Jonathan let his mother rule the roost, turning his wife into a skivvy in her own home, but after three months, the daughter-in-law showed the pushy in-laws their place.
Emily stood by the window, gazing at the dreary clouds. Three months ago, shed been a blushing bride, but now she felt like a maid in her own house.
Another morning began with the same sharp rap on the bedroom door.
“How long are you going to laze about?” came her mother-in-laws clipped tone. “James, love, time for work!”
Emily exhaled slowly. Margaret, as usual, acted as if she werent there, speaking only to her son. James yawned and fumbled for his shirt.
“What have you packed for his lunch?” Margaret was already bossing about the kitchen. “More of your fancy quinoa? A man needs a proper roast dinner!”
“The one I made yesterday,” Emily thought but bit her tongue. In the three months since the wedding, shed learned to swallow insults like bitter tea.
“Mum, give it a rest,” James muttered, knotting his tie haphazardly.
“Give it a rest?” Margaret sniffed. “Im thinking of your health! And her” She curled her lip, “she cant even cook a proper meal.”
Emilys throat tightened. A decade lecturing at Oxford, a doctorate, and here she wasreduced to a ghost in her own home.
“Perhaps thats enough,” she said quietly, surprising herself.
“Enough?” Margaret spun round, squaring up. “Did you say something, dear?”
The venom in that last word made Emily flinch. James pretended to hunt for his briefcase.
“I said, perhaps stop pretending Im invisible?” Her voice steadied. “This is our home. Mine and Jamess.”
“Yours?” Margaret laughed. “Sweetheart, I bought this house thirty years back! Every brick is mine. And you youre passing through. Here today, gone tomorrow.”
Those words stung worse than a slap. Emily looked to her husband, but James was already shrugging on his coat.
“Running late!” he called, slamming the door behind him.
In the silence, Margarets smug chuckle rang clear. She began noisily stacking clean plates, each clatter a jab at her daughter-in-law.
“By the way,” she added, “the ladies from the WI are coming round. Make sure the sitting rooms spotless. Last time, there was dust on the sideboard.”
Emily left without a word. In their bedroomthe one place Margaret hadnt yet claimedshe rang her old friend Charlotte.
“You were right,” she whispered. “Ive had enough.”
“About time!” Charlotte said. “Watching you turn into a doormat these past months. Remember what I said about the flat?”
“I remember,” Emily murmured. “Is that one-bed still free?”
“Kept it for you. Come by today.”
All day, Emily obeyed mechanically, but her mind was elsewhere.
That evening, as Margaret held court with her friends, Emily slipped out.
“Where are you off to?” Margaret called.
“The shops,” Emily said evenly. “For your supper.”
“Dont dawdle!”
The flat was small but cosycream walls, a big kitchen window, peaceful.
“Ill take it,” Emily said, handing over her ID. “When can I move in?”
“Straightaway,” the agent smiled. “Just the deposit.”
Back home, Margarets friends were in full flow.
“Shes not right for James,” Margaret was saying. “Cant cook, cant keep house. All she knows is prattling about her posh books.”
“Modern women,” clucked her friend Doris. “All brains, no sense. In our day”
Emily stood frozen, clutching the shopping. Each word was a pinprick, but she felt oddly calm. The decision was made.
Next morning, she was up first, cooking breakfast before Margaret could interfere. James sat scrolling through his phone.
“We need to talk,” Emily said softly.
“Later, love, Im in a rush,” he waved her off.
“Now.”
Something in her tone made him look up. For the first time in months, he really saw herthe spark gone from her eyes.
“I cant live like this,” she said firmly. “This isnt a marriage. Its a pantomime where I play the silent drudge.”
“Emily, dont be daft,” James tried to laugh. “Mums just”
“Just what?” she cut in. “A tyrant? A bully? Or just forcing you to pick between us?”
Margaret swept in, robe flapping.
“James, youll be late! Whats all this whispering?”
Emily turned.
“And you, Margaret, still cant help meddling, can you?”
“How dare you!” Margaret flushed purple. “James, are you hearing this?”
But Emily wasnt listening. She slid a folder across the table.
“Diary of the last three months. Every insult, every slight. Dates, witnesses. And recordings of your little chats about me.”
Margaret went pale. James gaped between them.
“You you recorded me?” Margaret gasped.
“Self-defence. And these,” Emily jingled keys, “are for my new flat. Im leaving today.”
“Youre not!” James leapt up. “Were family!”
“Family?” Emily smiled bitterly. “Families lift each other up. Not tear each other down.”
“There!” Margaret crowed. “I told you shed walk out! These modern girls”
“Enough!” Emily raised her voice for the first time. “You gave me no choice. Three months Ive cooked, cleaned, bit my tongue. But you dont want a daughter-in-law. You want a skivvy.”
She faced James.
“And you hiding behind work, pretending not to see. A man whos scared of Mummy isnt a husband.”
Silence. Emily stood to leave. Behind her, a thudMargaret clutched her chest, sinking onto a chair.
“James! My pills! Im poorly!”
Emily turned. Shed seen this act beforeevery time Margaret didnt get her way, the “heart attack”. And every time, James came running.
“Mum, hang on!” He moved, but Emily caught his arm.
“Look at me,” she said firmly.
Their eyes methis full of fear, hers of weary resolve.
“You choose now,” she said. “Not between us. Between being a man or a boy.”
“But Mums ill!”
“Really?” Emily eyed Margaret. “Shall we ring 999? Get you checked?”
Margaret straightened instantly. “No need! Just get out, you ungrateful girl!”
“See?” Emily smiled sadly. “Same old game. And you always play along.”
She handed James a card.
“My new address. When youre ready to grow up, come. Alone.”
The first week in her flat passed in a daze. James called endlessly; she ignored it. Margaret swung between threats and pleading.
One Friday evening, a knock. James stood thereunshaven, hollow-eyed.
“Can I come in?”
Emily stepped aside. He sank onto a stool, head in hands.
“I get it now,” he rasped. “Maybe too late.”
“What exactly?” She leant against the fridge.
“That Ive never lived my own life. Let Mum choose everythingfrom socks to” he trailed off, “our marriage.”
“And?”
“Got her a flat. Small, but nice. She screamed, said I was ungrateful”
“And?”
“And for once, I stood firm.” He looked up. “Know whats mad? When she saw I meant it, she calmed down in minutes. All those fitsjust theatre.”
Emily watched the drizzle outside.
“Can I fix this?” he asked quietly. “Any chance?”
She turned.
“You think moving Mum out magically fixes everything?”
“Isnt it?”
“No,” she said sadly. “For three months, you let her belittle meyour wifeand said nothing. Hid at work. Let our marriage rot.”
She traced a line on the misted pane.
“Remember our first date? At that Cambridge lecture? You said you loved my fire. Then spent months smothering it.”
“I didnt mean”
“Of course not. You just drifted.”
She faced him.
“Heres the rub: I loved the man you could be. Not Mummys little boy.”
James stood.
“And now? Do you love me?”
She met his gaze.
“I dont know. But the Emily whod take this? Shes gone.”
He stepped closer.
“Can I hug you?”
“Not yet,” she said gently. “Clean slate.”
He nodded.
“Right. Then cinema tomorrow? Like our first date?”
A small smile. “Cinema.”
The next weeks felt surreal. James started therapy. Their eveningscoffee shops, walks, long
