Evelyn, my motherinlaw, threw my dinner away in front of everyone.
Did you dress little Mitch in that thin sweater again? Its chilly out! she snapped.
Mom, its a mild fifteen degrees. He wont freeze, I protested.
Wont freeze! You youngsters never understand! A child must be bundled up properly! Evelyn snatched the light cardigan from my son and threw a woolly jumper on him. He whimpered, tried to pull away, but she was unmoved.
Itll be too warm for him, I tried to argue.
Better warm than a cold, Evelyn said, fastening the jumper and nodding approvingly. Thats how it should be. Off you go for a walk.
I bit my lip, swallowed my retort, took Mitchs hand and left my motherinlaws flat. Their flat was a floor above ours, and Evelyn considered it her duty to police every move I made.
Id married David four years ago. At first we rented a small flat on the outskirts of London. When Mitch was born, David suggested moving into his parents house more space and a helping hand from his mother.
I agreed, and instantly regretted it.
Evelyn interfered in everything: how to feed the baby, how to dress him, how to put him to sleep. My voice disappeared. Every suggestion I made was instantly shot down.
Youre young, inexperienced. I raised three children; I know best, shed say.
David usually stayed silent, muttering that she was only being caring, that I shouldnt mind. But I felt like a servant, not the lady of the house.
The kitchen was the worst battleground. Evelyn fancied herself a culinary genius and dismissed any other method.
Borscht must be made exactly like this, with smoked ribs! What did you add? shed bark.
Meatballs need a slice of pork fat! Yours are as dry as a shoe sole!
My pie isnt risen enough! The dough should rest three hours, not one!
At first I tried to argue, to prove my ways worked too, but Evelyn never listened. Soon I stopped cooking altogether. Why bother if everything I made was torn apart?
Then the day of my fatherinlaw Peters birthday arrived. I wanted to prove I could still cook, to show I could be useful. Before anyone awoke, I rose and began.
I made a shrimp salad Peters favourite baked chicken with vegetables, and a classic Victoria sponge using my mothers recipe. The kitchen filled with warm aromas. Peter appeared, sniffed the air.
Ah, smells wonderful! Did you, dear Nat, do all this? he asked.
Yes, Peter. Happy birthday! I replied.
Thank you, love! he said, smiling. He always defended me when Evelyn started to tear me apart.
Evelyn entered the kitchen, her face sour.
Whats that smell this morning? she demanded.
Mom, Nat prepared this for my birthday, Peter said, still smiling.
Evelyn lifted the lid off the salad bowl, inhaled, and twisted her nose.
What is this?
Its shrimp salad, I said, turning to her. Peter likes it.
Shrimp? He gets heartburn from shrimp! Evelyn snarled. He never said that!
Nothing he said! she shouted, slamming the bowl down. And this?
Its chicken with vegetables, I answered.
She opened the oven, poked the chicken with a fork.
Its dry. Overcooked.
It just came out of the oven, David interjected, stepping into the kitchen. Let us try it.
No need to taste, I can see it already, Evelyn said, slamming the oven shut. And whats this dreadful cake?
Its a Victoria sponge, I whispered, a lump rising in my throat. My mums recipe.
Your mum cant cook, Evelyn scoffed. An apple never falls far from the tree.
I clenched my fists. My mum cooks wonderfully!
Right, I see. Taught you everything, she retorted, grabbing the shrimp bowl and hurling it toward the bin.
What are you doing? I lunged forward.
Throwing it away. No one will eat it.
In front of everyone Evelyn dumped the salad into the waste. I stood frozen. Id bought the shrimp myself, spent my hardearned money on fresh, pricey prawns, and painstakingly arranged everything. And she just tossed it.
Mom, what are you doing?! David shouted, stepping forward. Why did you throw it away?
Because your father gets heartburn from shrimp! I know whats good for him! she replied.
Dad, Id love a bite, Peter said, trying to calm her. Why dump it?
Dont argue with me! Evelyn turned to her son. Ive cared for you for thirty years; I know what harms you!
I stared at the empty bin, tears choking my throat, but I refused to cry in front of her. I turned and fled the kitchen, slipped into the bedroom, closed the door, and let the tears flow.
How could she? She threw it away, deliberately, in front of everyone, humiliating me, crushing my spirit.
The door creaked open. David entered.
Nat, dont cry. Mum just got a bit worked up, he said.
Worked up? She threw my food away, in front of everyone! I sobbed.
Well shes really concerned about his heartburn, David tried to explain. He does get it sometimes.
From shrimp? He told me he loves them!
Maybe he liked them before, but not now.
I looked at David. He always defended his mother, never once stood up for me.
Why do you always excuse her? I asked.
Im not excusing her. I just understand. Mum needs to control everything.
And my feelings? Dont they matter?
It hurts, of course, David sat beside me. But dont take it to heart. She treats everyone like this.
