The door will remain closed.
“Mum, open the door! Mum, please!” Her son’s fists hammered against the metal surface with such force it seemed the hinges might give way. “I know you’re in there! The car’s still parked outside—where else would you be?”
Valerie Wilson sat in her armchair, her back to the entrance, gripping a cup of cold tea with trembling hands. The porcelain clinked against the saucer, the sound sharp in the silence.
“Mum, what’s going on?” James’s voice grew more desperate. “The neighbours say you haven’t let anyone in for days—not even Emily!”
At the mention of her daughter-in-law, Valerie flinched. Emily. His precious Emily, the one he’d do anything for. Even what had happened last Thursday.
“Mum, I’ll call a locksmith!” James threatened. “We’ll break the lock!”
“Don’t you dare!” Valerie finally snapped, still refusing to turn around. “Don’t you dare touch that door!”
“Mum, why? What’s happened? Just talk to me!”
Valerie shut her eyes, struggling to gather herself. How could she explain what she’d overheard in the clinic corridors? How could she tell her son the truth?
“Mum, please,” James’s voice softened, pleading. “I’m worried about you. Emily’s worried too.”
Emily worried. Of course she did. No doubt fretting over ruined plans.
“Leave, James. Leave and don’t come back.”
“Mum, are you ill? Have you got a fever? Should I call a doctor?”
“I don’t need a doctor. I need you to leave me alone.”
Valerie stood, walking to the window. There he was in the yard, phone pressed to his ear—probably calling Emily, complaining about his difficult mother.
James looked up, spotted her, and waved before turning back toward the building. Valerie retreated to her chair, sinking into it with a quiet exhale.
Another minute passed before the knocking resumed.
“Mum, it’s me and Emily. Open up, please.”
Valerie clenched her jaw. So he’d brought her. His wife, the one who’d so carefully plotted their future.
“Valerie,” came Emily’s honeyed voice, “it’s me. Open the door, won’t you? James is beside himself with worry.”
What an actress. Even her tone shifted when she needed it to.
“We brought groceries,” Emily continued. “Milk, bread, those ginger biscuits you like.”
Ginger biscuits. Valerie let out a bitter laugh. Just last month, Emily had “discovered” her fondness for them—suddenly buying them every week. Such a devoted daughter-in-law.
“Valerie, say something,” Emily’s voice wavered. “We’re only trying to help.”
“Help,” Valerie repeated, too quietly for them to hear.
“Mum, I’m not leaving until you let me in!” James declared. “I’ll stand here all night if I have to!”
She knew he meant it. Stubborn, always had been. Once he set his mind to something, nothing swayed him.
“Fine,” she relented. “Just you. Alone.”
“What?” James faltered.
“Emily goes home. I’ll only speak to you.”
Muffled whispers followed.
“Mum, why? Emily’s just as concerned as I am.”
“Because I said so. Either you come in alone, or not at all.”
More hushed arguing before Emily finally conceded.
“Alright, Valerie. I’ll go. James, call me when you sort this out.”
Valerie waited until Emily’s footsteps faded downstairs before unbolting the door.
James burst in like a storm, pulling her into a tight embrace before scanning her face.
“Mum, you’ve lost weight! You’re pale—what’s wrong? Are you ill?”
“Not ill,” she freed herself, moving toward the kitchen. “Tea?”
“Please,” he sat, eyes fixed on her. “Tell me what’s going on. Why have you shut yourself away?”
Valerie filled the kettle, her back to him.
“Why should I open the door? What good ever comes through it?”
“Mum, don’t say that. You can’t stay locked up forever. You’ve errands to run, doctor’s appointments—”
“Mrs. Hayes next door fetches my groceries. I leave a list, give her the money. And I won’t be seeing any doctors.”
“Why not?”
Valerie poured boiling water into mugs, stirring in sugar with methodical precision.
“Because last time I went, I heard something I wish I hadn’t.”
James frowned.
“What?”
“Your wife. On the phone with her friend. Thought I wasn’t listening.”
“What did she say?”
Valerie sat opposite him, searching his eyes—so like his father’s. Kind, honest. Could this man truly be capable of betrayal?
“She spoke about selling my flat. Putting me in a care home. Spending the money.”
James went rigid.
“Mum, you misunderstood. Emily would never—”
“I heard every word,” Valerie cut in. “She said, ‘James has agreed. Says his mother can’t live alone at her age. We’ll find her a nice care home, sell the flat. The money will cover our mortgage deposit.’”
“Mum, I never—”
“Then she said, ‘Thank God his mother’s trusting—never suspects a thing. Thinks we adore her. Really, she’s just in the way.’”
James stared at his clenched fists, shoulders hunched.
“Mum, I swear—this is the first I’ve heard of it. Emily must’ve been fantasising.”
“Fantasising?” Valerie’s laugh was cold. “Then why name the care home on Sunnydale Lane? Why quote the exact valuation—£400,000?”
“She had the flat valued?” James paled.
“Seems so. Unless she plucked the number from thin air?”
James dragged a hand down his face.
“I had no idea. She never mentioned any of this.”
“Or you didn’t listen. Maybe she’s been planting the idea, bit by bit.”
Valerie stood, watching children play below—carefree, innocent.
“James, I’ve been thinking,” she said quietly. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am in the way.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Why not? I rattle around in a three-bedroom flat while you’re squeezed into a one-bed. I’ve savings—you’re drowning in debt. I’m not getting any younger—what if I fall? Break a hip?”
“If living alone scares you, we’ll move in. I’ve offered a hundred times!”
Valerie turned.
“You did. And how did Emily react?”
A pause.
“She said we should wait until we found something bigger.”
“There you are. Meanwhile, I grow older. More burdensome.”
“You’re not a burden. You’re my mother.”
“Your mother. Her mother-in-law. A stranger, really.”
Valerie took her seat again.
“Tell me the truth, James. Do you want me in a care home?”
“No, Mum. Never.”
“Do you want to sell the flat?”
“No. It’s yours—your home.”
“Then why is your wife making these plans?”
James stared at his hands before whispering,
“I don’t know. Honestly.”
“Do you want to find out?”
“Yes.”
“Then go home and ask her. Plainly.”
James nodded, rising.
“Mum—will you unlock the door after this?”
“Depends on your answer.”
“And if she really planned this?”
Valerie held his gaze.
“Then the door stays shut. To you both.”
“But I didn’t know!”
“You’re a grown man, James. If your wife schemes behind your back, you’re a poor husband. If you knew and said nothing, you’re a poor son.”
“Mum—”
“Go. Sort it out. I’ll wait.”
Once he left, silence swallowed the flat. Valerie wandered through rooms, pausing at framed memories: her wedding day with James Sr., their son’s first steps, his school graduation, his own wedding.
In that photo, Emily had seemed so sweet, clinging to Valerie, calling her “Mum,” vowing to cherish their family.
When had that changed? When had Emily decided a mother-in-law wasn’t a gift but a chain?
Or had she always been this way, hiding it well?
Valerie cooked dinner—one portion, like every night this week. As she chopped potatoes, she thought of how quickly life unraveled.
A month ago, she’d looked forward to their visits, baked their favourites, stocked sweets. She’d believed in her happy family.
Now she lived like a prisoner, terrified of her own door.
James called as she fried the potatoes.
“Mum, can I come over? We need to talk.”
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
“Come then.”
She turned off the stove, meeting him at the door. HeShe turned the key in the lock one final time, knowing some doors were meant to stay closed for good.
