Emma was frying fish and chips in the kitchen when there was a sudden knock at the door. Standing on the doorstep was Margaret—her mother-in-law—her expression stern, without a hint of a smile.
“I’m not here for tea,” she said coldly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I’ve got important business.”
“What kind?” Emma wiped her hands on a tea towel and forced a smile.
“Emily and Daniel have been staying with me since the wedding. The flat’s too small—crowded with three of us. You’ve got that empty one, your grandmother’s. Let them move in.”
“No. After everything—absolutely not,” Emma snapped, crossing her arms.
“What have I ever done?” Margaret looked genuinely confused, as if she truly didn’t understand.
Emma still remembered the weeks leading up to her sister-in-law’s wedding. She’d agonised over what gift to buy, certain she and her husband would be invited. After all, she and Emily had always been close—nearly friends. And Emily had borrowed two thousand quid from them for the celebration.
“Suppose we don’t get invited at all,” her husband, James, had remarked dryly.
“Don’t be silly. You’re her brother—of course we will,” she’d replied, still hopeful.
Emma had even taken out her best dress and heels, waiting. Hoping.
But as the wedding drew closer, no invitation arrived—not from Emily, not from Margaret. Three days before, Emma reluctantly folded her dress back into the wardrobe, heart heavy. James, ever unbothered, just shrugged. “Rather sleep in on my day off,” was all he said.
A few days after the wedding, Margaret called, saying she’d drop by. Emma decided to confront her.
“Why weren’t we invited?”
“Well… we only wanted young people there. You’re over thirty,” Margaret mumbled.
Emma nearly believed it—until she ran into Margaret’s sister at the supermarket.
“All sorts were there—even distant relatives,” the woman said. “Why weren’t you?”
Emma felt humiliated. For them—the ones who should have mattered.
At home, James suggested calling his mother.
“Margaret, tell the truth—why weren’t we invited?” Emma demanded. “Don’t lie. I just spoke to your sister. She told me who was there.”
“Emily and I only wanted useful people—ones who could give expensive gifts or help later,” Margaret replied calmly.
“And the two grand we lent Emily—wasn’t that useful?”
“You’ll want it back. If you’d given it, that’d be different.”
Emma barely recognised this woman. Were they nothing to them?
Two weeks later, Margaret turned up again—unannounced, unapologetic.
“Your flat’s sitting empty, and the kids are cramped,” she said with feigned concern.
“It’s not yours. Let it sit. It’s not costing you a thing,” Emma shot back.
“Why so angry? We’re family.”
“Family? You only remember us when it’s convenient. Before that, we didn’t matter,” Emma’s voice shook with anger.
“What have we ever done to you?”
“Honestly, do you not see it? You humiliated us, ignored us, and now you want keys. Does Emily even plan to pay us back?”
“Not unless they move in,” Margaret said boldly. “Think about it.”
Emma lost it—she grabbed a cup of water and flung it in Margaret’s face.
“James, say something!” Margaret gasped, wiping her face with her sleeve.
“Ask the guests you wanted for help,” James said calmly.
Margaret left without another word, slamming the door behind her.
