The tension in the kitchen was thick enough to slice with a knife. It had been simmering for years, but tonighttonight it boiled over. The smell of fried potatoes filled the air as I stood at the stove, my fingers white-knuckled around the spatula.
Work had been a nightmare. My boss had hounded me all day about some bloody report, and then James had called: Emily, Mums stopping by. Shes been in town. Of course she had. Margaret Harrington never stopped by without an agenda.
I flipped the potatoes, the oil hissing. My feet ached from heels, my temples throbbed, and all I wanted was to collapse on the sofa with a cuppa and forget the world existed.
Emily? Her voice cut through the flat like a blade. Where are you?
I didnt turn. I knew the routinethe click of her sensible heels down the hall, the way shed survey my kitchen like a general inspecting the troops.
Ah, there you are. Margaret settled at the table with the regal air of a queen holding court. She pulled out her phone, barely glancing up. Put the kettle on, love. And make me a sandwich. Im absolutely shattered.
Something inside me snapped. Three years. Three years of fetch this, do that, as if I were some unpaid housemaid instead of her sons wife.
Kettles on the hob, I said, my voice eerily calm. Breads in the cupboard.
Silence. The kind that presses against your eardrums. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her head lift slowly, as if she couldnt believe what shed just heard.
Excuse me? Her voice turned to ice. What did you just say?
I turned off the stove. Wiped my hands on the sunflower-printed tea towel shed brought us when we moved inher idea of homely touches. Then I faced her.
I said Im a person, not a servant, I replied quietly. Ive had a long day too. If you need something, ask. Dont order.
Right on cue, James appeared in the doorway, blinking like a startled deer. His gaze darted between ushis mother, rigid with outrage, and me, standing my ground for the first time in years.
James! Margarets voice was shrill. Do you hear the way your wife is speaking to me? After all Ive done
I didnt let her finish. James, I said, locking eyes with him. Do *you* respect me?
The flat hummed with tensionthe potatoes cooling, cars rumbling outside, the three of us frozen in this unbearable tableau. And for the first time, I felt a strange calm. The weight of three years of biting my tongue had finally lifted. James stared at me, then at his mother, and I saw itshock. His quiet, compliant wife had finally shown her teeth.
Now it was his turn to choose.
The week that followed was a silent war. Margaret moved through the flat like a ghost, sighing pointedly whenever I passed. James floundered between us, pretending nothing was wrong. But me? I felt alive. For the first time, I wasnt just an extension of someone elses life.
That evening, I curled into James fathers old armchairthe one thing hed taken from his childhood home after his dad passed. Margaret had thrown a fit at the time, calling it disrespectful. But I knew the truth. She couldnt stand the idea of her son taking even a piece of his past with him.
I tried reading a cheesy romance novelmy mum always said they were good for escapismbut the words blurred. All I could think about was how suffocating it all was. Why did everything have to be so bloody complicated?
Em?
I jumped. James stood in the doorway, his hair mussed, looking lost. My sweet, helpless boy whod never quite grown up.
Youre up late, I said, setting the book aside.
He shuffled in, dropping onto the sofa. Been thinking.
About?
He stared at his hands. Youve been different lately. Mum says
Lets leave your mum out of this, I interrupted. Just you and me, James. Why did I marry you?
He looked up, startled. Because you love me?
Because I fell for the bloke who wasnt afraid to make decisions. Remember how you proposed? Right there in Hyde Park, in front of everyone. Your mum said we were too young
A faint smile tugged at his lips. First time I ever stood up to her.
And it was brilliant. But now? Now she runs our lives. James I leaned forward. You grew up with her doing everything for you. But this is *our* home. I wont be your maid *or* hers. Im your wife. Your partner. Understand?
The old clock on the wallanother of Margarets giftsticked loudly in the silence. Tick. Tock. Measuring the distance between us.
If a wife is just free labour to you, I said softly, then maybe we need to rethink what we both want.
He flinched. Are you threatening me?
No, love. Im just tired of being a mother to a grown man. Your mums wrong about a lot, but at least shes honest. Shes used to being in charge. But you? You hide behind her when its time to decide, and behind me when its time to act.
He was quiet for a long time. I watched his jaw tighten, his brows furrow. Then, out of nowhere:
Remember how we met?
Hyde Park, I said, smiling despite myself. You were walking your dog.
Yeah. And she knocked you right over. I was terrified youd be livid. But you just laughed and played with her.
Whats your point?
He met my eyes. Youve always been strong. And I I think I took advantage of that.
Something in my chest loosened. He looked differentstill rumpled, still unsurebut there was something new in his expression. A spark of the man Id fallen for.
James, I whispered. We need to fix this. I cant keep living like this.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains Id forgotten to close. James side of the bed was empty, but there were sounds from the kitchen. Strangehe never woke before noon on weekends.
I pulled on my dressing gown and froze in the doorway.
Margaret was packing. Her old suitcasethe one shed arrived with three weeks agosat by the door. James was methodically loading it with jars of pickles, tins of biscuits, neatly folded jumpers.
Morning, I said softly.
She turned, lips pursed, and gave a curt nod. Normally, Id have scrambled to make tea, to smooth things over. But not today.
Called Mum a cab, James said without looking up. Be here in half an hour.
I moved to the stove. Scrambled eggs sizzled in the pan*not* burnt, for once. And next to them, a French press of coffee. My favourite, with cinnamon.
Darling, Margarets voice wavered. Think about this. I only ever wanted whats best
Mum, James finally met her eyes. I love you. But I need to live my own life.
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Maybe she saw itthe set of his jaw, the resolve in his eyes. The man he was finally becoming.
Fine, she straightened. But call me. And if you need anything
Course, Mum.
When the cab pulled away, I stayed by the window. The feeling wasnt joyshe was still his mother. But it wasnt sadness either. Just peace.
Coffee?
I turned. James stood by the hob, awkwardly holding the press.
You hate making coffee, I blurted.
He shrugged. Could learn.
And just like that, I realisedthis was it. The moment the boy became a man. Not when hed first shaved, not when wed married. But now, when he finally took responsibility for his own life.
Hey, he said, pouring the coffee. Teach me how to make those cheese scones of yours? Feels wrong, just eating them.
I laughedcouldnt help it. Then I wrapped my arms around him from behind, pressing my face between his shoulder blades. He smelled like coffee, my shampoo, and freedom. Thats what freedom smelled liketwo people finally becoming a family.
Ill teach you, I whispered. Everything.
We drank our coffee, and I showed him how to knead the dough. The first batch burned. But they were the best damn scones Id ever tasted.
And you know what? In that moment, I was even grateful to Margaret. If not
