The mother-in-law glared, her voice sharp as a blade. “If you argue, my son will toss you out onto the pavement,” she declared, forgetting whose flat this truly was.
“Emma, bake a beef and ale pie for supper tomorrow,” Margaret Harrington announced, sweeping into the kitchen and settling at the table. “I havent had a proper pie in agesyoure always cooking foreign nonsense.”
Emma turned from the stove, where she was browning sausages for their meal. Her mother-in-law sat with her usual pinched expression, fussing with her familiar navy cardigan.
“Im allergic to beef, Margaret,” Emma replied evenly, flipping a sausage. “I wont be making it.”
“What do you mean, you wont?” Margarets voice turned icy. “Ive asked, and you refuse? Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that? In my day, daughters-in-law knew their place!”
“This isnt about respect,” Emma said, shifting the pan. “If I cook beef, Ill have a reaction. Make it yourself if you want it so badly.”
“Make it myself?” Margaret shot up from her chair. “Im not your maid! Youre the wifeyoull cook what I say! And this allergy is just an excuse. You cant be bothered with pastry, can you?”
“Margaret, what does laziness have to do with it?” Emma faced her squarely. “I cook daily, clean, do the washing. But I wont make a beef pieI physically cant.”
“Cant or wont?” Margaret stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “You think because my son married you, you can push me about? Well see whos in charge here!”
Keys jingled in the hallDaniel was home. Margarets face melted into wounded sorrow.
“Danny, love,” she rushed to him. “Thank goodness youre here. Your wifes grown insolent! I asked for a pie, and shes refused me outright!”
Daniel hung up his coat and gave Emma a weary glance. She stood by the stove, jaw tight.
“Emma, whats this about?” he asked, smoothing his tie.
“Im allergic to beef, Daniel,” Emma said quietly. “Ive explained it to Margaret.”
“Allergy? What allergy?” He waved a hand. “Mum, dont fret. Emma will bake the pie tomorrow. Wont you, love?”
Emma looked at him, then at Margaret, who smirked triumphantly. Her chest ached with betrayal.
“No, I wont,” she said firmly, untying her apron. “You two can manage supper yourselves.”
She retreated to the bedroom, shutting the door. Muffled voices drifted through the wallsDaniel and his mother, chatting over dinner as though nothing had happened. As if shed simply vanished.
The next morning, Emma rose early. Margaret still sleptthe house was eerily quiet. Daniel sat at the kitchen table, scrolling his phone, a cuppa steaming beside him.
“Daniel, we need to talk,” Emma said, clasping her hands. “Properly.”
He glanced up, brow furrowed. “About what?”
“Your mother,” Emma inhaled. “Im tired of the nitpicking. Margaret criticises everythingmy cooking, my cleaning, even my clothes. I wont be ordered about in my own home.”
“Emma, whats got into you?” Daniel set his phone down. “Mums fine. Shes just set in her ways.”
“Her ways?” Emmas voice hardened. “You call bossing grown adults about set in her ways? Daniel, maybe its time she had her own flat? Were youngwe need space.”
Daniels cup clattered against the saucer.
“Youd toss my mother onto the streets?” His voice turned steely. “She asked to live with us, and youd cast her out?”
“Im not saying that,” Emma reached for him, but he pulled back. “Just her own place. Wed help with rent”
“Listen, I wont have it,” Daniel stood, straightening his jacket. “Mums no trouble. She cooks, helps about the house”
“When does she cook?” Emma stood too. “Daniel, open your eyes! I work, come home, cook, clean, do laundry. Your mother only complains!”
“Enough,” he cut her off, grabbing his briefcase. “Mum stays. End of discussion.”
The door slammed. Emma stared at his half-drunk tea. The bitterness of the moment seeped into her bones. She washed the cup, set it aside.
The injustice gnawed at her. Margaret had given her own flat to her daughter, then insisted on moving in with them. And Daniel saw nothing wrong with it! Emma was exhausted, living under Margarets scrutiny.
Half an hour later, Margaret glided into the kitchen, hair immaculate, dressing gown fastened primly. Her face was thunderous.
“Well, what a performance last night,” she began, no greeting. “How unkind! Did you think my son would side with you?”
Emma sipped her tea, refusing to engage.
“See?” Margaret smirked. “He took my side. That means he knows whos in charge here. And since thats settled, youll obey me!”
Emma set her cup down sharply.
“Today, youll scrub this flat spotless,” Margaret commanded. “Windows, floors, the looeverything gleaming. You prance about like a duchess, but this place is filthy!”
“Its not filthy,” Emma muttered.
“Not filthy?” Margarets voice rose. “I saw dust on the sideboard yesterday! The mirrors smeared! If you argue, Ill tell my son youre disrespectful!”
Something in Emma snapped. A cord stretched too tight, finally breaking. She whirled around.
“No!” Her voice rang clear. “I wont do it! Ive obeyed you too long! Ive lost myself in this! Cooking your orders, cleaning on demand, biting my tongue when you shout! Enough!”
Margaret jolted up. Her face flushed crimson. She shrieked:
“How dare you? How dare you speak to me like this?”
Emma raised her voice.
“I dare! Im a person, not your servant! I wont take your nagging anymore!”
“If you backchat, my son will throw you out!” Margaret shook a fist.
Then, something in Emma broke free. Years of silence, months of humiliationall surged forth in a wave. She stood tall, her voice so strong Margaret stepped back.
“Youve forgotten whose flat this is! Who let you live here rent-free, bills paid, food bought! Let me remind youthis is my flat! Mine, bought before marriage. Before I ever met your son!”
Margaret gaped, stunned.
But Emma wasnt done.
“From today, you wont order me about. Or it wont be me leavingitll be you. Understood?”
Margaret stood frozen, then spluttered back to life, face purple with rage.
“How dare you speak to me this way? Im your husbands mother! Youll respect me!”
“Respect is earned, not handed out with age!” Emma shot back. “And youve earned none in all these months!”
“Youyou vile girl!” Margaret gasped. “Who do you think you are? Im Daniels mother! Hell always choose me!”
“Then the two of you can leave together!” Emma snapped. “Ill keep my flatthe one I pay for, clean, cook in! While you do nothing but complain!”
“Ill tell my son!” Margaret screeched. “Hell hear how you treat me!”
“Go ahead!” Emma crossed her arms. “Just dont forget to mention you live here for free!”
Margaret stormed off, slamming her bedroom door so hard the windows rattled. Moments later, her shrill voice carried through the wallscalling Daniel, no doubt. Fragments reached Emma: “Disrespectful threatens me wicked girl”
Emma finished her tea calmly, then got ready for work. Let Margaret whingefor once, shed spoken her truth.
That evening, Daniel returned seething. His face was red, eyes blazing. He barely stepped inside before rounding on Emma.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he roared. “Mum told me everything! How dare you speak to her like that? Threaten to kick her out?”
“Out of my flat,” Emma corrected coolly. “And I didnt threaten. I warned.”
“Yours?” Daniels voice rose. “Were married! Whats yours is mine!”
“No, darling,” Emma turned to him. “This flat was mine before we wed. And I wont tolerate your mothers abuse anymore.”
“Mums done nothing wrong!” Daniel shouted. “She only asked for help!”
“She gave orders,” Emma countered. “And insulted me. And you backed her.”
“Of course I did! Shes my mother!”
“Then live with her
