“You’re not a mother, you’re a disaster!” — Nasty arguments with her mother-in-law pushed Emily to her limit.
Emily was at the stove, flipping some pasties, when her husband walked into the kitchen.
“Emily, Mum called today,” Daniel started. “She says you won’t let her see our son.”
“Oh, she complained, did she?” Emily frowned.
“Yeah. Says you keep making excuses. She hasn’t seen little Liam in a month,” he added.
Emily wiped her hands nervously on her apron.
“Daniel… I need to tell you something,” she hesitated. “Your mum… said something you should know.”
She told him everything. Daniel went pale and sank into a chair—he hadn’t expected this.
It all began a month ago. That day, Margaret, his mother, had turned up unannounced, as usual. The moment she stepped in, she scanned the hallway with a critical eye.
“Honestly, this place is a mess! Toys everywhere! How can you raise a child in such filth?”
Emily forced a smile, but inside, she was boiling. Liam had just fallen asleep, and his toys were exactly where he’d left them. But for Margaret, it was just another excuse to vent.
“Daniel!” she snapped. “Are you a man or what? You should be making sure your wife keeps a proper home!”
“Mum, it’s fine,” he grumbled, not looking up from his phone.
“*Fine*? The place looks like a tornado hit, and you’re lounging about like you’re on holiday!”
“Liam’s just energetic,” Emily said calmly, though her voice was tight.
“Energetic? You should be watching him, not letting him run wild!”
And, like always, the conversation turned into praise for how *perfect* Daniel had been as a child—neat, quiet, *flawless*. Emily nodded along, but with every word, her resentment grew.
“Margaret,” she finally cut in, “I’m raising my son my way. He’s two. He’s *learning*.”
“Learning to hurt himself, more like! Scrapes, cuts—and you just stand there saying *oh, he’s exploring*!”
“That’s what kids do. They figure things out by trying, by making mistakes.”
“No! That’s *negligence*. What if he really hurts himself?”
“Mum—” Daniel tried to step in, but Margaret only got louder.
“If you can’t be a proper mother, maybe I’ll have to report you!”
The next day, she was back—banging on the door like always.
“What took you so long? I thought you weren’t even home!” she snapped.
“I was busy,” Emily replied evenly.
“Still a mess, I see! Do you ever clean?”
“Of course. But Liam plays. That’s normal.”
“*Normal*? Daniel at his age—”
“Yes, I know. He was *perfect*. Not a speck of dust, not a single flaw. And yet he still can’t make himself scrambled eggs!”
“What’s *that* supposed to mean?”
“That you raised a man who can’t function on his own.”
“*He* earns the money! *You* just sit at home!”
“I *raise our child*. And I want him to grow up *independent*—not helpless like his father.”
Then—*crash*. A sound of breaking glass, followed by Liam’s wails. Emily rushed to the living room—there he was, holding his hand, blood trickling from a small cut.
“Oh, sweetheart—” She scooped him up. “Shh, it’s okay, love, it’s okay!”
“See?!” Margaret hissed. “I *told* you! You’re not a mother, you’re a *disaster*! I’m calling social services!”
Emily froze. This wasn’t just an insult—it was a *threat*.
“Fine. Bring an inspector. But right now—*get out*,” she said quietly.
From that day, Emily changed. She didn’t slam the door—she just stopped opening it to Margaret without reason. There was always an excuse: quarantine, doctor’s orders, renovations, Liam being poorly…
Once, Margaret showed up unannounced. Emily peeked through the gap in the door.
“Oh, didn’t you get my text? So sorry! The doctor said Liam’s immune system’s weak—no visitors just yet.”
“I’m *family*!”
“Yes, but… doctor’s orders. We’ll see you soon, though!”
Margaret stormed off without another word.
That evening, Daniel came to her.
“Mum says you won’t let her see Liam. Why?”
“Because I’m scared. She *threatened* me.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“You really think she won’t call social services if she gets angry again?”
He went quiet. Emily took his hand.
“He’s *our* son. His safety comes first.”
“You think she’d actually… harm him?”
“She doesn’t see boundaries. Her *care* is dangerous.”
“…Alright,” he sighed. “I won’t push it.”
Emily smiled in relief. Margaret had crossed the line—and now, the game had changed.
