28April
I was standing by the fridge, clutching a few shopping bags, when I heard James on the phone with his mother. Did you buy that sausage again? I told you its awful! she bellowed. I froze, the cold air of the kitchen suddenly feeling like a spotlight. He didnt even kiss me when he walked in from work.
Good evening, love, I managed, trying to keep my voice steady. I took the discounted one were a bit tight on the pound at the moment.
Tight? Were barely scraping by as it is! he snapped, his tone rising. Youre wasting money on nonsense!
What nonsense? I felt a sting of hurt rise in my chest. I only buy the essentials.
James waved a hand, retreated to the living room, and left me standing there, my fingers tightening around the bag handles. Eight years of marriage, and for the past three months the arguments have become a daily routine: the way I cook, where I put things away, how much I spend. He never used to be this nitpicky.
I started putting the groceries away, hands trembling. I wanted to cry, but I swallowed the tears. Katie would be home from school any minute; she couldnt see her mother breaking down.
Dinner was a silent affair. Katie, my nineyearold, sensed the tension and kept to herself, polishing off her soup and then retreating to the study for homework.
Go on, sunshine, I whispered, planting a kiss on her crown.
When Katie left, James finally spoke. I need to visit my mum this weekend. Shes not feeling well.
Alright, I said, nodding. Will you want me to come?
No, Ill go alone. You stay home; theres plenty to do.
I wanted to argue, but I kept quiet. Over the months Id learned to bite my tongue. Once we used to talk through everything, argue, make up. Now there seemed to be an invisible wall between us.
Saturday morning James left early for his mothers flat. I went about the usual choreslaundry, cleaning, preparing lunch. Tasks that once felt routine now seemed heavy, each movement a small battle against a growing anxiety inside me.
Katie was playing in her bedroom. I opened a window for fresh air and heard voices on the balcony. At first I thought the neighbours were chatting, but then I recognised Jamess voice.
He was standing on the balcony of his mothers flatyes, the one just down the block on the same floor. I had once thought it convenient to have his mother so close, but now I wasnt so sure.
Mum, I cant take it any longer, James said, his tone wretched, unlike the calm he usually had at home.
Son, you must be firm, replied Margaret, his mother, a woman in her sixties with a sharp edge. A woman needs to know her place.
I froze, torn between the urge to flee and the compulsion to listen.
She never understands, James continued. I tell her one thing, she does another.
Exactly, Margaret interjected. Youre too soft. You need to keep her in an iron grip. Ive always said that.
I cant keep shouting at her, James protested.
Then be stricter, Margaret insisted. Let her see youre the head of the house, otherwise shell go soft.
A shiver ran down my spine. Soft? I worked from dawn till dusk, cooking, cleaning, looking after Katie, and still managed a parttime job at the local library to bring a little extra money home. Was that being soft?
James sighed. Im trying, Mum, but sometimes I feel sorry for her.
Pity isnt a virtue, Margaret scolded. Youre the man, the familys pillar. If youre gentle, shell sit on your neck. All women are like that.
Its not all women, I whispered to myself, feeling the words crash inside me like a storm.
Jamess words echoed the pattern Id noticed since Margaret moved in for a week four months ago. After that visit his tone changed, his demands grew, and his criticism sharpened.
Mom, are you crying? Katie asked, standing in the doorway, eyes wide.
Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them. I brushed them away quickly. No, love, just a little irritationmaybe the dust.
Really?
Really, I forced a smile. Go on and play. Ill have lunch ready soon.
When Katie left, I sat on the bed, wondering what to do. Should I confront James? Should I tell him Id overheard? That would only spark another fight, and hed accuse me of spying. Staying silent felt like surrendering to a mothers manipulation. The rest of the day passed in a fog; I went through the motions of cooking, eating, talking to Katie, but everything felt muted.
James returned that evening, dropping his keys on the hall table. Dinner ready? he asked, skipping any greeting.
Yes, just heating it up, I replied, turning the pan on the hob. My hands moved on autopilot while Margarets voice replayed in my head: keep her in an iron grip, shes gone soft, pity wont help.
Whats wrong? James asked, sitting down. You seem off.
Nothing, I said, setting his plate down. Just tired.
He frowned. Again? Always tired. What do you do all day, just sit at home?
I work at the library, I reminded him quietly.
Just a parttime job, pennies on the pound, he muttered. Did I ever tell you Im not keen on you working?
Its not that Im against it, I whispered, grinding my teeth. Im just trying to keep us afloat.
He didnt say another word. The room grew colder, the silence stretching between us like an iceberg.
Later, after Katie was asleep, I lingered at the kitchen table with a cooling mug of tea, watching James flick the television on without looking at me. We had become strangers sharing a roof.
I thought back to when we were twentythree, meeting at a bookshop where I was a sales assistant and he came in looking for a gift for a friend. We talked, went for coffee, had dates, laughed. He was attentive, kind, and we fell in love quickly. Even then Margaret had hinted that I wasnt good enough for her sonno pedigree, no higher education. James brushed it aside, saying love was enough.
We married despite her disapproval, Katie was born, and the early years were hard but happy. We faced sleepless nights, a babys illness, a tight budget, and James was my rock.
Then Margaret started visiting more often, calling James several times a day, inviting him over. He began travelling to her flat regularly, and soon his patience wore thin, his criticism sharpened, and his kindness faded.
The next day I decided to speak with Margaret, hoping for a calm, womantowoman chat. I knocked on her door; she opened with a surprised smile.
Come in, she said, stepping aside.
