Elizabeth Margaret woke up that Saturday morning with a sense of celebration. Sixty yearsa milestone worthy of a proper gathering. Shed planned this day for ages, drafting guest lists and deliberating over her outfit. The mirror reflected the satisfied face of a woman accustomed to things going her way.
“Happy birthday, Mum!” James was the first to appear in the kitchen, holding a small gift box. “This is from me and Emily.”
Emily gave a quiet nod, sipping her coffee by the stove. She was never much of a morning person, especially when it came to her mother-in-laws family events.
“Oh, James, thank you!” Elizabeth accepted the gift with exaggerated delight. “Have you two eaten yet?”
“Yes, Mum, all sorted,” James replied, glancing at his wife.
Emily set her cup in the sink, bracing herself for what was coming. Elizabeth had been in high spirits latelywhich, oddly, only amplified her bossiness. As if the festive mood granted her extra authority.
“Emily, dear,” Elizabeth said in that particular tone that always prefaced a demand disguised as a request. “Ive got a little task for you.”
Emily turned, keeping her expression neutral. Three years in this house had taught her to read her mother-in-laws inflections like an open book.
“Heres the menu. Have everything ready by fiveits my anniversary, after all. I shouldnt be stuck in the kitchen.” Elizabeth handed her a neatly folded sheet of paper covered in her immaculate handwriting.
Emily scanned the list and felt her stomach tighten. Twelve dishes. Twelve! From simple platters to elaborate salads and hot appetisers.
“Elizabeth,” she began carefully, “this will take all day…”
“Of course it will!” Elizabeth laughed, as if Emily had stated the obvious. “What else would one do on such an occasion? Cook for the birthday girl! You know how many guests were expectingall my friends, the neighbours… We cant let them down.”
James shifted uncomfortably between them, sensing the tension.
“Mum, maybe we could order something?” he suggested weakly.
“Absolutely not!” Elizabeth gasped. “Serve shop-bought food at my anniversary? What would people think? No, everything must be homemade, made with love.”
Emily clenched her fists. Love. Rightsomeone elses love. Hers, while she slaved away in the kitchen.
“Fine,” she said shortly and turned to leave.
“Emily!” James called after her. “Wait.”
She stopped in the hallway, breathing heavily. He followed, guilt written across his face.
“Look, Id help, honestly, but you know Im hopeless in the kitchen…”
“Of course,” Emily said tersely. “But your mother treating me like hired help is perfectly acceptable?”
“Dont be like that,” James mumbled. “Its just cooking for her special day. She does so much for usletting us live here, never charging rent…”
Emily held his gaze. She could remind him how Elizabeth constantly held that over her head, nitpicked her cleaning, criticised her cooking, and never missed a chance to mention how shed “taken in a girl from the countryside” as if it were some grand charity. But what was the point? James would never understand. To him, his mother was untouchable, and Emilys complaints were just petty grievances.
“Fine,” she said and marched back to the kitchen.
The next few hours were a blur of chopping, boiling, frying, and mixing. Her hands moved mechanically while her mind raceduntil an idea struck her. Simple, yet brilliant. She smiled.
From the cupboard, she retrieved a small box shed bought at the chemist weeks ago for herself but never used. A mild laxative. The packaging promised effects within an hour.
Studying the menu, she worked out which dishes could be discreetly doctoredsalads, cold appetisers. The hot food, the roast and potatoes, shed leave untouched. After all, she and James had to eat too.
By five, the table groaned under the feast. Elizabeth, resplendent in a new dress and full jewellery, surveyed the spread like a general inspecting troops.
“Not bad,” she conceded. “Though the Coronation chicken couldve used more salt.”
Emily said nothing, arranging the dishes. Inside, she was buzzing.
Guests arrived promptly. Elizabeth greeted each with open arms, accepting gifts and compliments. Her friendswomen of similar age, equally done upmarvelled at the spread.
“Lizzie, youve outdone yourself!” Margaret from next door exclaimed. “Everythings gorgeous!”
