The Baked Truth: How One Cod Flipped a Family Upside Down
Oliver trudged home from work, weary but content. A mouthwatering scent drifted from the kitchen. Rubbing his hands together, he peered inside.
“Mmm, that smells divine! What’s cooking, Emily?”
“Just baked some fish,” his wife replied calmly.
Before he could ask about the seasoning, odd noises echoed from deeper in the flat. Oliver tensed.
“Are the neighbours at it again?”
“No, not the neighbours. There’s a surprise waiting for you in the back room,” Emily said, a cryptic smile playing on her lips.
“What surprise?” he frowned.
“Go see for yourself.”
Oliver shuffled down the hallway, nudged the door open—and froze. There, perched in the armchair as if she belonged, sat his mother—Margaret Whitmore.
She had arrived unannounced earlier. Emily, assuming it was a delivery, had opened the door without hesitation.
“Margaret, hello. You might’ve given us some warning. What if we hadn’t been home?”
“Oliver works. You stay home. I can manage; I’m not an invalid yet. Where’s my room?”
“Come in for now. We’ll sort it.”
“Three bedrooms, and you can’t decide straight away? And he didn’t even know?”
“He was just as unaware. Did you not tell him?”
“Why would I? I’m not visiting. I’m moving in.”
Emily bit her tongue, though her insides twisted. She needed to finish her work, so she asked Margaret to wait. The older woman sneered, glancing around before muttering,
“Empty fridge, I see.”
“Groceries are on the way.”
When the delivery arrived, Emily swiftly assembled a simple meal—sliced cheese, ham, bread, brewed tea.
“Fancy some porridge? Pancakes?”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I can cook if needed.”
Emily nodded and left. Half an hour later, work submitted, she returned to the kitchen only to find Margaret had “claimed” the room beside the bathroom—Oliver’s late-night gaming den.
“Filthy mess in here. Dishes stacked. Does he even clean?”
“He works. This is where he unwinds.”
“Works? More like plays with his toys. You sit at home ordering food online while he slaves away day and night.”
Emily stayed silent, swallowing the bitterness. She remembered her mother’s words after she’d complained about Oliver’s gaming:
“At least he’s not out gallivanting. He plays quietly.”
“And when we have children?”
“Didn’t get his fill as a boy, did he?”
True enough. All the money Margaret had given them for the flat, Oliver had blown on flashy gadgets. A childhood dream, he’d called it. Yet the flat was in Emily’s name, thanks to her parents’ contribution.
After lunch, Margaret dozed off in her “new” room. Oliver returned from work, heard the snoring, and frowned.
“Neighbours?”
“No. Your mother. Go talk to her.”
Margaret woke just in time. No greetings—straight to business.
“I’m retired now. Fancy travelling, but I’ll stay here between trips. Selling my place—gave you the money, so I’ve got rights here too.”
“Mum, seriously? We wanted this room for a nursery. Emily won’t agree.”
“Then give my money back. Fair’s fair.”
“I already send you a monthly allowance. We’ve a family to think of.”
“Family? Emily sits around at home. You’re the only one working. Fetch the paperwork—better be in order.”
Emily wordlessly left, returning with a folder.
“Here. The flat’s in my name. My parents paid in.”
“And mine?”
“Gone. Spent on your golden boy. On his ‘childhood.’”
Oliver stood, shamefaced.
“Sorry, Mum. But I’d dreamed of that setup. Now? I’m done. Don’t want it anymore.”
“Oh!” Emily snapped. “And if you don’t quit, I’ll file for divorce. You can live with Mum and your consoles.”
“Emily, don’t! I’ll sell it all. Promise. Let’s eat. No screens tonight.”
At dinner, Margaret brooded in silence.
“So I’m nothing here? Thought I’d be running things.”
“You’re my husband’s mother. But this is our family. I won’t be taking orders.”
“Oliver, you’re whipped!”
“Better whipped by my wife than micromanaged by my mother. You’ve dictated my life long enough. No more. I’m grown.”
Margaret rose, snatched her bag.
“Call me a cab. I’m leaving. You’ll remember me yet.”
Oliver silently saw her out. Returning, he slumped at the table.
“I’ll have the fish and the roast. Starving.”
“About the gaming—did you mean it?”
“Yeah. Selling it all. We’ll need the money for kids. I’m ready now. As for Mum… we’ll sort it. Just stay with me.”
Emily smiled. Inside, she felt it—this forbidden fruit had finally ripened.
