The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. “If you keep arguing, my son will throw you out onto the pavement,” hissed the mother-in-law, conveniently forgetting whose flat this really was.
“Olivia, bake a shepherds pie for supper tomorrow,” Margaret declared, striding into the kitchen and settling at the table with an air of entitlement. “I havent had a proper meal in agesyoure always fussing over those foreign recipes.”
Olivia turned from the hob, where she was frying bangers for dinner. Her mother-in-law sat with her usual pinched expression, fiddling with the collar of her familiar maroon cardigan.
“Im allergic to lamb, Margaret,” Olivia replied evenly, flipping a sausage. “I wont be making it.”
“What do you mean, you wont?” Margarets voice turned razor-sharp. “Ive asked you, and youre refusing? Who do you think you are, speaking to me like that? In my day, daughters-in-law knew their place!”
“This isnt about respect,” Olivia said, shifting the pan. “If I cook lamb, Ill have an allergic reaction. Make it yourself if you want it so badly.”
“Make it myself?” Margaret shot up from her chair. “Im not your skivvy! Youre the lady of the houseact like it! And this allergy is just an excuse. Too lazy to handle pastry, more like!”
“Margaret, whats laziness got to do with it?” Olivia faced her squarely. “I cook, clean, do the washing. But I wont make a shepherds pie because I physically cant!”
“Cant or wont?” Margaret stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “You think just because my son married you, you can lord it over me? Well see whos really in charge here!”
Keys jangled in the hallEdward was home. Margarets face instantly crumpled into a look of wounded martyrdom.
“Eddie, love,” she rushed to him. “Thank goodness youre here. Your wifes become downright insolent! I asked for a pie, and shes backchatting me, refusing!”
Edward hung up his coat and shot his wife a weary glance. She stood by the hob, her jaw tight.
“Olivia, whats this about?” he asked, rubbing his temple.
“Im allergic to lamb, Eddie,” Olivia said quietly. “Ive explained it to Margaret.”
“Allergy? What allergy?” Edward waved a dismissive hand. “Mum, dont fret. Olivia will bake the pie tomorrow. Wont you, darling?”
Olivia stared at her husband, then at Margarets smug grin. Her chest ached with betrayal.
“No, I wont,” she said firmly, untying her apron and heading for the door. “Sort your own dinner.”
She shut the bedroom door behind her, muffling the voices from the kitchenEdward and his mother, chatting over supper as if nothing had happened. As if she hadnt just walked away heartbroken.
The next morning, Olivia rose early. Margaret was still asleepthe flat was eerily quiet. Edward sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone with a cuppa in hand.
“Eddie, we need to talk,” Olivia said, clasping her hands. “Properly.”
He glanced up, brow furrowed.
“About what?”
“Your mother,” she took a steadying breath. “Im sick of the constant criticism. Margaret nitpicks everythinghow I cook, clean, even dress. I wont be ordered about in my own home.”
“Olivia, dont be daft,” Edward set his phone down. “Mums fine. Shes just set in her ways.”
“Her ways?” Olivias voice hardened. “Is that what you call bossing grown adults about? Eddie, maybe its time she got her own place. We could help with rent”
Edward slammed his cup down.
“Are you suggesting we kick my mother out?” His voice was icy. “She asked to live with us, and you want to turf her onto the streets?”
“Im saying she needs her own space,” Olivia reached for him, but he pulled back. “Were youngwe deserve privacy.”
“Enough,” Edward stood, grabbing his briefcase. “Mum stays. End of discussion.”
The door slammed. Olivia stared at his half-finished tea, the bitterness of the argument lingering like the dregs in the cup.
An hour later, Margaret swept into the kitchen, perfectly coiffed, her dressing gown cinched tight. Her face was a picture of disapproval.
“Well, that was quite the performance,” she sniffed. “Thought my son would take your side, did you?”
Olivia sipped her tea, refusing to rise to the bait.
“See?” Margaret smirked. “He knows whos in charge. So youll do as I say. Today, youll scrub this flat top to bottom. Windows, floors, bathroomeverything. No excuses!”
“The flat isnt dirty,” Olivia muttered.
“Not dirty?” Margarets voice climbed. “I saw dust on the mantel yesterday! And the hall mirrors smeared! Argue again, and Ill tell Edward youre disrespecting me!”
Something in Olivia snapped.
“No,” she said, her voice trembling with fury. “Ive had enough. I cook, clean, bite my tongueno more. I wont be treated like a servant!”
Margaret gasped. “How dare you!”
“I dare,” Olivia stepped closer. “This is my flat. Mine. Bought before I even met your son. You live here rent-free, bill-free, and all you do is belittle me. That ends today.”
Margarets face purpled. “Ill tell Edward!”
“Tell him,” Olivia shot back. “But remind him whose names on the deed.”
Margaret stormed off, slamming her bedroom door. Minutes later, Olivia heard her shouting down the phonewhinging to Edward about her “wicked” daughter-in-law.
That evening, Edward burst in, livid.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he roared. “Mums in tears! You threatened to kick her out?”
“Out of my flat,” Olivia corrected calmly. “And I didnt threaten. I warned.”
“Yours?” Edward spat. “Were married. Whats yours is mine!”
“No, love,” Olivia folded her arms. “This flats in my name. And I wont tolerate your mothers abuse another day.”
“Shes done nothing wrong!” Edward bellowed.
“Then live with her,” Olivia wrenched the front door open. “But not here. Pack your things and go.”
“Youre joking,” Edward scoffed.
“Dead serious,” she pointed to the door. “Youve taken enough from me. Now chooseher or me. But I choose freedom.”
Margaret scurried out, eyes wide. “Whats happening?”
“Leaving,” Olivia said coldly. “Youve got twenty minutes.”
As the door finally shut behind them, Olivia exhaled. For the first time in years, the flat felt like hers again.
