“Im not eating that,” huffed the mother-in-law, eyeing the dish with pure disdain.
“What even is it?” Eleanor wrinkled her nose as if someone had plonked a bin bag on the dinner table.
“Beef stew,” explained her daughter-in-law, Sophie, cheerfully lifting the lid off a ceramic tureen to reveal a rich, steaming broth. “Nothing beats cooking with veggies from your own garden.”
“Looks like slop to me,” Eleanor sniffed. “Though I suppose grubbing about in dirt *does* take effort.”
“Oh, absolutely,” Sophie laughed warmly. “But when its your hobby, it never feels like work.”
“Your hobby, not someone elses *chore*,” Eleanor muttered, lips pursed. “Whos all this for, then?”
“Us. Its only enough for two meals.”
“Well, count me out,” Eleanor declared, flapping her hands and taking a step back. “This mess is inedible!” She clutched her throat dramatically, turning her head away as if the mere sight might make her gag.
Sophie rolled her eyes and sighed.
Shed met Eleanors son, Oliver, a year and a half ago. Their whirlwind romance had led to a quiet wedding just a month laterno fuss, no frills. The money they saved went into their dream: a charming little cottage in the countryside, which theyd been lovingly fixing up ever since.
In that time, Sophie had only seen Eleanor four timessame as Oliver. Three of those visits were her idea, gently nudging her husband to drop by for the holidays.
Eleanor had always thought her sons marriage was absurd. But since Oliver was a grown man, she had no choice but to wait for what she saw as the inevitable: the moment hed snap out of it.
Yet here they were, still happily settled, and it was driving her mad.
She couldnt fathom what Oliver saw in this “dreadfully plain girl”how on earth had Sophie charmed him? Hed always been handsome, surrounded by far classier, more striking women.
Besides, Eleanor was a city woman through and through, and shed raised Oliver the same way. A mothers intuition told her he must be tiring of this rustic nonsense; one little nudge, and hed come to his senses.
After this disaster, surely hed finally find a proper wifeone whod actually befriend her.
But she had to *hurry* before that cunning Sophie trapped him with a baby!
So Eleanor hatched a plan. She called Sophie, demanding an invite since shed “missed” their housewarming.
Sophie pointed out shed invited her twiceonly to be brushed off with excuses about being “too busy.” Eleanor waved this away and insisted on visiting her son.
Two days later, she stood in their bright, airy living room, barely containing her outrage.
Her sonjust like her and her late husband*hated* soup! In their family, only solid, recognisable meals were acceptable.
How had Oliver let his wife take over so quickly?
Was she a *witch*?
A shiver ran down Eleanors spine. She dismissed the vulgar thought that Sophie was keeping Oliver under some *other* kind of spell.
Sophie? *Seductive*? Dont be ridiculous.
It *had* to be witchcraft.
Otherwise, why would her son be eating this gloop?
She shot Sophie a venomous glare.
Playing the angel while slowly poisoning her husband.
“Whats so confusing about it?” Sophie said, ignoring Eleanors theatrics as she ladled out another helping. “Its simplebeef, cabbage, carrots, onions, a pinch of cream, and fresh herbs from the garden. No potatoes today, but next time!”
“Ugh, eat your gruel if you must!” Eleanor snapped.
“Youd benefit from it at your age. All that fibre does wonders for digestion!”
Eleanor flushed at the cheek but ploughed on. “And why are you forcing Oliver to eat this muck?”
Sophie blinked. “He seems to like it.”
“What else is a man meant to do when theres *nothing else*?”
“Cook for himself? Order takeaway? Pop round to a neighbours? Visit his *mother*?” Sophie listed sweetly.
At the last suggestion, Eleanor turned even redder.
“Dont be smart! The least you could do is *ask* what he likes.”
“Eleanor, I *did* ask. Hes a grown manhe says hes happy with everything.”
“Hes *lying*! Cant you see? At first, he didnt want to hurt your feelings. Now hes just resigned!”
“Oh!” Sophie sighed dramatically. “Well, the stews made now. No sense wasting it. Hell manage. Surely *you* can suffer through it in solidarity?”
“*Excuse me*?” Eleanor gaped.
“No? Pity. Im sure Oliver wouldve appreciated the gesture.”
“*You*”
“Sophie! Were back!” Olivers cheerful voice rang from the hallway.
A fluffy white whirlwind of a dog came barrelling in, barking excitedly.
“AAAAH!” Eleanor shrieked, diving behind Sophie.
“Relax, its just Daisy. She doesnt bite,” Sophie assured her, raising a hand. The dog instantly sat, panting happily. “Good girl!”
“Why is a *neighbours* dog in here?” Eleanor hissed.
“*Our* dog. Shes house-trained. Lives with us.”
“*Inside*? Disgusting!” Eleanor recoiled. “And Oliver *hates* dogs!”
“No, *Mum*, *you* hate dogs. Afternoon,” Oliver said, strolling in. “Perfect timinglunch is ready.”
“Darling!” Eleanor stood stiffly, expecting a kiss on the cheek. Instead, Oliver gave her a quick hug before planting one properly on Sophie.
“So, shall we eat?” He inhaled deeply, grinning.
“Oliver, theres *nothing* to eat.”
“What dyou mean, *nothing*?”
“Shes fed you pig swill! Goodness, is that the *stench* of livestock? Worse than London traffic!”
Oliver frowned, glancing between his mother, Sophie, and the perfectly laid table.
His jaw tightened, any trace of warmth vanishing as he turned back to Eleanor.
“Honestly, Id forgotten *this* habit,” he said flatly.
“What *habit*? These are our *tastes*! Our *standards*! You never complained before!”
“Me? As a kid, I was *terrified* of you. Later, I just couldnt be bothered arguing.”
“Ridiculous!” Eleanor shrieked, startling Daisy into another volley of barks. “*Quiet*!” She shot the dog a filthy look before rounding on Sophie. “Shes got *you* wrapped around her finger. Whats nextletting the house become a zoo? Whos in charge here?”
“*I* am,” Oliver said quietly.
“Then *act* like it!” Eleanor crowed triumphantly.
“Wheres your bag?”
“In the hall! And Ive not eaten since I left!”
“Good. Thank Sophie for inviting you.”
“*What*?”
“Thank her for trying. And apologise.”
“But *she*”
“Mum.”
“Thaaaaank yooouuu… *sooorry*,” Eleanor spat.
Sophie gave a polite nod.
“Right. Off you go.”
“*What*?”
“Back to where everythings to *your* taste. *Your* rules.”
“But, Oliver, I”
“*Your* tastes, Mum. Not mine. Dad once told me: If you dont like whats handed to you, make your own. I did. This is *my* home. *My* rules. And *Sophie* runs it. Dont like it? Your place still stands.”
“Darling! Shes *poisoned* you against me!” Eleanor wailed, dropping to a whisper. “*Witchcraft*!”
Oliver had had enough. He took her arm, steered her to the door, grabbed her suitcase, andwithout another wordmarched her to the gate.
“By the way, Sophie was on *your* side. She couldnt believe families like ours existed. The stew was a *test*. You failed.” He swung the gate open. “Taxis waiting.”
“Youhow did you?!”
“Told Sophie to wait before cancelling it. Smart move.”
“You *monster*!”
“No, Mum. The *man of the house*. Like you wanted.” He flagged the driver, plonked her bag down, and shut the gate behind him.
“A *curse*,” Eleanor muttered, scrambling into the cab. She frantically scrolled through her phone. There *had* to be a way to break it. Shed get her son backno matter what.