David, she doesnt respect me at all. Im nobody to her.
Its not like that.
It is! She calls me foolish, incompetent! Everything I do is wrong!
David fell silent.
Lets not fight. Its his birthday, after all. Lets sit together.
I shook my head.
I dont want to.
Nat
Go without me. Say youre ill.
David sighed, got up, and left. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the churn inside me growing.
Enough. I could not endure this any longer. Something had to change.
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, I returned to the kitchen. The chicken and sponge sat untouched. Evelyn had prepared her own dinner fried potatoes with meatballs and everyone ate her food while none of my dishes were even sampled, except for Peter. He sneaked a bite of the sponge, smiled, and whispered, Delicious, thank you, dear.
I cleared the table, washed the dishes. Evelyn lounged in the living room watching TV, offering no help, as if it were my duty to clean.
When I finished, David appeared.
Nat, Mum wants to speak with you.
What about?
I dont know. Shes in the lounge.
I wiped my hands and went to the lounge. Evelyn turned off the television, faced me.
Sit down, she commanded.
I perched on the edge of the sofa, feeling her eyes weigh me.
I want you to understand one thing, she began. This is my house. My rules. If you want to stay, youll do as I say.
Silence stretched.
The kitchen is my domain. No more of your shrimp or other nonsense.
I only wanted to make Peter happy.
Happy means obeying your motherinlaw, not improvising.
Im also a member of this family. I have a right to cook.
Evelyn smirked. Member? You live off my supplies. I feed you, wash for you. What do you do? Stay at home with the baby.
I look after him! I retorted.
Look after him. I worked and raised children, you just whine.
I sprang up. Im not whining! I just want respect!
Respect is earned, Evelyn said, standing. What have you done for me? Nothing but sulk.
I turned and fled the room, unable to hear any more. I slipped into the bedroom where David lay.
David, we have to move out, I whispered.
He looked up, surprised.
Where to?
Find a flat. I cant live here any longer.
We dont have the money, he said, eyes returning to his phone.
Well find it. Ill get a job, I insisted.
What about Mitch?
Well put him in nursery.
Youre being naive. My salary barely covers the bills. If we rent somewhere, therell be nothing left.
So I keep putting up with your mother? I shouted.
Shes not that terrible
Mom! She threw my food away today, in front of everyone! She humiliated me!
Maybe you overreact, but dont make a scandal out of it, David tried to calm me.
He lay back, indifferent, as if the hurt were invisible.
You always side with her, I accused.
Im not on her side. I just dont see the point in fighting.
What about my opinion?
It matters, but be adult about it. Hold on a bit longer. Ill get a bonus in six months, well save and move.
Six months. Another halfyear of Evelyns tyranny. I didnt know if I could last that long, but there was no money for a new flat, no work, and Mitch was still a baby.
The next morning Evelyn acted as if nothing had happened, commanding breakfast, issuing orders. I ate quietly, avoiding her gaze.
Later the phone rang. It was my mother.
Nat, hows the birthday?
I stepped onto the balcony, shielding my voice.
Its terrible, I whispered.
Whats wrong?
I recounted the salad, the humiliation. She listened in silence.
Darling, why are you putting up with this? Move out.
Theres no money.
We could help, but were barely getting by ourselves.
No, Mum. I cant ask you.
But you cant stay there forever! Shes humiliating you.
I know. David promised a new place in six months.
My brother suggested you find parttime work. Even a few hours a week would give you some cash and a break from her.
What about Mitch?
Theres a nursery nearby. Hes three now, perfect age.
David says nursery is bad, kids get sick.
All kids get sick sometimes, but hell make friends, develop.
Fine, I said, a spark of resolve forming.
That evening, after Mitch was asleep, I brought up the idea with David.
David, I need a job.
He frowned. Why?
So we have money, we can move sooner.
What about Mitch?
Well put him in nursery. Hes three, thats fine.
David hesitated. Mum says nursery is harmful.
Kids get sick everywhere. Hell learn, play.
Alright. Lets try. Just dont tell Mum yet.
I agreed. The next day I queued for a nursery spot; they said a place would open in a month. I also applied for a parttime admin role at a small firm, ninetothree, which would let me pick Mitch up.
When I finally got the job, I told Evelyn.
Im starting work on Monday, I announced.
She looked up from the pot she was stirring.
Work? And Mitch?
In nursery.
In nursery? Who decided that? she snapped.
We did, David and I.
You didnt even ask me?
She flung a ladle against the sink. Your decision! Sending your child to a centre and you going to work? What kind of mother are you?
Im a normal mother. Many work and send kids to nursery.
Many! I never did that! I stayed home, raised you! she hissed. And you think you can build a career?
I want to earn.
Earn? Can David not afford us?
Maybe, but I want independence.
Independence? Do you even care about the child?
Yes! I just think nursery wont hurt him.
It will! Infections, bad influence! Hell fall ill!
