**Rift and Reconciliation**
15th April
Family storms are a tricky thing. Before marriage, Emily had no idea that living with her husband’s relatives could become such an ordeal. Raised in a close-knit family where arguments were rare, she assumed she’d be spared such troubles. Her colleagues’ tales of overbearing mothers-in-law seemed exaggerated—surely that wouldn’t happen to her.
After the wedding, Emily and James moved in with his mother, Margaret, in her cosy but cramped two-bedroom flat in a small town near Manchester. At first, Margaret welcomed her warmly, and the first few months passed smoothly. Children weren’t part of the plan yet—the young couple dreamed of saving for their own home.
James worked for a large tech firm, his salary allowing them to plan for the future. Emily also worked, though she earned less as a teacher at the local school. Margaret was pleasant enough but had a habit of offering unsolicited advice that, at first, seemed harmless.
Emily tried to ignore it, but over time, Margaret interfered more often. Her tone grew authoritative, her remarks sharper.
One day, Emily came home beaming with excitement, carrying a new blender.
“Now we can make smoothies in the mornings—healthy and delicious!” she exclaimed, setting the box on the kitchen table.
Margaret eyed the purchase sceptically, pursing her lips.
“What’s the point? A waste of money. Normal people eat porridge for breakfast, not these modern gimmicks that ruin your stomach. You’ll regret it later.” With that, she turned on her heel and left.
Emily couldn’t help herself. “Your son hates porridge! He grabs toast and tea and runs off to work!”
Margaret froze in the doorway, turning back with a cold retort. “If you were a proper wife, you’d wake up earlier and make him a decent breakfast instead of sleeping till noon!”
“I don’t sleep till noon! My lessons start later—should I lose sleep over that?”
From that evening on, a shadow hung between them. The blender was just the spark—tension had been building for months. Sipping her tea, Emily stewed in silence.
“What kind of mother-in-law did I end up with? Instead of being happy for me, she’s always picking fights. It’s not my fault my job starts later. James is a grown man—he can make his own toast. Why should I live by her rules?”
The sound of the key in the lock snapped her out of her thoughts—James was home. They always shared their day in the evenings, their only time together.
“Hey,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Why so glum?”
“Waiting for you. Wanted to show off.” She nodded at the blender. “Breakfasts just got an upgrade!”
“Brilliant! Well done,” he grinned.
But then Margaret’s voice cut in from the other room. “What’s there to celebrate? Just another gadget to wreck your health!”
“Mum, come on. Everyone has blenders—no one’s complaining,” James said, trying to smooth things over.
“How much did you waste on this nonsense?” Margaret turned to Emily.
Without missing a beat, Emily quoted half the actual price.
“And that’s not too much? Who brings in the money here? James works his fingers to the bone, and you throw it around!”
“I work too!” Emily shot back. “I’m not sitting around doing nothing!”
“Pennies, that’s what you earn! James supports this family, and you’re just a spendthrift!”
The argument escalated. James, seeing it spiral, took Emily’s hand and steered her to their room, shutting the door behind them.
“God, I’m so tired of this,” Emily sighed. “Why does she have to stick her nose into our lives?”
She wanted to vent but held back—James wasn’t to blame for his mother. Margaret spent her pension fixing up her cottage—now the fence, now the roof. James grumbled but helped anyway.
The next morning, while Emily slept, Margaret decided to make James breakfast—proof of who truly cared for him.
“Mum, why bother? I can manage,” he said, surprised.
But she wouldn’t let up, unloading her thoughts: Emily was lazy, ungrateful, couldn’t look after her husband. James listened, hiding a smile. He knew she was exaggerating and didn’t take it to heart.
“Thanks, Mum. Better dash,” he said, heading out.
Margaret stood there, bewildered. Emily, waking later, ate alone—Margaret didn’t emerge. That evening, when James returned, his mother started complaining again. Emily, overhearing, had had enough.
“She’s at it again?” she snapped when he walked in.
He hugged her. “Don’t let it get to you. She means well.”
“For who? I’m sick of her meddling! If I buy something without her approval, it’s the end of the world! James, I can’t do this. Let’s rent a place and move out!”
“And spend my whole salary on rent? We’re saving for our own home.”
“I’ll find a better-paying job,” Emily said firmly. “Then we’ll go.”
“Alright, let’s not rush,” he softened. “I’m on your side. Buy what you like. I’ll talk to Mum.”
After that talk, Margaret grew colder, speaking only when necessary. Emily avoided the kitchen if she was there. James, playing diplomat, tiptoed between them, keeping the peace.
Then they were invited to the birthday party of James’s colleague’s wife, Olivia, who raved about her husband’s gift—a dishwasher.
“Emily, it’s genius!” Olivia gushed. “Load it, press a button—done!”
“I want one!” Emily decided. “No waiting for James to surprise me. I’ll buy it myself—he said I could.”
She didn’t hesitate: she drove to the shop, picked a model, and called James.
“Got a dishwasher! Olivia made it sound amazing. It’s being delivered tonight.”
“Brilliant. More time for us,” he said, not asking the price.
When the deliverymen carried the box into the kitchen, Margaret stormed in.
“What’s this now?”
“Dishwasher,” the deliveryman said proudly before leaving.
Emily braced for the explosion. Margaret flushed crimson.
“A dishwasher! Too lazy to wash a few plates! I’ve scrubbed dishes by hand my whole life, and she’s playing the lady of leisure!” The rant poured out.
Emily busied herself unboxing, tuning her out, but muttered, “James knows. Don’t act shocked when he gets home.”
Margaret snatched up her phone and retreated. When James arrived, she started up again, not caring that Emily was there.
“Enough!” Emily burst out. “Your control is suffocating! I’ve found a better job—higher pay. James and I are renting a place. You can live alone!”
Margaret left without a word. The next day, she stayed in her room. James went to the garage to tinker with the car, leaving Emily alone with her thoughts.
“Maybe I overreacted? She wasn’t always like this. We got along at first. Was the dishwasher really necessary?”
She made a decision. Assembling a tray with tea and biscuits, she knocked on Margaret’s door.
“Fancy a cuppa?”
“I’d like that,” came the unexpectedly warm reply. “Come in, love. Found a recipe for apple pie. Fancy some?”
“I adore apple pie!” Emily smiled.
That evening, James returned to find his wife and mother chatting over tea and pie. The sight warmed his heart.
