**A Slice of Someone Elses Pie**
“Put your hand on your heartmy blood pressures all over the place,” she sighed dramatically. “The doctor says I need expensive medication Youll help your mother, wont you?”
***
The flat smelled of vanilla and freshly brewed coffeeLydia had just pulled an apple and cinnamon pie from the oven. The golden crust crackled under the knife, filling the kitchen with a warm, comforting scent, as if autumn itself had peeked through the window. Lydia was carefully arranging slices on porcelain plates when the doorbell rangsharp, insistent, like a metronomes beat.
On the doorstep stood her mother-in-law, Margaret Whitmore. Elegant in a cashmere coat the colour of sea foam, her silver hair perfectly coiffed, she beamed a radiant smile. In her hands was a bag from an upscale patisseriethe sort where a single cake cost as much as a familys weekly grocery shop.
“Lydia, darling, hello!” she trilled, arms outstretched for a hug. “I was just passing by and thought Id pop in. It smells divine in here! Just like my childhood”
Lydia forced a smile, feeling the familiar tension coil inside her like a spring about to snap. She knew this visit wasnt incidental.
Margaret had become a persistent presence three years agoafter her husband, Davids father, left. At first, it was sweet: Sunday roasts, cosy chats over tea, help with errands. But gradually, her visits grew more frequent, and her requests more insistent.
“David, my love,” Margaret would sigh, pressing a hand to her chest, “my blood pressures dreadful. The doctor says I need these expensive pills Youll help your mother, wont you?”
David, kind-hearted and obliging, never refused. At first, the sums were smalltwenty, fifty quid. Then they ballooned to a hundred, two hundred. Lydia tried to talk to him, but hed brush her off with a faintly irritated look.
“Lydia, come on. Mums not well. I cant abandon her. Shes my mother.”
Meanwhile, Margaret “forgot” to mention that the pills were already bought, and the money had vanishedinto “urgent vitamin courses,” “exclusive clinic treatments,” or “helping a friend in need.”
Then one day, Lydia stumbled upon a social media post: Margaret in a café, grinning over a cappuccino and a raspberry tart. The caption read: *”Sweet treatsthe best cure for a blue mood!”*
Lydia frowned. Just the day before, Margaret had called David in tears:
“Darling, I feel dreadful My tablets ran out, and the doctor says I need imported onesthey cost a fortune! I dont know where Ill get the money I might as well lie down and die!”
Lydia showed David the photo. He scowled, swiping the screen as if trying to erase it. Confusion flickered in his eyesthen justification.
“Maybe its old? Or she just needed a little pick-me-up. Even sick people deserve small joys.”
“David,” Lydia said quietly, a lump forming in her throat, “shes spending your money on cafés and cakes while we skimp on a new washing machine. Dont you see the problem?”
That evening, Margaret called, sobbing so loudly Lydia heard it through the speaker:
“David, Im so lonely Youve no idea how hard it is. And now Lydias turned against meaccusing me of wasting money! I just wanted a little warmth”
David turned to Lydia, lips pressed tight.
“Why must you attack Mum?” he snapped, slamming his phone onto the side table. “Shes hanging by a thread, and youre pushing her over the edge!”
Lydias anger boiledhot, molten.
“Im not attacking her! I just want you to see the truth. Shes manipulating you!”
“Youre just stingy!” David shouted, the words hanging like poison in the air. “You begrudge my own mother a few pounds?”
Lydia walked silently to the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click. Outside, rain drummed against the window, mirroring the storm inside her.
***
The next day, Margaret arrived to “make amends.” She brought flowersostentatious lilac-wrapped chrysanthemumsapologised for “emotions, but her eyes held a cold calculation beneath the remorse.
“Lydia, darling, I understand youre worried about money,” she said sweetly, stirring her tea with hypnotic grace. “But you know how important it is to care for your elders. I dont ask for much just a little help now and then.”
Lydia gripped her cup until her fingers ached. The teas usually soothing scent now felt suffocating.
“Margaret, have you ever considered were tired too? That we need money for our own lives? For repairs, holidays, our future?”
Margaret gasped, her bangles clinking.
“Oh, my dear, youre so young You dont understand how quickly age creeps up. Yesterday, I nearly fainted! The doctor insists I need vitaminsso expensive! And tests! And massages! It all adds up”
Lydia opened her mouth, but David called just then.
“Mum, where are you?” His voice was anxious. “Ive been worried.”
“Darling, Im at yours,” Margaret cooed, her tone softening like silk. “Lydia and I are having a lovely chat. Dont fret.”
Lydia stepped onto the balcony. The cold wind slapped her facebetter than the cloying flowers and hollow apologies. She watched the city below: lights, cars, people rushing about. Everyone had their own truths, their own places. Hers felt like a maze of lies.
***
A week later, Lydia made her move. She gathered receipts, screenshots, photosall the evidence shed collectedand staged a family meeting. The coffee table became a battlefield, papers stacked like strategy cards.
“David, look,” she said firmly, laying them out. Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled. “Heres a pharmacy receipt for fifty quid. Heres your mum at a café the same day. Heres a text saying shes terribly illthen a theatre selfie an hour later. And here: need a heater, then a salon appointment the next day”
Davids face darkened as he pieced it togethera puzzle he didnt want to solve.
“Mum, is this true?” he demanded when she dropped by unannounced. Pain rang in his voice.
Margaret paled but quickly rallied. She pressed a hand to her chest, eyes wellingreal tears or not, who could say?
“Darling, you know how I adore the theatre Its not a crime to treat myself! Im not squandering itI just wanted to feel alive!”
“But you said it was for medicine!” Davids voice cracked. “You lied to me? For months?”
“I I just wanted you to remember me,” she whispered, tears glistening. “You barely call, barely visit I was so lonely. Like I didnt matter anymore”
Lydia watched, her chest tight. Margaret played her son like a fiddle, plucking the right notes. But this time, David didnt yield.
“Enough!” he shouted, the word like thunder. “No more games! You used me. You knew I wouldnt refuse, and you exploited that. And you called Lydia greedy Thats low. Cruel.”
Margaret sobbed into her hands.
“Darling, I didnt mean”
“I know exactly what you meant,” he cut in, his gaze steely. “And I wont let you manipulate us anymore. Youll get helpbut honestly. No more spare cash.”
***
After that, David set boundaries. Hed buy her medicine himself, fix her boilerbut no more handouts.
Margaret flinched as if struck. Her fingers drummed the tablecloth.
“Darling, how could youIm your mother!”
“Exactly,” he said. “Thats why Im doing this. Because I love you. And I want us to be honest.”
Lydia said nothing. She felt no triumphjust weary relief. Margarets trembling hands, her quivering lipsit was all theatre.
***
The next weeks were tense. Margaret cycled between tearful calls and icy silences. Then one day, she arrived unannouncedagain.
Lydia made tea, studying her. Something was different. Margaret sat by the window, chin in hand, watching the rain blur the city.
“Are you sad?” Lydia asked softly.
Margaret turned. No maskjust tired resignation.
“No. Just thinking.”
They sipped in silencenot oppressive, but companionable.
“Ive always been selfish,” Margaret said suddenly, avoiding Lydias gaze. “When my husband left, I felt like Id lost everything. And youyou were so confident, so capable
