Your mum will live with us; your parents can stay in the village, he said, his voice flat.
How could you spend five hundred pounds on a kitchen set?!
Oliver slammed the receipt onto the table; the plates jumped. Eleanor flinched, then forced a calm.
It was a set. The old one fell apart the door came off, the worktop was stained.
Five hundred pounds! We agreed wed discuss any big purchase first!
I told you a month ago, didnt I? You said, look yourself!
I never said spend that much!
And how much do you think a decent set should cost? Ten pounds? That was the cheapest you could find!
Oliver paced the cramped kitchen, tugging at his hair.
Every penny counts now. Weve been saving for a car!
Well save. But I need somewhere to cook now, not when we can finally afford a car.
You could have waited!
Wait? Another six months cooking on two burners because the rest wont work?
He turned to her, eyes hard.
You know what? If you could actually save, wed already have a car and a bigger flat!
Eleanor felt a lump form in her throat.
Dont tell me Im bad at saving I count every pound to make it last till payday. I buy the cheapest groceries and wear the same coat for three years.
Now youre playing the victim again!
Im not a victim; Im just stating facts!
They stood opposite each other, breathing heavily. Tears welled in Eleanors eyes, but she swallowed them down no crying, no weakness.
Olivers phone rang. He glanced at the screen.
Mum, he muttered and slipped out into the hallway.
Eleanor remained at the kitchen table, head in her hands. What had happened to them? Theyd never fought over money before. Theyd never argued so often.
She remembered how they met. She worked as a receptionist at a dental practice; Oliver came in for a filling. They chatted while waiting. He invited her for tea. Six months later he proposed.
She was twentysix, he twentyeight. Both working, sharing a modest flat, then buying a onebedroom on the outskirts of London. Simple, but theirs.
Life was ordinary not rich, not destitute. Arguments were rare and petty. She thought everything was fine.
Then something cracked. Oliver grew irritable, nitpicking, always bringing up money and saving. He earned well as a manager at a large firm, but she earned less, trying to help at home, cooking, stretching every pound.
He kept finding fault you didnt cook right, you didnt clean properly, you spent too much.
Oliver returned to the kitchen, his face serious.
Eleanor, we need to talk.
Im listening.
My mum called. Her health is failing blood pressure spikes, her heart is shaky. She cant live alone.
And?
Ive decided shell move in with us until she recovers.
Eleanor stared at him.
Oliver, our flat is a onebedroom. Where will she stay?
On the sofa in the living room. Well move the bed to the kitchen and put a foldout couch.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Shes my mother. I cant leave her like this.
Im not saying we should leave her, but could we hire a carer? Or
A carer costs money money we dont have because of your spending.
Eleanor clenched her fists under the table.
And my parents? Theyre about seventy, my dad cant manage the house, my mum struggled after a stroke.
Your parents live in a cottage in Kent. They have their garden, theyre fine there.
Theyre not fine! I drive up every week to chop wood, fetch water, tidy up!
Keep doing that, but my mum will stay here.
Why does your mum get priority while my parents have to suffer in the countryside?
Olivers gaze hardened.
Because my mum is alone. Your parents have each other, and theyre used to the village life.
Used? Oliver, are you hearing yourself?
I hear you. Mum will stay with us, your parents can remain in the village. Thats my decision.
Eleanor rose, voice shaking.
You decided. Not us. No discussion.
Im the head of the family.
The head of the family who splurges on fishing gear but wont buy a proper kitchen set for his wife!
Dont twist my words!
Im not twisting, Im stating facts! You think you have the right to decide for both of us, but when it comes to my parents, youre suddenly considerate!
Your parents are fine!
No, theyre struggling, and you never even ask if they need help!
Oliver snatched his car keys.
Im done with this. Mum arrives Saturday. Prepare the room.
What if I refuse?
This is my flat. Im paying the mortgage. My mother will live here whether you like it or not.
He stormed out. Eleanor sank onto the kitchen floor, sobbing silently. This was her flat, her decision, her mother. And she? A servant? A shadow forced to obey every whim?
She dried her tears, dialed her parents.
Hello, love? her mother answered, voice frail.
Mum, how are you?
Nothing much, dear. Dads chopping firewood, were heating the stove. Its a cold year.
