17October
Dear Diary,
Patience, love, Mother always says when Im on the brink of tears. Youre now part of another family; you must respect their ways. You married into this house, you didnt just drop in for tea.
What ways, Mum? Everyone here is absolutely bonkersespecially Motherinlaw! She despises me, thats plain as day!
Have you ever heard of a kind motherinlaw? she retorts, as if I were a child.
The confrontation in the kitchen was inevitable. Margaret Thompson, my motherinlaw, stood in the centre, her face flushed with fury, eyes smouldering. If a man strays, its the womans fault. Do you need me to spell that out for you? she snapped.
Margaret was in a rage, shouting at me as though she were possessed. It all began when she suspected her son Brian of infidelity.
I, a young, delicate woman with wide, trusting eyes, pressed against the wall, trying desperately to soothe the angry lady.
Margaret, thats unreasonable. He has a family, children I began, hoping for a sliver of reason, but she cut me off with a sweeping hand, as if shooing away a persistent fly.
What family? What child wont even let his grandparents near him? Your upbringing, by the way! she sneered.
Upbringing? Brian is only a year old! I whispered, my voice shaking.
Little? The Egerton boys are even smaller. He cant even grip a toy without throwing a tantrumjust like yours, she gestured toward the nursery.
Actually, hes your grandson, I managed to say, my throat dry. Children sense bad people; maybe thats why he keeps his distance.
Are we the bad ones then? Youre a painted goat! Margaret roared. Who are you living on charity with? Whose food are you eating? Whose money are you spending? Ungrateful!
I stopped arguing. Id begged Brian a thousand times to move out of his parents house, but he, ever the pampered son, saw no reason to change. He loved living under his parents roof, feeling as safe as a sparrow in a nest. He went to work calmly while the elderly handled laundry, cleaning and cookingmore fantasy than reality.
At first, I tried everything to win Margaret over. I helped around the house, lent an ear to her endless complaints about neighbours and the garden, even cleaned up after Brians toys. But each effort proved futile.
No matter how dutiful I was, Margarets hatred festered, and I never pretended to hide it.
The poor thing was brought into this house as if she were a defect, Margaret bragged to our neighbour, Mrs. Martha, while I gathered Brians scattered toys outside.
Even the next village heard about it! Our grandmothers are far betterhardworking and sensible, Martha added, gossiping as usual.
You cant imagine how useless she is! Nothing she touches turns out right, I muttered under my breath.
Dont even start! Margaret, youve said your hands are clumsy; youll never get anything done properly, Martha replied.
The boy in the Egerton family is a completely different storycalm and bright. This onealways rehearsing, always whining. Must be the genes.
When the situation became unbearable, I called Mother in the neighbouring hamlet. She scolded me, Patience, dear. Youre now part of another family; you must heed their customs. You married, you didnt just visit.
What customs, Mum? Everyone here is utterly crackedespecially Motherinlaw! She hates me, thats obvious!
Have you ever heard of a kind motherinlaw? We all went through this, youll have to as well. The main thing is not to show how hard it is. Be patient.
Realising I couldnt get any sympathy from my timid mother, I threatened to call my father.
Dont you dare threaten Dad! Mother shrieked. You know hes on parole. One misstep and hell be back behind bars!
I knew all too well that my father, John Hargreaves, loved his only daughter fiercely. Hed served a short prison term for a bar brawl that erupted after someone insulted me in the village shop. Hed never stay silent if he learned his beloved child was being tormented.
Fine, I wont tell Dad, I whispered, but if they keep this up, if Margaret keeps behaving like this I dont know what Ill do.
Everything will sort itself out, love, Mother soothed. Give it a few weeks and youll forget this ever happened.
I hoped I could forget, but Margarets animosity only deepened. She acted as if I were the cause of every misfortune. Even her husband, the elderly Harold Thompson, could no longer tolerate the constant shouting.
Why are you always yelling at her? he asked one morning, trying to intervene. Shell leave us if you keep this up!
Ill leave her! Margaret snapped, her anger blazing. Ill take every pound weve earned over the years and the child with me, so he never grows up in this wretched house!
I knew Margarets threats were empty, yet they terrified me. I still loved Brian dearly.
The rumors about Brians secret meetings with an old flame, Olivia, proved to be nothing more than village gossip that women like Margaret and Martha spread like wildfire.
Its impossible to say how long Margarets harassment would have continued if not for her relentless tongue. One day, after a small triumph over me, she boasted to her best friend, Mrs. Daisy, about her victories. She embellished the tale, passed it on to another neighbour, and eventually it reached my father.
John Hargreaves, a towering man of nearly two metres, broadshouldered and stern, took his axe, still wearing his work overalls, hopped onto his battered motorbike, and without a word to Mother, rode to the next village to rescue his daughter from this disgrace.
Meanwhile, inside the Thompson household, a true scandal erupted. I had left baby Jack for a moment to fetch a fresh diaper, placing him on the brandnew bright orange sofa. When I returned, a small brown stain marred the cushion. To Margaret, that tiny spot grew into a black hole threatening to swallow the whole room.
She stormed in like a thunderstorm, shouting, Youve ruined my favourite sofa! Do you know how much it cost? I could tear your arms out and stitch them back just to make you suffer!
Ill clean it, Ill fix it, I stammered, clutching a cloth with trembling hands.
What are you going to clean? Its brand new! And youve never bought anything with your own money! she snarled.
Why do you think youre entitled to everything? I snapped, finally letting my frustration out. Youve spent your whole life living off your husbands earnings!
Margarets face turned scarlet. Enough! Stop talking back to me! she screamed. Wipe that stain, then march out with your son! Youll live here and act like a proper lady!
Tears streamed down my cheeks as I tried to scrub the stubborn spot. The brown mark clung stubbornly to the bright fabric, as if mocking my helplessness. Little Jack wailed, his cries adding to the tension in the room.
Margaret continued her tirade, unaware that at the doorway stood my father, axe in hand, his grip firm on the wooden handle.
For a heartbeat, Margaret sensed a presence and turned, eyes falling on the axe. She knew all too well the kind of man John was, the fire that had once burned in him, and the short term of his parole. Fear flickered across her face.
Good evening, John, she croaked, trying to keep her composure.
Ive heard how youre raising her, he said, voice low and threatening, stepping into the room barefoot. He raised the axe over his head, then, instead of striking, rested it on his shoulder and extended a hand to me.
Come on, Emily, you dont belong here any longer, he said gently.
Wait! Margaret cried, regaining some of her composure. What will I tell my son?
Let him come to me when hes ready, John replied, a cold, decisive look in his eyes. Ill speak with him as a man should.
He led me and baby Jack out of the house. Brian, hesitant at first, eventually arrived after long, tense talks with my father. Johns calm but firm voice, and the axe resting on the kitchen table, made the promise weighty.
Brian pledged that we would live separately, that his mother would no longer meddle in our affairs, and that he would protect us and our child. When John shook Brians hand, the older man felt the seriousness of the agreement.
From that day on, Margaret avoided us in the street, never greeting us, never even acknowledging our presence.
Brian and I settled into our own cottage, a modest terraced house on the edge of the village. Harmony returned, and love held us together, perhaps because of my fathers stern lesson or simply because we chose a different path.
Tonight, as I sit by the window watching Jack sleep, I think of the road weve travelled. The bruises have faded, but the memory of Margarets rage still lingers, a reminder of how far weve come and how resilient we can be when we stand together.
Emily.
