Emma came home from the maternity ward and there stood a second fridge in her kitchen. “This one’s for me and Mum, dont put your food in here,” declared her husband.
Pushing open the front door with her shoulder, Emma cradled little Oliver tightly against her chest. The October wind had somehow crept under her coat, leaving her desperate for warmth, quiet, and peace.
The hospital was behind her, and ahead lay homethe flat shed inherited from her grandmother and put in her name before the wedding. Every crack in the ceiling, every familiar corner reminded her of the past. This was where she should feel safe.
Liam walked in first, kicked off his shoes, and dropped his coat on the hallway floor. Emma stepped insideand froze. Something was off. The air smelled unfamiliarnot of her perfume or her hand cream, but of flowers mixed with something sharp and strange.
“Come on, dont just stand there,” Liam called without turning.
Emma slipped off her shoes and moved slowly down the hall. The living room was dim, an unfamiliar rose-embroidered cushion on the sofa. A vase of fake flowers sat on the coffee tabledefinitely not there a week ago.
In the kitchen, clattering greeted her. There stood her mother-in-law, Margaret, in an apron, stirring something enthusiastically in a pot. Her hair was perfectly styled, pearls around her neck, lipstick onas if preparing for guests, not welcoming her daughter-in-law home with a newborn.
“Oh, Emma! Finally!” Margaret called, not stepping away from the stove. “Let me see the baby! Bring him here quick!”
Emma instinctively stepped forwardbut her gaze landed on something massive and shiny by the wall. Next to their old, dependable fridge stood a second onebrand new, silver, with factory stickers still on the handles.
“Where did this come from?” Emma asked, confused.
Margaret turned, wiping her hands on her apron, smiling as if shed just pulled off a lovely surprise.
“We bought it! Liam came with uswe picked a good, spacious one. Now well finally have order in the kitchen. Proper nutrition is vital, especially with a baby. You understand, dont you?”
“With us?” Emma echoed. “Whos ‘us’?”
“Well, me, of course!” Margaret tapped the wooden spoon impatiently. “Ill be staying here now to help. I thought Liam had told you.”
The colour drained from Emmas face. Oliver whimpered in her arms, and she instinctively held him tighter.
“Liam?” she called, turning toward the door.
Her husband walked in just then, two grocery bags in hand. His face was tired, his gaze distant.
“What?”
“Your mum says shes moving in?”
Liam nodded as if discussing milk running out.
“Well, yeah. Youll need help. Mum agreed to stay for a while until youre stronger.”
“A while?” Emma frowned. “And the fridge?”
“Oh, that.” Liam set the bags down, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Mum got it so her food stays separate. You know, shes got a special diet.”
“Special diet,” Emma repeated slowly. “In my flat.”
“Em, dont start. Im exhausted. Mums just trying to help, and youre making drama already.”
Margaret confidently opened the new fridge and started unpacking the groceriesyoghurts, cheeses, bottled sauces, boxes of vegetables.
“See?” She shut the fridge. “Now everyones got their own space. No ones in each others way.”
Emma wanted to argue, but Oliver criedloud, demanding. He needed feeding, changing, settling. Her head throbbed with exhaustion. The fight could wait.
“Go on, feed the baby,” Margaret waved her off. “Ill sort things here.”
Emma walked out, heading for the bedroom. There, too, things had changed. The dresser held unfamiliar itemshand cream, a perfume bottle, a hairbrush. A dressing gown was slung over the chair, clearly not hers.
“Liam,” she called softly, sitting on the bed.
He appeared in the doorway.
“What now?”
“Why are your mums things in our bedroom?”
“Shes sleeping on the sofa, but she put her things here so theyre not in the way. Does it matter?”
“It matters because this is my flat.”
Liam sighed as if she were making a fuss over nothing.
“Emma, drop it. Mums helping, and youre nitpicking. Would you rather be alone with the baby? No help at all?”
Emma stayed silent. Oliver nursed quietly, his tiny nose twitching, while restless thoughts swirled in her head. How had this happened? Shed left her own flathers and Liamsto have a baby, and returned to what? A shared house with separate fridges and new rules?
Once Oliver was fed and asleep, Emma placed him carefully in the crib by the window. Time to figure this out. She returned to the kitchen.
Margaret sat at the table, sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine.
“Asleep already? Good. Babies need routine from day one.”
Emma opened the old fridge. It was nearly emptysome milk, a bit of cheese, a few eggs. Everything else was gone.
“Margaret, wheres the food?”
“What food, love?”
“The food that was in here. The chicken, the veg, the juices.”
“Oh, those.” Margaret took a sip. “I threw them out. They didnt smell fresh. Didnt want you getting sick.”
Emma froze.
“You threw out my food?”
“Em, dont shout,” Liam cut in, entering. “Mum did the right thing. Better safe than sorry.”
“Im not shouting,” Emma said, voice icy. “Just asking. Margaret, did you even check expiry dates?”
“Why would I? I can smell when things go off. A mothers instinct.” She smiled.
Emma shut the fridge and turned to Liam.
“Can we talk? Alone?”
He nodded reluctantly and followed her to the bedroom. Emma left the door slightly ajar so Oliver wouldnt wake.
“Explain whats happening,” she whispered. “I leave for a week, and your mum acts like she owns the place.”
“Shes not taking overshes helping.”
“Helping?” Emma crossed her arms. “Throwing out my food, bringing her own fridge, spreading her things everywhere. Thats help?”
“Emma, Mum means well. You said handling the baby alone would be hard. I found a solution.”
“A solution?” Emma leaned against the wardrobe. “Liam, did you even ask me?”
“When was I supposed to? You were in hospital, your phone died. Mum offered, and I said yes.”
“She offered to move into my flat and bring her own fridge?” Emma couldnt believe her ears.
“It wasnt like that.” Liam looked away. “Mums had issues with her neighboursnoisy, always drilling. Then you had the baby, so I thoughtwhy not? Two birds, one stone.”
“Two birds.” Emmas voice was flat. “So your mum solved her neighbour problem and gets to control us. That it?”
“Whats controlling about it?” Liams voice rose. “Youre overreacting! Mum wants to help, and youre being hostile!”
Oliver stirred, whining. Emma picked him up, rocking him gently.
“Liam, lets agree on something,” she said quietly. “Your mum can visit, help during the day. But staying permanently? No. This is my flat. I decide who lives here.”
“You have the right,” Liam muttered. “And I dont? Just a sidenoteIm your husband.”
“You are. But not the owner. The flats in my name. The fridge too. I dont need a second one.”
Liam clenched his fists.
“So thats your line? My flat, my rules?”
“Just stating facts.”
“Facts.” He sneered. “Fine. Lets talk facts. Who pays the bills? Who buys the food? Who handled the renovations last year?”
“We did it together,” Emma said.
“Together?” Liam stepped closer. “You worked part-time, Em. I carried the load. Still do. And now youre on maternity leave, making demands.”
Emma pressed her lips together. His words stung, but she wouldnt back down.
“Fine. Ill go back to work in a month, and youll stay home with Oliver.”
Liam scoffed.
“Seriously? Whod hire you straight after maternity leave?”
“They will. Im good at my job.”
“Good at your job,” he mocked. “Whatever. Mum stays. End of.”
He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. Oliver startled awake, crying. Emma held him close, humming a lullaby her own grandmother had taught her.
The next morning, Emma woke to running water. Oliver still slept; it was dark outside. The clock read six. She got up and headed to the kitchen.
Margaret stood at the stove, frying eggs.