Could you move to the city? I could find a flat
Dont be silly, Ellie! Weve lived here all our lives. And where would the money come from for a rent?
Ill manage.
Dont. Well manage. You already do enough. Just dont wear yourself out.
Eleanor swallowed another sob.
Ill be there Sunday, bring groceries.
Come, love. Well be waiting.
She hung up, staring at the empty kitchen. Her parents never complained; they always said theyd manage. Yet she saw their cramped cottage, the cold walls, the water bucket they lugged from the well, the firewood piled outside. Her dad, seventythree, struggled after heart surgery; her mum, after a stroke, could barely use her left hand. They persevered, refusing to be a burden.
Her motherinlaw, Margaret, lived in a modest twobedroom flat in Croydon. She was younger than Eleanors parents sixtyfive and though her health wasnt perfect, she managed on her modest pension. Margaret called Oliver ten times a day, offering advice on everything. Oliver obeyed without question.
Eleanor tried to endure, then to protest, but Oliver always sided with his mother, accusing Eleanor of not understanding his mums good intentions.
Now Margaret was moving in. Their tiny flat would have to accommodate her, and Eleanor would be reduced to a servant.
One evening, after a long day, Oliver returned, slipped straight to the bedroom, ignoring Eleanors greeting. She lay on the sofa, pretending to sleep.
The next morning Oliver left early for work, leaving a note on the table: Prepare a room for Mum on Saturday. Clean the floors, change the bedding.
Eleanor crumpled the note and tossed it in the bin.
Friday night she drove to Kent, delivered food, medicine, helped her dad split firewood, and cleaned her mums cottage. Over tea, her mum looked at her, concern in her eyes.
You look pale, love. Everything alright?
Its Margaret moving in.
Her dad shrugged. Old people have to live somewhere. Let her stay.
Eleanors throat tightened.
Do you want us to move our parents too? she asked, voice trembling.
Her mother placed a hand on hers. Were used to this life, Ellie. Its cramped, but its home.
Dad, theyre ill! Mum cant even dress herself properly!
We manage. The important thing is youre healthy, and that Olivers here.
Eleanor burst into tears, clinging to her mother.
Im so tired. Im tired of being treated like a secondclass citizen in my own marriage. His mother matters more than my parents.
Her mother soothed her, whispering, Itll pass. Shell stay a while, then go back.
But Eleanor didnt believe it.
Saturday morning Margaret arrived with three massive suitcases.
Ellie, help me with these! she shouted from the doorway.
Eleanor lugged the bags in silence. Margaret surveyed the flat, eyes landing on the tiny wardrobe.
You should get a bigger flat! she declared.
We cant afford it, Eleanor replied, flatly.
You need to earn more! Oliver, ask for a bonus!
Oliver, trying to help, obeyed, while Margaret lectured on the good old days of working hard and earning a decent wage.
Eleanor retreated to the kitchen, preparing a stew. Margaret hovered, ordering, No fatty foods for Oliver; his livers weak!
Chicken, steamed, Margaret insisted, then snatched a pike from the freezer, demanding Eleanor show her how to cook it.
Eleanors teeth clenched as Margaret pushed her away from the stove. The lunch passed in a tense hush, Margaret rattling on health, neighbours, shop prices, while Oliver nodded obediently.
Afterward, Margaret rested on the sofa. Oliver approached her, Thanks for taking Mom in.
I had no choice, he muttered.
Eleanor, washing dishes, heard Olivers voice rise.
You think you have to be polite to her? he snapped.
Im being polite.
Its cold.
Youre being cold to her.
Olivers anger flared. Shes my mother! I wont let you insult her!
Eleanor stared, heart pounding. Your mother took our room, pushed me from the stove, criticised my cooking, and you expect me to smile?
The mothers ill! Oliver shouted.
Shes a tyrant! And you let her!
The mothers sick, Ellie!
A muffled voice from the bedroom: Oliver, is everything alright?
Everythings fine, Mum, he called back, retreating.
Eleanor stood alone in the kitchen, tears drying on her cheeks.
A week later Margaret had claimed half the wardrobe, spread her belongings across every surface. Eleanor and Oliver slept on a foldout couch in the kitchen; her back ached from the cramped position.