“Oh, it was nothing,” Elizabeth demurred. “Emily pitched inthough I did most of the work, of course.”
Emily, setting out plates, nearly laughed aloud. Pitched in. Right.
“James,” she whispered, “dont touch the salads. Wait for the hot food.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me.”
He shrugged but obeyed. Emily sat back, watching as the guests devoured the appetisers. Elizabeth boasted about planning the menu, selecting ingredients, catering to every palate.
“This quiche is my signature dish,” she declared. “A family recipe.”
“Divine!” cooed Barbara. “Youve got the magic touch, Lizzie.”
An hour passed. Emily checked the clock. Then it began.
Margaret was the first to clutch her stomach.
“Oh,” she groaned, “I dont feel well…”
“Me neither!” another guest gasped. “Lizzie, are you sure everything was fresh?”
Elizabeth paled. “Of course! I bought it all yesterday!”
Then it hit her too. She excused herself and hurried to the loo. Others followed.
“Emily,” James whispered, “whats happening?”
“No idea,” she said smoothly. “Thank goodness we skipped the salads.”
Chaos erupted. Guests vanished into the bathroom, then made hasty exits, muttering apologies. Elizabeth flitted between them, trying to salvage the evening, but it was too late.
By seven, only the three of them remained. Elizabeth sat on the sofa, pale and shaken.
“Go rest,” Emily said sympathetically. “Well clean up.”
“What did you put in the food?” Elizabeth hissed when shed recovered slightly.
Emily calmly carved the roast. “A laxative. Only in the salads and starters. The hot foods safe.”
Elizabeth opened her mouththen bolted back to the loo.
“Emily!” James scolded. “Was that really necessary?”
“What choice did I have?” She turned to him. “Youve no idea how she treats me when youre not here. Half the time, I dont even tell you because I know youll defend her. Mum means well, Mum helps us, Mum took us in. Meanwhile, she treats me like staffand you dont care.”
James chewed silently.
“Maybe it was harsh,” Emily admitted. “But Im tired of being nobody in this house. Tired of being used, then lectured about gratitude. Today, she got a lesson. Maybe now shell think twice before dumping work on me and taking credit.”
“But still…” James began.
“But what? No one was hurt. Just a few uncomfortable hours. The lesson will stick.”
And it did. After that disastrous party, Elizabeths attitude softened. She was still sharp, but the edges had dulled. No more commands, no more piling chores on Emily.
Six months later, James announced they were moving out.
“Weve saved enough for a deposit,” he said at dinner. “Time to stand on our own feet.”
Elizabeth looked stunned but said nothing.
“Probably for the best,” she finally agreed. “Young couples need their own nest.”
On moving day, as they carried out the last boxes, Elizabeth approached Emily.
“You know,” she said quietly, “perhaps I was… unfair to you.”
Emily paused, holding a box of dishes.
“Perhaps,” she said. “But it doesnt matter now. Weve found common ground.”
“Yes,” Elizabeth nodded. “Still… that birthday party… rather effective, wasnt it?”
They looked at each otherand for the first time in years, laughed together, genuinely.
In their new flat, Emily often thought of that daynot with guilt, but satisfaction. Sometimes, to reach an understanding, you must speak a language the other person understands. And Elizabeth, it turned out, only understood strength.
The lesson hadnt just reached her, though. James finally saw his wifes struggles werent just complaintsthey were real. He still thought her methods extreme, but he never again dismissed her grievances.
Elizabeth visited occasionally, bringing cake, asking about their lives, even offering help. Never again did she try to commandeer Emilys kitchen.
“You know,” Emily told James one evening, “Ive even grown fond of her. Now that shes stopped acting like a drill sergeant.”
“I still think you went too far,” he chuckled.
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But it worked. Sometimes the boldest moves are the most effective.”
And she was right. Peace had settledbuilt on mutual respect and boundaries. And wasnt that what mattered most?
