hang in there.* Five years of hanging. Maybe Im done.»
He stood, pushing his chair back.
«Where are you going?»
«To bed. Early start.»
Emily watched him walk away to their tiny roomher old childhood bedroom, barely fitting a double bed. Clenching her fists, she glanced at her mothers door. She wanted to storm in, scream, unleash all the frustration. But she couldnt. Never could.
The next morning, Paul left before she woke. Margaret sat at the kitchen table with tea and pills.
«Your prince charming run off, has he?»
«Mum, stop,» Emily said tiredly. «Hes my husband. I love him. You need to respect that.»
«Respects earned,» Margaret snapped. «Your father was a *real* man. Could fix anything. But this one? Leaky tapcall a plumber. Shelf fallsask the neighbour. Useless.»
Emily chewed her toast in silence. Arguing was pointless. Her mother saw the world in black and whiteright and wrong. And she was never wrong.
At work, Paul was gone againon-site all day. They exchanged terse messages about work, nothing about last night. Emily stayed late, dreading going home.
But when she returned, the lights were on in every room. Raised voices came from the kitchen. She hurried in.
Paul and Margaret stood facing each other. Her mothers face was crimson with rage; Pauls jaw was set, veins standing out.
«Whats happening?» Emily asked.
«Your husband,» Margaret jabbed a finger at Paul, «is moving out. Found a flat. Leaving tomorrow.»
Emily went pale.
«Paul, is this true?»
«Yeah,» he nodded. «Decent place near work. Moving tomorrow.»
«What about me?»
«Your choice,» he met her eyes. «Come with me, or stay. But I wont live like this anymore, Em. Listening to how much of a failure I am. Justifying every minute of my day. This isnt a life.»
«See?» Margaret crowed. «Hes leaving you! What did I say? Worthless!»
«Mum!» Emily whirled on her. «Enough!»
Margaret blinked, unaccustomed to defiance.
«Im still your mother,» she said weakly. «I know whats what. Let him go. Youre my daughterhes nothing.»
«Paul,» Emily turned back. «Lets talk. Maybe»
«Nothing left to say,» he cut in. «Im going. With or without youyou decide.»
He walked out. Emily moved to follow, but Margaret grabbed her wrist.
«Dont humiliate yourself. Let him go. Youll find better.»
Emily wrenched free.
«I dont *want* better! I love himdo you understand? *Love him!*»
«Stop shouting,» Margaret winced. «Loves for storybooks. Lifes about stability. Your Pauls weak. Walks out today, runs off with someone else tomorrow.»
Emily stared at her mother and suddenly *knew*nothing would change. Ever. This woman would always believe she knew best, always interfere, always criticize. And Paul was rightthey couldnt live like this.
«Im going with him,» she said firmly. «Tomorrow.»
«What?» Margaret gasped. «Youre mad! Youve got everything herea roof, food, *me.* And there? Some rented hovel with a man wholl toss you aside!»
«Better a hovel with someone I love than a gilded cage.»
Margaret paled.
«So my homes a cage? Im your jailer? I *sacrificed everything* for you! Raised you alone!»
«And youve held it over me my whole life,» Emily said quietly. «You wont let me go, Mum. Wont let me live. Build my own family.»
«What family?» Margaret sneered. «Five yearsno kids, no home. Just work.»
«We didnt have kids because we wanted to be stable first,» Emily explained. «Now… now Im just scared. Scared youll take over with grandchildren tooboss us around, criticize everything.»
«I only want whats best!»
«I know. But your best is suffocating us. *Me.*»
Emily left her mother gaping and went to Paul. He sat on the bed, staring at the wall.
«Im coming with you,» she said, sitting beside him. «Im sorry I didnt see how hard this was for you.»
Paul pulled her close.
«I love you,» he whispered. «I just cant stay here. Shes driving me mad.»
«Me too,» Emily admitted. «I just… I only just realized.»
They lay in silence, listening to Margaret stomp around the flat, slamming cupboards, flicking the telly on and off.
In the morning, Paul was gone before Emily woke. Margaret sat at the table, untouched tea before her.