Her flat was furnished with heirloom pieces, lace napkins everywhere, pictures of James at various ages lining the wallsno photos of me or Katie.
Tea? she offered.
No, thank you. Ill be brief, I replied, taking a seat.
Ive noticed things have been… strained with James, I began. Could you perhaps give us a little space?
She raised an eyebrow. Space? Hes my son. I have a right to be interested in his life.
Im not asking you not to care, just not to steer him against me.
What do you mean? Her tone hardened.
I heard you on the balcony yesterday. You said I should be kept in an iron grip, I said, my voice steady.
She went pale, then flushed. You were eavesdropping?
I didnt mean to. I was just airing the room.
She straightened. I was speaking the truth. Youre too lax. Youve become… soft, as I said.
I work from dawn till night, raise our daughter, and still help at the library. How is that soft? I felt a surge of anger.
Were not living in the 1950s, she snapped. Women belong at home, not in libraries.
Times have changed, Margaret, I replied. Families that cling to outdated roles are the ones that fall apart.
She scoffed. Your husband will always listen to his mother, not to you.
I rose from the chair. I wont give up. This is my family, and Ill fight for it.
She smirked. Remember, James is my son. Hell always hear me first.
I left, the tears Id held back finally spilling down my cheeks once I was back in my own flat. I sat in the kitchen and wept until the sobs ran out.
The next evening James came home, his face drawn. Did you see your mother? he asked.
Yes.
Why?
Wanted to talk.
He sighed. She called, said Id been rude to you.
I didnt yell at her, I said, feeling my voice tremble. I just asked her not to meddle.
She just gives advice, he replied. She wants me happy.
Are you happy? I asked, looking straight into his eyes. Tell me honestly.
He hesitated, then said, Im exhaustedyour tears, the constant nagging, the arguments.
Then lets try to change things. Start over, like before.
It cant be before, he muttered, heading to his bedroom.
I stood alone in the kitchen, for the first time in years wondering if staying together was even possible.
That night I couldnt sleep. James lay on the other side of the bed, turned away, the space between us as cold as ice.
Morning came, he was already gone to work without a goodbye. I took Katie to school and headed to the library.
My manager, Alison, noticed my distracted stare. Everything alright? she asked.
I told her everythingoverheard conversations, Margarets influence, Jamess change. She listened, then said, Men are often more pliable than we think, especially with a mothers grip. Youre not alone. Think about what you truly want.
Her words lingered. Am I willing to keep fighting a man who doesnt fight for me?
That afternoon I called my parents in York. They live three hours away by train. Mother welcomed us instantly, Come stay, love, well look after Katie.
We told Katie we were off to Grandmas for a holiday, and she squealed with delight. I texted James a brief note: Katie and I are staying with my parents for a week. Think about things. Then I put my phone down.
The train ride was quiet; Katie dozed with her head on my shoulder. I watched the English countryside roll by, wondering what lay ahead. Would James return? Could he stand up to his mother? Or was the marriage already doomed?
At the station my parents greeted us with warm hugs. Is everything okay? my mother asked gently.
Later, I whispered.
The next three days were a respiteno phone, no arguments. I helped my mother with the garden, walked with Katie, and simply breathed. On the fourth day I finally checked my phone. Thirty missed calls from James, dozens of messages: Where are you? Why no reply? Im worried. Please tell me youre okay. The last one read, I miss you, Katie, and you. Come back.
I called him back. After a brief pause his voice crackled, Mary! Thank God. Where are you?
At my parents, I answered.
Why didnt you answer? I had no time for you! he snapped.
I needed space to think, as did you, I said calmly.
Silence stretched. Ive thought a lot, he said finally. You were right. Mum has been steering me against you. I didnt want to admit it.
My heart quickened. Go on.
When you werent here, I tried to do the housework, cook, clean I realised how much you actually do. Im sorry, truly. His voice softened. I talked to Mum. I told her she cant interfere any more. She was angry, but its her problem now.
James I began.
Its over, he said. Please come home. Lets start again, like we wanted.
I closed my eyes, feeling hope battle with fear. I need a few more days, I said. Ill be back soon.
He exhaled, Okay. Ill wait.
Two more days at my parents gave me time to weigh everything. I decided to give us another chancefor Katie, for the love that once felt so genuine.
When we returned, James met us at the station with a huge bouquet and an apologetic grin. Katie ran to him, shouting with joy. I walked slowly, meeting his gaze.
Sorry, he said, handing me the flowers. Ive realised everything. I promise things will be different.
Time will tell, I replied, a small smile breaking through.
At home the table was set. James had attempted to cook dinner himselfnothing spectacular, but the effort mattered. Delicious, I said truthfully, because the taste mattered less than his willingness.
Later, after Katie was asleep, we talked for hours. He confessed that his mother had been domineering since his father died when James was ten; she had taken over every decision. Hed always felt obliged to obey her, fearing that disobeying would be a betrayal. I pointed out that hed been betraying me by listening to her instead of me.
What will happen with your mother now? I asked.
Ive set clear boundaries. If she cant respect them, our contact will be minimal. He sighed. Shes finally understood she has no choiceeither that or nothing at all.
I nodded. It was a harsh but necessary step.
Life slowly settled. James began sharing chores, spending quality time with Katie, and offering me compliments. Visits to Margaret became rare, limited to holidays. She kept her distance, her earlier attempts to keep me in an iron grip fading.
I know challenges will still arise, but for now were a team again. When I pass Margarets flat on the street, I sometimes recall that balcony argument and her harsh words. I cant help but smile, because Ive wonnot with anger, but with patience, love, and belief in my family.
