“Can I get a list of services?” Lillian challenged, realizing her so-called “family discounts” had turned into loans and schemes.
“Mind if I ask you something?” Lillian set a bowl of tomato soup in front of her mother-in-law and glaredmaybe a little too hard. “Why do you come over every single day? Did we open a free canteen here, or is this the ‘Humiliate the Daughter-in-Law Club’?”
Margaret Wilkins, a sixty-four-year-old woman with a face permanently stuck in disapprovallike the world personally offended hereyed Lillian down. The wrinkles around her lips twisted into a spiteful little bow.
“First of all,” she started, not touching the soup, “Im his mother. Second, if you could cook properly, I wouldnt *have* to come over. And third” she leaned in, “I just want to make sure youre not poisoning my son.”
Daniel, Lillians thirty-eight-year-old husband, sat between them like cheese in a sandwichthe kind thats just starting to melt, trying to slide off unnoticed.
“Mum, come on, not this again,” he mumbled, picking at his bread. “Soups fine.”
“Oh, *fine*!” Margaret mocked. “Everythings *fine* with you two! Her pitiful little teaching job, her awful clothes, this *soup*did you boil a shoe in it?”
Lillian exhaled. She always exhaled when she needed to hold her tongue. But this time, it didnt help.
“Then dont eat it. Doors right there, Margaret. Or did you come back to tell me Daniels *ex* made thicker soup and kept him happier?”
Daniel flinched like someone had flipped an electric hob on under his chair.
“Lil, dont start”
“Oh, here we go!” Margaret snapped. “Look at you, the Queen of the Saucepan! Meanwhile, *Emily* managed to work, keep the house tidy, *and* not embarrass her husband!”
*Emily*. The legendary ex-wife. The one who left on her own termsgracefully, with dignity. But Margaret treated her like a saint.
“So why arent *you* eating *her* soup if youre such a fan?” Lillian shot back, feeling her blood boiljust like that sad excuse for soup.
Daniel flushed but, true to form, only muttered, “Alright, enough. Mum, drop the Emily talk.”
Margaret stood, adjusted her threadbare jumper, and said sweetly, “If you two had any real money instead of your measly teachers salary, youd sing a different tune. Sitting hereno savings, no future. And *Im* the one thinking about *your* wellbeing! Who else is going to save you from your mistakes?”
“Save us?” Lillian repeated, bracing her hands on the table. “Can I get a list of services? Mustve missed that part.”
“Mums right,” Daniel suddenly cut in. “Lil, you know how tight things are. Loans, bills Shes just trying to help.”
Lillian stared at him. And then it hit her*nothing would ever change.*
That evening, after Margaret finally leftslamming the door so hard a jar of baked beans fell off the shelfLillian sat at the kitchen table, replaying one question: *”What the hell am I still doing here?”*
Her phone buzzed. A text: *”Lillian Hart, urgent call. Notary. Regarding your late aunt Claire.”*
Aunt Claire Honestly, Lillian barely remembered her. Lived in York. Eccentric. Harmless, though.
She called back. A dry, official voice answered.
“Miss Hart? Notary Edwards here. Regarding your aunts estate. Shes left you everything.”
“Sorry*what*?” Lillian wiped the damp counter absently.
“Her entire estate. Including a bank deposit. Two hundred thousand pounds. Well need you to come in.”
Lillian sat. Stood. Then sat again.
“Two. Hundred. Thousand.”
She stared at the wall. Then the kitchen door burst openDaniel, grinning, a Tesco bag in hand.
“Hey, Mum called says maybe you should go on maternity leave? No point slaving away at school for peanuts”
“Uh-huh,” Lillian said, looking straight through him.
News spread faster than flu.
Next morning, Margaret was at the door, smug, clutching a bag.
“Darling!” she cooed, voice syrupy enough to rot teeth. “Congratulations! I *knew* you were our lucky charm! Even the soups not so bad now. Oh, andwe should discuss how to manage this *windfall*. Make it *work*, you know?”
“What money?” Lillian said flatly.
Margaret fluttered her hands. “Oh, dont be coy! Danny told me! Now, we should open an account in *my* namesafer that way.”
Lillian gripped her mug until her knuckles whitened. “Right. *Safer*.”
Daniel, in the living room, suddenly became *very* interested in fixing the TV remote.
Margaret paced like a landlord inspecting property. “First, well buy Danny a flat. Poor boy struggles! Then a car. Oh, and my nephew Jakes starting a garagebrillient investment!”
Lillian stood, slow and deliberate.
“Margaret. For five years, youve told me Im nothing. Now youre giving *financial advice*?”
Margaret stiffened. “Because now youre our *hope*!”
“Too late. That ships sailed.”
That night, her friend Rachel brought two bottles of cheap wine. “To freedom. No mother-in-law. No husband. No bloody garage.”
Lillian clinked her glass. “Cheers.”
Her phone buzzedDaniel. Texts: *”Youre really keeping it all? After everything Mums done for you?”*
Then, from an unknown number: *”Urgent: £5,000 loan repayment overdue. Contact solicitor A. Walsh.”*
Loan? *What loan?*
A call confirmed ita loan taken in her name a year ago. Video “proof” showed her signing papers at Margarets kitchen table. *”Just insurance forms, love!”*
Rachel stared. “Lil, what the *hell*?”
“Its a *bloody* mess.”
Days later, another blowMargaret contested the will. Claimed Aunt Claire was “influenced.”
So Lillian did something she never expected.
She called Daniel. Cold. Calm.
“Were divorcing. Papers go in tomorrow. And youre getting *nothing*.”
For the first time in years, she felt light. Terrifyingly light.
The divorce day was absurdly sunny. The registrar stamped the forms. “Kids?”
“None.”
“Well, thats *something*,” the woman muttered.
Then came the dominoes.
Daniel begged. Margaret sent weepy texts: *”Were family!”* Then sued, claiming Lillian was “unstable.”
The courtroom was a circus. Margaret sobbed. Daniel played the grieving widower.
Their lawyer? A sharp-eyed man who dropped the mic: *”Bank records show Daniel withdrawing the loan cashcaught on CCTV.”*
After, Daniel cornered her outside.
“Lil, come on mistakes happen. Were *family*!”
She looked at him*really* looked.
“You know what? I just realizedI never *had* a family. I had a *project*. Called Try to Earn Their Love.”
She walked away.
Divorce final. Will upheld. Loan pinned on Daniel.
Margaret tried to backtrack. Texts: *”Dont be cross! Danny cant even peel potatoes without you!”*
Lillian blocked her. Everywhere.
Now? A tiny flathers. A stray kitten. A new job. And money in *her* account.
For the first time in years, she woke up free.
And honestly? That was worth more than two hundred grand.
