**Diary Entry 12th March**
There comes a point when patience snaps. Just like thatas if someones drawn a line and said, *Enough.* Mine broke on an otherwise ordinary evening while I was frying potatoes.
The day had been dreadful. Work was chaos, my boss had nagged me endlessly about some report, and then Dave rang: *”Liz, Mums dropping byshe was in town, so shes coming over.”* Of course. Margaret never *just* passes by. She always times it for when Im back from work, exhausted.
Standing at the hob, flipping those wretched potatoes, my temples throbbed, my feet ached from heels, and my hands moved the spatula mechanicallyleft, right, left, right. All I wanted was to sit, switch on the telly, turn off my phone
*”Liz!”* came the call from the doorway. *”Where are you?”*
There she was. I didnt even turnI knew shed rustle down the hall in those signature loafers of hers, peering into the kitchen
*”Ah, there you are,”* Margaret said, settling at the table like she owned the place. She pulled out her phone, eyes glued to the screen. *”Pour me some tea and make a sandwich. Im knackered.”*
I froze. Something clicked in my head. Three yearsthree years of these demands, these orders. As if I were not her daughter-in-law, but some unpaid housekeeper.
*”Kettles on the hob,”* I said, unnervingly calm. *”Breads in the cupboard.”*
Silence. The kind you could cut with a knife. From the corner of my eye, I saw her lift her head slowly, as if doubting her ears.
*”Excuse me?”* Her voice turned icy. *”What did you just say?”*
I turned off the hob. Wiped my hands on the sunflower-patterned towel shed brought when we moved in*”to make it cosier.”* Then I faced her.
*”Im allowing myself to be a person, not a maid,”* I said quietly. *”Im tired too. Ive had a long day. If you need help, askdont command.”*
Right on cue, Dave walked in. Froze in the doorway, eyes darting between us. Oh, of coursehes always hated confrontation.
*”Dave!”* Margaret gasped. *”Do you hear the way your wife speaks to me? I ask for the simplest thing”*
I cut her off, turning to my husband. *”Dave,”* I said. *”Do you even respect me?”*
Outside, cars hummed. The potatoes cooled on the hob. The three of us stood there, frozen, like some tragic tableau. And suddenly, I felt calmas if a weight Id carried for three years had lifted. I was done. Just *done* being convenient, obedient, powerless. Dave stared between us, stunnedhis quiet, compliant wife had finally bared her teeth. *Well, love, your move.*
A week passed after that kitchen showdown. A week of silent warfare: Margaret pointedly ignoring me, sighing dramatically whenever she walked past. Dave floundered between us like a cornered animal, pretending nothing was wrong. But me? For the first time, I felt like a personnot a doormat.
That night, I curled up in our little sitting room, tucked into Daves dads old armchairthe only thing hed managed to take from his parents house after his father died. Margaret had thrown a fit: *”How dare you take his memory away!”* But really, she just couldnt bear to let go, even symbolically.
I tried reading some romance novelMum always says theyre good escapismbut the words blurred. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why couldnt we just *live*, without this suffocating control?
*”Liz?”*
I jumped. Dave stood in the doorwayruffled, lost. My sweet boy whod never quite grown up.
*”Shouldnt you be asleep?”* I asked, setting the book aside.
*”Couldnt,”* he muttered, shifting awkwardly. *”Been thinking.”*
*”About?”*
He shuffled in, sinking onto the sofa. Stared at his hands.
*”Youve gone all cold lately. Mum says”*
*”Lets leave Mum out of this,”* I interrupted. *”Just you and me. Dave, why do you think I married you?”*
He blinked. *”Because you love me?”*
*”Because I fell for a strong, funny bloke who wasnt afraid to make decisions. Remember your proposal? Right there in Hyde Park, in front of everyone. Your mum hated itsaid you were too young”*
*”Yeah,”* he smiled weakly. *”First time I ever disobeyed her.”*
*”And it was right. But now? Now she runs our marriage? Dave”* I leaned forward. *”You grew up with a mum who did everything for you. But thats not how our home works. I wont be a servantnot to you, not to her. I want to be your wife. Your partner. Understand?”*
Silence. Just the tick of the old clock on the wallanother of Margarets *gifts*counting the seconds of our marriage.
*”If a wife is just free labour to you maybe we should rethink what we both want.”*
He flinched like Id struck him. *”Are you threatening me?”*
*”No, love. Im just tired of mothering a thirty-year-old. You know”* I laughed suddenly. *”Your mums wrong about a lot, but at least shes honest. Shes just used to ruling the roost. But you you hide behind her when its time to decide, and behind me when its time to act.”*
He was silent for a long time. Jaw clenched, staring at the floor. Then
*”Remember how we met?”*
*”Hyde Park,”* I smiled despite myself. *”You were walking the dog.”*
*”Aye. She knocked you clean over. I was terrified youd be furious but you just laughed and played with her.”*
*”Whats your point?”*
*”Just thinking”* He met my eyes. *”Youve always been strong. And I think Ive taken advantage of that.”*
Something softened in me then. He looked so rumpled, so *different*as if something had shifted right there.
*”Dave,”* I said softly. *”We need to decide something. I cant go on like this.”*
The next morning was unusually quiet. Sunlight streamed through the undrawn curtainsId forgotten to close them. Dave wasnt in bed, but noises came from the kitchen. Oddhe usually slept in on weekends
I pulled on my dressing gown and froze in the kitchen doorway.
Margaret was packing. Her old suitcasethe one shed arrived with three weeks agostood by the door. Dave was methodically loading jars of chutney, bags
*”Morning,”* I said softly.
She turned, lips pursed, and nodded. Normally, Id have scurried to put the kettle on. Not today.
*”Called Mum a cab,”* Dave said, avoiding my eyes. *”Itll be here in half an hour.”*
I moved to the hob. Scrambled eggs sizzled*not burnt, for once!*and beside it, my favourite cinnamon coffee brewed in the stovetop pot.
*”Son,”* Margarets voice wavered. *”Maybe think again? I only ever wanted whats best”*
*”Mum,”* Dave finally looked up. *”I love you. But Ive got to live my own life.”*
She opened her mouththen stopped. Maybe she saw something new in his face. The stubborn set of his jaw, the resolve The man Id once fallen for.
*”Fine,”* she straightened. *”But call me. And if you need”*
*”I will, Mum.”*
As the cab pulled away, I stayed by the window. Not happyshe was still his motherbut not sad either. Just peaceful.
*”Coffee?”*
I turned. Dave stood by the hob, clumsily holding the pot.
*”You hate making it this way,”* I blurted.
*”Well”* He shrugged. *”Can learn, cant I?”*
And suddenly, I understood: *This* was the moment. Not when he first shaved, not when we marriedbut when he finally took responsibility.
*”Hey teach me to make those cheese scones of yours?”* he asked, pouring the coffee. *”Feels unfair, just eating them.”*
I laughedthen hugged him from behind