Margaret rose at dawn, clanging dishes, serving a heavy breakfast Eleanor refused. She then blared the TV at full volume, later dispensing unsolicited advice on everything from laundry temperatures to how Eleanor should dress.
Every day became a battlefield. Oliver defended his mother, accusing Eleanor of ingratitude.
One evening, Eleanor sat at the kitchen table, tallying expenses. Money was short for her parents medication, the neighbour who helped them, the upcoming council tax.
Margaret entered, Ellie, I need new slippers. These are tearing. Can you spare some money?
I have nothing extra.
How can that be? Oliver got paid this week!
Olivers salary goes to the mortgage and food.
What about your salary?
Its for my parents meds, the council bill, the basics.
Your parents! Always your parents! Nothing for the motherinlaw!
Margaret pursed her lips. Your pension is tiny!
My pension is tiny too! Eleanor snapped.
Margaret stormed out, then complained to Oliver: She refused! I asked for slippers, she refused!
Oliver burst into the kitchen, face flushed. You seriously denied my mother money for slippers?!
I have nothing spare!
Then why do you have money for your parents?
My parents need it! Theyre ill!
My mother is ill too! She needs slippers!
You give her the money yourself!
The argument escalated, Margaret watching with a smug grin.
Eleanor finally raised her voice, Enough.
Whats enough? Oliver asked, bewildered.
Everything. Im done with this. I wont be your maid, I wont be the one who sacrifices everything while you put your mother above my family.
Oliver barked, Dont have a fit!
This isnt a fit. Its a decision. Im leaving.
He stared, stunned. Where to?
To my parents. Ill stay with them. If you cant see my help here, then Im gone.
Youre crazy!
No, Im just choosing.
He tried to stop her, You cant just walk out!
I can, and I will.
She gathered her things, eyes never leaving his.
You think if you loved me, you wouldnt have let your mother push me aside, she said, voice steady. Youd have remembered Dads birthday next week, asked if wed visit, shown any concern at all.
Oliver was silent.
Im tired of being alone in this marriage, of carrying everything alone. I want to care for those who value my care.
She closed her suitcase, grabbed her bag.
Oliver, stop!
Its too late.
He watched her walk to the hallway. Margaret smirked, Good riddance, love.
Outside, cold wind cut through the streets of London. Eleanor hailed a taxi, rode to the train station, bought a ticket to Kent.
She arrived late night, the cottage dark. She slipped inside, stripped off her coat, collapsed onto the old sofa in the sitting room.
Morning brought the smell of fresh pancakes. Her mother stood at the stove, bright-eyed.
Ellie! Youre here!
Im staying, Mum. For good.
How about Oliver?
Hes with his mum. Theyll manage.
Her mother embraced her, tears in her eyes. Poor thing, youve been through so much.
Its just how it turned out, Eleanor whispered.
They sat with tea, Eleanor recounting the chaos, the decision to leave.
You did the right thing, her father said, shaking his head. You cant endure that kind of disrespect.
But I love him, she murmured.
Love isnt suffering humiliation. Respect is the foundation.
She nodded, feeling a strange peace.
She found work at the village library, modest pay but enough for her parents needs. She helped them with chores, and slowly the cottage felt like home again.
Oliver called at first, begging her to return, promising change. She listened, skeptical.
A month later he turned up at the garden gate, looking humbled.
Ellie, Ive realised I was wrong. Ive sent Mum back home. I cant live like that any longer.
Why now? she asked, eyes wary.
Ive thought it through. I sold the flat. Bought a threebedroom house so your parents could join us if they want.
She felt tears rise. And your mother?
Shes angry, but I told her she either accepts us both or shell be on her own. She chose to try.
He stepped closer, hands outstretched. Will you come back?
She looked at the garden, at the life shed rebuilt, then at his sincere face. Ill come back, but only if were equals. My parents are as important as yours, my voice as important as yours.
He nodded, Agreed. I promise.
They embraced on the old porch, the cold wind now feeling like a promise.
Months later Margaret arrived, apologised to Eleanors parents, even helped her mum with the garden.
Eleanor moved back to the city, into a new, larger flat. Her parents stayed in Kent, visiting often. Oliver, her mother, and his mother learned to share space, to share respect.
Family, she realised, wasnt just a husband and wife it was parents, inlaws, everyone who deserved equal love and care.
