*Diary Entry*
“You have a month to move out of my flat!” Those words from my mother-in-law shattered everything.
In a quiet town in the English countryside, where cobblestone streets and red-brick houses hold generations of family stories, my life was upended in an instant. I, Emily, had spent two happy years with William, and when we decided to marry, I thought I was the luckiest woman alive. His mother, Margaret, had always seemed kind and supportive—until her ultimatum after the wedding. Even now, the sting hasn’t faded.
Margaret and I had always got on. I valued her advice, respected her opinions, and she’d been warm in return. Never once had she interfered or made me feel unwelcome. I’d counted myself fortunate—most tales of difficult mothers-in-law hadn’t touched me. When we planned the wedding, my parents, stretched thin financially, could only contribute a little. Margaret covered nearly everything, and I was endlessly grateful. The day was perfect. I truly believed happiness lay ahead.
But the moment we returned to her spacious three-bedroom flat—where we’d been living with William—she called us in for “a talk.” Her words hit like a storm on a clear day, and my chest tightened.
“Children, I’ve done my duty,” she began, her voice firm. “I raised William, put him through uni, gave you the wedding you wanted. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve a month to find your own place. You’re a family now—time to stand on your own feet. It’ll be hard, but you’ll learn. And I… I want to live for myself at last.”
I froze. Surely, I’d misheard. But she continued, each word sharper than the last.
“And don’t expect me to mind your future children. I’ve given my son my whole life; I won’t be a free babysitter. You’ll always be welcome here, but I’m a grandmother, not a servant. Don’t judge me—you’ll understand when you’re my age.”
I was numb. How could she do this? We’d only just begun our life together, and she was tossing us out, keeping this enormous flat all to herself? Anger, hurt, betrayal—all crashed over me. William co-owned this place! And as for her dismissal of grandchildren… What grandmother says that? It was cruel.
Worse still? William agreed. Without a word of protest, he started flat-hunting and picking up extra shifts. His obedience cut deeper than Margaret’s ultimatum. I looked at the man I loved and didn’t recognise him. Why wouldn’t he fight for us?
My parents couldn’t help—their pensions barely covered their own expenses. I felt abandoned. Why was Margaret so selfish? She’d lounge in her empty flat while we pinched pennies in some rented room? It wasn’t fair. We were just starting out, and she’d yanked the ground from under us.
That night, I lay awake, tears soaking my pillow. I’d been so proud of our bond, so trusting. Now, her true colours showed. “Living for myself” sounded like a joke. We hadn’t asked for much—just time to find our footing. But throwing us out a month after the wedding? That was too much.
William, fixated on flat listings, barely noticed my grief. When I tried to talk, he’d say, “Mum’s right, Em. We have to grow up.” His indifference wounded me most. Was I losing him, too? If he wouldn’t stand with me now, what future did we have?
My heart tore between rage and fear. I wanted to scream at Margaret, demand fairness—but her mind was made, and William’s compliance left me lonelier than ever. Now, we’d begin from nothing, while she enjoyed her freedom. The bitterness burns. And I don’t know if I can ever forgive her—or him—for stealing our fresh start.
