**Diary Entry**
This evening should have been peaceful, but it wasnt. My husband, Thomas, said something I never expected. If you dont like my mother, then leave. And just like that, I did.
The flat where we livedThomas, his mother Margaret, our two-year-old son Oliver, and mewas usually quiet by this time. But today had been unbearable from the start. Oliver was fussy, Margaret found fault with everything I did, and by nightfall, I was exhausted. Id tried my bestcooking Margarets favourite meals, keeping the flat spotless, looking after Oliverbut nothing pleased her.
Emily, youve folded the towels wrong again, Margaret snapped as she passed the bathroom. How many times must I tell you? The corners should face in, not out!
Or:
Youve dressed Oliver too lightly! Its chilly outside, and youve put him in just a jumper! Hell catch cold!
I bit my tongue each time. I didnt argue. I endured it, hoping things would improvethat Margaret would grow used to me, to Oliver, to our life together. Thomas never stepped in. If I ever complained, hed shrug and say, Just ignore her, Emily. Shes old and set in her ways.
Id planned a surprise for our wedding anniversarya small cake, the leather belt Thomas had wanted for months. A quiet evening, just the three of usOliver included.
But when the day came, Margaret ruined it. Dinner was nearly ready, Oliver was asleep, and thenanother outburst. This time, over the soup. Its inedible! she shouted, slamming her spoon down. Are you trying to poison us? Emily, you cant cook at all!
I stood by the stove, gripping the ladle. Our anniversary, the cake, the surpriseall ruined. I turned to Thomas, who sat silent at the table. I waited. Surely, this time, hed defend me.
He didnt. He stood and walked into the hallway. I followed.
Mums right, he said, not looking at me. You always do something wrong.
Tears stung my eyes. That was the last straw. He wouldnt even face me.
Do you even hear yourself? My voice shook. Its our anniversary! I cooked, I triedand your mother
Thomas turned sharply. No anger, just weariness. If you dont like my mother, then leave.
He said it so casually, as if offering advice. Then he walked away. Dinner was ruined. The anniversary was ruined. Everything.
I sat on our bed, holding Oliver. The tears had dried, leaving salt tracks on my cheeks. Was he serious? This was our home. Our family. Did he really not care? I didnt pack. I couldnt believe it was real.
Days passed. Thomas never apologised. He was cold, distant. Hed come home, eat in silence, then shut himself away. Barely spoke to me. Played with Oliver mechanically.
When I tried talking to him, he cut me off. Mums upset. She says you insulted her.
*I* insulted *her*? She screamed at me over soup!
Doesnt matter, he said flatly. Its on you. Apologise first. Maybe shell forgive you.
No reconciliationjust an ultimatum. And I understood. This wasnt my home. I was tolerated as long as I was convenient. The moment I wasnt perfect, I could be discarded. Fear gave way to dull realisation. This wasnt a family. It was a one-sided loyalty test. I was expected to bow to Thomas and Margaret. They owed me nothing.
I looked at Oliver. He didnt belong here. Neither did I. This place was suffocating me. And Thomas? He watched it happen. Worsehe pushed me toward the edge.
Thomas sat in a café with his mate, James.
Listen, mate, its Emily Its all gone sour.
James sipped his tea. Your mum again?
Thomas nodded. Shes elderly, set in her ways. Emily should adapt. But she wont. Always offended, always complaining.
He was tired of the tensionhis mothers nagging, Emilys resentment. He just wanted peace.
I told her straight: if you dont like my mother, leave. What else could I say? Mum raised me. Shes alone. Emilys never happy.
No regretjust frustration. He didnt want responsibility. He wanted Emily to leave *herself*. That way, his conscience stayed clean.
Let her decide, he muttered. Im done with it. I want quiet. No more drama.
He saw no fault in himself. The problem was Emilyher inability to tolerate Margaret. He refused to see his own inaction. He just wanted the problem gone.
The next day, I rented a small flat nearby. I packed quietly while Thomas was at work. Just essentialsmine and Olivers clothes, a few toys, some books. No shouting, no arguments.
When Thomas came home, the flat felt hollow. Her things were gone. A note lay on the kitchen table.
*You said it. I did it. To make it easier for you.*
At the bottom, in small print: *Olivers with me.*
He read it twice. Surely shed come back. Days passed. She didnt.
He called her.
How are you?
Fine. Olivers asleep.
When when are you coming back? His voice cracked.
Why? You said, If you dont like it, leave. I left.
But I didnt mean
I did, I cut in. Its better this way. For you. For me. For Oliver.
I hung up.
Months later, Thomas lived alone with Margaret. The flat was silenttoo silent.
Now *he* faced her constant complaints.
Thomas, dont slouch at the table!
Why isnt the tea on the coaster? I *told* you!
Youre eating too slowly! Ive already cleared up!
Everything that had worn Emily down now wore *him* down. No arguments. Just silence, broken by Margarets voice.
Hed wanted peace. He got it. Dead silence and endless dissatisfaction.
Sometimes, he saw us in the parkOliver and me. I looked at ease. Free. No shouting, no fighting. Id left, just as hed suggested. And taken everything that made his life whole with me.
He was master of his house now. But it held no love, no warmth. Just silence. And that was his punishment. Every. Single. Day.