Im deciding, I said firmly. Ill work, and thats final.
Evelyn shouted, David! Come here!
David entered, puzzled.
Whats happening?
Your wife wants to send the child away and go to work! Evelyn cried.
Mom, we talked about this. Nat wants to work, thats fine, David replied.
Fine? You let her put Mitch in a centre without asking me?
Yes.
Didnt you consult me?
This is our decision, David said.
Evelyn stared at her son, then slammed the kitchen door shut.
I exhaled, feeling Davids arms around me. Shell calm down, he whispered.
For a week Evelyn gave us the silent treatment, cooking only for herself and Peter. David and I had to feed ourselves.
I stopped feeling angry; I was simply glad I could finally prepare my own meals without criticism.
On Monday I began work. Mitch went to nursery, thriving, laughing, making friends. Evelyn warned he would cry, get sick, but nothing happened. He came home brighteyed, bragging about his new teacher.
At work the colleagues were friendly, my boss fair. The salary was modest, but it was mine. I saved every penny.
Three months later we had enough for a deposit on a modest twobed flat on the outskirts of town. We signed the tenancy, paid the first months rent and deposit.
I had to tell my parents. David hesitated, fearing his mothers reaction, but we could not delay; we were moving in a week.
That evening, after dinner, David gathered everyone in the lounge.
Mom, Dad, we have something to say, he began.
Evelyns eyes narrowed.
What about?
Nat and I are moving out. Weve found a flat.
A heavy silence fell. Evelyn placed her teacup gently on the table.
Moving out? she repeated, as if hearing an echo. So youre unhappy here?
No, just we need our own space.
You ungrateful wretches! I fed you, washed for you, looked after Mitch! And now you abandon us?
Mom, were grateful, but were adults. We need our own place.
Its all her fault! Evelyn pointed at me. Shes the one who wanted to leave! Shes the one who brought shrimp and chaos!
Peter, the grandfather, rose.
Evelyn, calm down. Theyre right. They need their own life.
Dont you dare intervene! Evelyn roared at him. Its your sons wifes fault! Shes trying to take him away from us!
Peter sighed. Shes just trying to live independently. Its not your burden.
David placed a hand on my shoulder. Well visit on weekends, holidays.
Of course, he said, patting Davids shoulder. Just be happy.
I smiled, grateful that someone finally understood.
A week later we moved into the tiny, cosy flat. Evelyn never came to say goodbye, staying in her bedroom, refusing to appear. Peter helped carry boxes, giving me a gentle nod.
The new place was small but warm. I arranged it with pride, finally feeling like the lady of a home. I cooked what I wanted, cleaned how I liked, without anyones snide comments.
David relaxed without his mothers watchful eye. We grew closer again, like at the start of our marriage.
Mitch loved his own room, his toys, his space.
Evelyn never called. She was offended, silent. Peter phoned now and then, asking how we were, his voice soft, his wifes pride hidden.
Six months passed. I had settled into my independent life, unable to imagine how Id endured Evelyns rule.
One weekend David suggested visiting his parents.
Nat, lets see Mum, he said.
Alright, I agreed. Well go.
We arrived midday. Peter opened the door, beaming.
Come in, come in! Little Mitch, look how tall youve become!
Evelyn emerged from the kitchen, froze, then managed a stiff smile.
Hello, she said.
I handed her a bouquet of flowers. For you.
She took them without a word.
We sat down for dinner. Evelyn prepared a meal, as always delicious. The conversation was strained; she answered in monosyllables, avoiding my eyes.
After lunch David went to the garage with his father to fix something. I stayed with Mitch in the lounge while Evelyn cleared the table.
I rose, walked to the kitchen.
Evelyn, may I help?
No, thank you, she replied coldly.
May I at least wash the dishes?
I said no.
I sighed, Lets try to make peace, Evelyn. No need for fights.
She paused, turned slowly.
Make peace? she asked. Whats the point? You live elsewhere now.
But were still family. Id like us to get along.
She fell silent.
You stole my son, she whispered, eyes downcast. I thought you were taking him away.
I didnt take him, I said gently. David decided. We just needed space.
You made him think you were the one in charge, she murmured. Ive always controlled everything. You came with your own ways. It was hard for me.
I didnt want to change you. I just wanted to be myself.
I understand now, she admitted. Ive spent my whole life making everyone listen to me. Its hard when someone else arrives.
I never wanted to force you, I said. Just to have my own voice.
Silence settled. She stood, walked to the fridge, took out a cake container.
I made a cake. Take it with you, she offered.
Thank you, I said, taking the container.
And next week Ill make your favourite shrimp salad again, she added, a faint smile flickering.
Ill be glad to come, I replied, surprised.
We left the house, our relationship tentative but healing. Evelyn softened, no longer snapping at every move I made.As I walked away, the warm scent of the cake lingered, a quiet promise that even the deepest rifts could someday be sweetly mended.