«Your knight in shining armors fled?»
«Mum, *stop,*» Emily said wearily. «Hes my husband. I love him. You *have* to respect that.»
«Respects earned,» Margaret said coldly. «Your father was a *real* man. Could fix anything. This one? Calls a handyman to hang a picture. Pathetic.»
Emily ate mechanically. Arguing was futile.
Work was a blur. Paul texted the new flats addressa bright two-bed with a big kitchen. Emily stared at the photos but felt no joy. Only dread.
She came home early to pack, but her bags were already by the door.
«Mum?» Emily called. «You home?»
Margaret emerged, eyes red.
«Packed for you,» she said stiffly. «If youve forgotten anything, fetch it later.»
«Why?» Emily whispered, staring at the bags.
«What else could I do?» Margaret shrugged. «Youve made your choice. No point dragging it out.»
Emily stepped closer.
«Mum, Im not leaving forever. Well visit»
«Go back to your mother,» Pauls voice cut in. He stood in the doorway, glaring at Margaret.
«Paul, whats wrong?» Emily asked.
«Go back to your mother,» he repeated coldly. «Since shes packed your things, its decided.»
«Nothings decided! Mum was just helping»
«Helping?» Paul laughed harshly. «Shes *ejecting* you. Packed your stuff, left it by the door. Thats being *thrown out.*»
«No, you dont understand»
Margaret burst into tearsloud, ugly sobs. Emily rushed to her.
«Mum, stop! Im not going anywhere!»
«Go to him,» Margaret wailed. «Leave me. I get it. You dont need me anymore.»
Emily held her, stroking her hair. Paul watched, stone-faced.
«Choose, Em,» he said softly. «Come with me, or stay. But if you stay, its for good. I wont play these games anymore.»
«What games?» Emily frowned. «Paul, what are you saying?»
«Shes manipulating you,» Paul nodded at Margaret. «Always has. And you fall for it. You *will* keep falling for it, as long as youre under her roof.»
Margaret lifted her tear-streaked face.
«See, love? *See* what hes like? Wants to tear us apart. Steal you from me.»
Emily looked between themthe two people she loved most, waiting for her choice. And for the first time, she didnt know what to do.
«I cant decide like this,» she whispered. «I need time.»
«There *is* no time,» Paul said flatly. «Ive paid a months rent. We go now, or I go alone. For good.»
«Dont you *dare* give ultimatums in *my* house,» Margaret snapped. «Shes *my* daughter! *Mine!* Not yours!»
«Shes my *wife,*» Paul said coldly. «And Ill fight for my family.»
Emily stepped back, breathing hard. One clear thought pierced the fog: *This will never end.* If she stayed, her mother would always control her. If she left with Paul, hed never accept her mother.
«Im staying,» she said softly.
Paul flinched like shed struck him.
«What?»
«Im staying, Paul,» she repeated. «Mums alone. She needs me. We… we can wait a bit longer. Till the renovations finish.»
Margaret smirked at Paul.
«See? A daughter *always* chooses her mother.»
«Go back to your mother,» Paul shoved the bags onto the landing. «Live with her, if she matters more than us. But dont wait for me. Im done.»
He left. Emily lunged after him, but Margaret yanked her back.
«Let him go. Hell cool off. And if he doesnt? Good riddance. We dont need him.»
Emily stared at the closed door, her world crumbling. The choice was made. Right or wrongonly time would tell.
Two weeks later, divorce papers arrived in the post. Emily signed without reading. Margaret said nothing, just pursed her lips when told.
The renovations finished a month later. The flat stood emptyEmily couldnt bear to go back. She decided to rent it out.
She found a new jobfar from Pauls office. Went to films, the theatre. Sometimes even with Margaret, whod softened oddly, as if afraid of losing her completely.
Some nights, Emily cried, missing Paul. Wonderedwhat if shed chosen differently? Gone with him? Would they have been happy?
But life doesnt deal in *what-ifs.* The choice was made. The path taken. And Emily walked it, day by day, learning to live without him. Learning not to blame her mother, or Paul, or herself.
What came next? Only time would tell.
