Six years ago Lucien and I scraped together every penny to purchase our own flat, giving up almost everything. At last we owned a tiny tworoom apartmentcozy, bright, modestly furnishedand it was meant to mark the start of a happy, family life. Elodie was pregnant, the birth only days away. Everything was set: the bags packed, the nursery ready, and only one final step stood between us and parenthood.
Elodie had always dreamed of a space that was solely hers, free from parental control and especially the meddling of her motherinlaw. Her relationship with Marguerite had always been strained. Marguerite loved to dictate how to live, breathe, even wash the dishes. One day Elodie finally snapped and told her she didnt need constant advice. Offended, Marguerite vanished from their livesfor a while.
When Lucien drove Elodie to the hospital, he had no idea what awaited him. The very next day his mother called to say she was coming to visit. He barely had time to protest. Marguerite arrived in a flamboyant outfit, surveyed the flat with a critical eye: the entrywayacceptable, the curtainshideous, the kitchena shiny nightmare that must be scrubbed daily! She rummaged through the fridge, condemned the storebought ravioli, and announced she would make soup for the next day. Lucien tried to joke, to change the subject, but failed. His mother changed into workout clothes and began inspecting every other room like a general.
That evening he tried to send her back, but she declared, Im staying the night. You cant be alone in case Elodie comes back tomorrow. So she stayedone night, then a second, then a third.
While he was at work she moved things around, sorted clothing, decided where the changing table should go and what to buy. Luciens patience with her help wore thin, yet he feared disappointing her. Then his mother announced she would remain for a few months to help with the baby, insisting they couldnt manage alone.
When Elodie finally returned, the whole family was thereher parents, Lucien, and, of course, a beaming Marguerite. Elodie instantly sensed something different: new curtains, rearranged furniture, a strange smell lingered. Her parents left. Marguerite stayed. Meeting Elodies silent stare, Lucien whispered, Mom will stay a bit longer to help us
Exhausted from the delivery, Elodie had no choice. That very night the torment began: Youre holding the baby wrong, Youre swaddling poorly, He cries because you cant rock him. Elodie stayed silent until Marguerite snatched the infant from her arms. The blow was complete.
Thanks for the help, but youre free, she said calmly. Hes my child, and Ill be the one to rock him. Only me.
Marguerite rolled her eyes, deeply insulted. Lucien tried to protest clumsily, but Elodies look silenced him. She remained composed, strong. This was her home, her family.
Marguerite packed her bags and never returned. Lucien realized his wife needed support, not orders. For the first time Elodie truly felt in charge of her own house. No matter how much time had passed since the birththe crucial thing was that she hadnt given in.
