“If you dont like my motherleave!” snapped the husband, never expecting his wife to take him at his word.
The evening was winding down, and the flat where Emily lived with her husband, Thomas, and his mother, Margaret, was usually quiet. But today had been a disaster from the start. Two-year-old Oliver had been fussy, Margaret found fault with everything, and Emily was exhausted. Shed done her bestcooking Margarets favourite meals, tidying the flat, looking after Oliverbut pleasing Margaret was impossible.
“Emily, youve folded the towels wrongagain,” Margaret muttered, passing the bathroom. “How many times must I tell you? Corners towards you, not away!”
Or:
“Youve dressed the child all wrong, Emily! Its chilly out, and youve put him in a thin jumper! Hell catch his death!”
Emily sighed each time. She never argued, just endured, hoping things would improvethat Margaret would warm to her, to Oliver, to their life together. When things got unbearable, Thomas usually stayed silent. If Emily dared complain, hed shrug.
“Just ignore her, love. Shes getting onnerves, you know.”
Emily had planned a surprise for their wedding anniversary. Shed ordered a small cake, bought Thomas the leather belt hed been eyeing for ages. She wanted a cosy evening, just the three of themOliver included, of course.
On the day, with dinner nearly ready and Oliver thankfully asleep, Margaret launched into another tiradethis time over the soup being “too salty” (it wasnt).
“This is inedible!” Margaret shrieked, banging her spoon on the table. “Are you trying to poison us? Emily, youre hopeless in the kitchen!”
Emily stood by the stove, gripping the ladle. Anniversary, cake, surpriseall ruined. She turned to Thomas, who sat staring at his plate. She waited for him to speak up, to defend her, to end the madness. But he said nothing.
“Thomas?” she whispered. “Arent you going to say anything?”
He stood, walked slowly into the hall. Emily followed.
“Mums right,” he said, not looking at her. “You always get things wrong.”
Emilys eyes stung. This was the final straw. She stared at him; he stared at the wall.
“Do you even hear yourself? Its our anniversary! I cooked, I tried! And your mother”
Thomas turned sharply. There was no anger in his eyes, just weariness.
“If you dont like my motherleave.”
He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, that Emily almost missed the weight of it. Like advice, not a verdict. Then he walked away. Dinner was ruined. The celebration was ruined. Everything was ruined.
Emily sat on their bed, holding sleeping Oliver. Her tears had dried, leaving salty trails. She was in shock. Hed said, “Leave.” Did he mean it? This was their home. Their family. Was he really ready to throw herand their sonaway? She didnt pack a bag. It didnt feel real. Like a bad dream shed wake from by morning.
A day passed. Then another. Thomas didnt apologise. He was cold, distant. He came home from work, ate in silence, then disappeared into his study or behind his laptop. He barely spoke to her. Played with Oliver robotically.
When Emily tried to talk to him, he brushed her off.
“Mums really upset. She said you insulted her.”
“I insulted her?” Emily couldnt believe her ears. “She screamed at me over soup!”
“Doesnt matter,” he cut in. “Its up to you now. Apologise first. Maybe shell forgive you.”
There was no reconciliation in his tonejust an ultimatum. And Emily understood. This wasnt her home. She was temporary. Tolerated, as long as she was convenient. The moment she stopped being perfect, she could be tossed aside. The fear shed felt that first night hardened into certainty. This wasnt a family. It was a one-sided game of loyalty. She owed them everything; they owed her nothing.
She looked at Oliver. He didnt belong here. Neither did she. This house, this atmosphereit was crushing her. Slowly but surely. And Thomas, her husband, was just watching. Worsehed pushed her to the edge himself.
Days later, Thomas sat in a café with his mate, James.
“Listen, mate, its Emily whole things a mess,” he began.
James sipped his tea. “Your mum again?”
Thomas nodded. “Shes elderly, nerves shot. Emilys youngshe should adapt. But she wont. Always sulking, always offended.”
He was tired of the constant tensionhis mothers nitpicking, Emilys resentment. He just wanted peace.
“I told her straight: if you dont like my mother, leave. What else could I say? Shes my mum. Raised me. Its just her now. And Emilys never happy.”
No regret in his voicejust righteous irritation. He didnt want responsibility. He wanted Emily to make the choice, to walk away. Then his conscience would be clear. He wouldnt have “kicked her out.” Shed have “chosen” to go.
“Let her decide,” he repeated, as if convincing himself. “Im done. I want quiet. Come home to silence. No more complaints.”
He saw no fault in himself. It was Emilys job to get along with his mother. He refused to admit the problem was his inaction, his refusal to stand up for his wife. He just wanted the problem gone. And in his mind, the only way was for Emily to leave.
The next day, Emily rented a small one-bed flat nearby. She moved out quietly, while Thomas was at work. A friend helped her shift the essentialstheir clothes, Olivers toys, a few books. No drama. No tears.
When Thomas came home, the flat felt hollow. He checked the bedroomher things were gone. The kitchenhis half-eaten dinner on the table. A note beside it. Short. Unemotional.
“You said leave. So I did. Hope its easier now.”
In smaller letters: “Olivers with me.”
Thomas read it twice. Shed actually gone? Hed assumed shed stay with her parents for a few days, then come crawling back. He waited for her call. A day. Two. Three. Nothing.
The next week, he came home to silence. No Oliver running to him shouting, “Daddy!” The flat was too quiet.
He called Emily.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Fine,” she replied, her voice steady. “Olivers asleep.”
“When when are you coming back?” His voice cracked.
“Why? You said leave. So I left.”
“But I didnt mean”
“I did,” she interrupted. “Its better this way. For you. For me. For Oliver.”
She hung up. Thomas sat on the sofa, staring blankly. Hed done this. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Hed pushed her out.
Months passed. Thomas lived alone with Margaret. The flat was silent now. Too silent.
Margarets complaints turned on him.
“Thomas, must you slouch at the table?”
“Why didnt you put the tea on the coaster? I asked you a hundred times!”
“Must you eat so slowly? Ive already cleared up!”
Everything that once irritated Emily was now his reality. Lectures. Sulking. Criticism over nothing. No one argued. No one fought back. Just silence, broken by his mothers voice. And her suffocating control.
He woke to her voice. Came home to it. Hed trapped himself. Hed wanted Emily gone for peace. And now he had itdead silence and endless dissatisfaction.
Sometimes, he saw Emily from afar in the park with Oliver. She looked peaceful. Free. No shouting. No battles. Shed simply left, as hed told her to. And taken everything that made his life full with her.
He was master of his house now. But it held no love. No joy. No warmth. Just silenceand someone elses rule. And that was his punishment. Every single day.
