Oh, Emily, thank goodness I caught you outside! Saves me a trip upstairs! puffed Patricia, Emily’s mother-in-law, catching her breath.
“Hello there!” Emily replied, a bit taken aback by the sudden meeting.
They weren’t exactly at odds, but Patricia rarely visited—her whole world revolved around her daughter, Abigail.
“Emily, love, could you spare five hundred quid? Abby’s taking little Noah to a wellness retreat. Need to buy this and that… Prices these days, through the roof! You know how it is,” Patricia said, rolling her eyes with a tut.
Emily clenched her jaw. How many times had she bit back the words, “I’m not a cash machine!”? She’d say it to Patricia, to Abigail—right to their faces—if it meant ending this endless begging.
But she stayed quiet. Patricia was her husband Adam’s mum, grandmother to their daughter Lily. Speaking up meant conflict, ruining family ties. Emily worried about Adam—he’d be torn between wife and mother. So she swallowed her anger… and reached for her purse.
—
Emily trudged home in a foul mood. A surprise audit at work, nitpicking bosses, overtime, groceries still to buy—then dinner, Lily’s homework, uniforms to iron… The list never ended.
She unlocked the flat, exhausted.
“Mum! We’ve got a project on British birds due tomorrow—can you help?” Lily, nine years old, bounced over, blissfully unaware.
“Of course, sweetheart. Let me change, whip up dinner, and we’ll sort it.”
Emily dropped her bags in the kitchen, headed to the bedroom.
“Didn’t hear you come in. Rough day at the office?” Adam asked from the sofa.
“Another audit. Same old.” She sighed.
“Listen, sent Mum five hundred. They needed a spring coat for Noah.”
“Adam, when does this stop?! Noah has a father—why’s it always us footing the bill? Why are their problems our never-ending headache?” Emily snapped.
“Em, don’t start. You know their situation—”
“What situation, Adam?!” She fought to keep her voice down.
“Abby can’t find work, her ex skips child support, Mum pours her pension into them… Are we really so heartless we can’t buy the boy a coat? You and I both work—”
“That’s exactly it! *We* work. Why should Lily go without because we’re bankrolling another family? Explain that to me!” Heat rose in her cheeks.
“Em, let’s not row over this. Come on, I’ll help with dinner.”
Abigail—Adam’s younger sister—had married a “successful entrepreneur,” Oliver, five years ago.
“Oh, Abby and Ollie are off to Spain again! Fancy hotel, living the high life. Meanwhile, you’re stuck in your accounting job, scraping by!” Patricia never missed a chance to flaunt Abby’s “lavish” life.
Then the truth surfaced: Oliver and Abby had maxed out loans for their luxury facade. The money vanished, and the fallout began.
First, they bickered over debts. Then came bank calls, threats of court. Oliver solved his problems swiftly—vanished, rumoured to be up north.
Abby was left with loans and Noah. Patricia paid some with her pension; the rest barely covered basics. Of course, it wasn’t enough.
So Emily and Adam stepped in—paying bills, even skimping on themselves. “Family in need,” they reasoned.
The breaking point? Spotting Abby sipping coffee at a café, smug as you please.
“Abby, what are you doing here?” Emily gaped.
“Having a bite. Problem?” Abby smirked.
“*We* fund you, and you’re splurging on cafés?!”
“What, you get lunches out, but I can’t?!” Abby pouted.
That evening, Patricia unleashed hell—calling Emily selfish, ungrateful, accusing her of tormenting poor, “traumatised” Abby.
“Patricia, I’ve no issue with cafés—if Abby *earned* it! Get a job, then she can banquet daily!” Emily shot back.
“Work? Send Noah to nursery? Are you mad? He’s always poorly!” Patricia wailed.
“All kids go! Lily started at eighteen months—she’s fine.”
“Fine! Keep your money! I’ll work myself before I abandon them!” Patricia stormed out.
Silence followed. No visits, no pleas for cash. Adam fretted; Emily assured him Abby was grown—she needed to sort her life: sue for child support, work, enrol Noah.
Adam agreed—but Abby *refused* to adult. And Patricia enabled her.
—
Months later, at the mall, they bumped into the trio—Abby, Patricia, Noah, laden with shopping.
“Abby’s landed a *proper* job now. *Our* little provider,” Patricia crowed, eyeing Emily.
“Brilliant! About time!” Adam beamed.
“Truly chuffed for you, Abby,” Emily added.
Abby glowed, flaunting a shiny new phone.
The triumph was short-lived. Abby had *another* credit card—maxed out, payments missed. The cycle repeated: bank calls, tears, pleas.
Of course, they turned to Emily and Adam. And, of course, they caved—again. Abby swore she’d reform, repay, *this time would be different*… Yet weeks passed, nothing changed.
—
“Oh, Emily! Lucky I caught you!” Patricia simpered outside their flat.
“Hello.”
“Five hundred, love? Abby’s off to that retreat—”
Emily snapped. She flung open her empty purse. “See? *We’re* skint too!”
Patricia gaped.
“Emily, this—this is a *performance*! To *humiliate* us?!”
“Not at all! We’ve clothed Lily, fixed Adam’s car, skipped *our* holiday—yet Abby swans off to spas? *How?!*”
“You *viper*!” Patricia hissed, storming off.
“Exactly.” Emily marched inside.
Three weeks of silence. Then, a call:
“Abby met a man at the retreat—Paul Oakley. *Entrepreneur*. Hired her!” Patricia bragged.
Emily’s stomach dropped. “Adam, our boss said Oakley’s a conman. Shell companies, debts.”
Adam called Abby—who spat:
“Mind your *own* business! Don’t ruin my *happiness*!”
This time, they vowed: *Not our circus. Not our monkeys.* Whatever came next, they wouldn’t pay for Abby’s “happiness” again.
