**Diary Entry 25th October**
I came home from the maternity wardand there it was: a second fridge, standing in the kitchen. *”This ones for me and Mum. Dont put your food in here,”* my husband announced.
I nudged the flat door open with my shoulder, clutching little Alfies swaddled form tightly to my chest. The October wind had somehow slithered under my coat, and all I craved now was warmth, quiet, and a moment to breathe.
The hospital was behind me; ahead, my homethe flat I inherited from my nan, the one I put in my name before the wedding. Every crack in the ceiling, every familiar corner whispered memories. This was where I shouldve felt safe.
Mark barged in first, kicked off his shoes, and tossed his coat onto the hallway floor. I stepped over the thresholdand froze. Something was off. The air smelled wrongnot my perfume, not my hand cream. A floral scent lingered, mixed with something sharp, foreign.
*”Come on, dont just stand there.”* Mark didnt even glance back.
I slipped off my shoes and moved down the hall. The living room was dim, an unfamiliar rose-embroidered cushion on the sofa. A vase of plastic flowers sat on the coffee tabledefinitely not there a week ago.
The kitchen clattered with activity. At the stove stood Margaret, my mother-in-law, in an apron, stirring something with gusto. Hair set, pearls around her neck, lipstick perfectlike she was hosting a dinner party, not welcoming her daughter-in-law home with a newborn.
*”Oh, Emma! Finally!”* she chirped, not leaving the pot. *”Let me see the baby. Come on, bring him here!”*
I stepped forward instinctivelybut my gaze snagged on something by the opposite wall. Next to the old fridge that had stood there for years loomed a second onegleaming silver, factory stickers still on, handles wrapped in plastic.
*”Wheres this from?”* I asked, my voice thin.
She turned, wiping her hands on her apron, smiling like shed just pulled off a surprise.
*”We bought it! Mark came with mepicked out a proper one, spacious. Now well finally have order in the kitchen. You need good nutrition, especially with a baby. You understand, dont you?”*
*”We?”* My stomach tightened. *”Whos we?”*
*”Well, me, of course!”* She tapped the wooden spoon against the pot. *”Im moving in to help. Thought Mark wouldve told you.”*
The blood drained from my face. Alfie whimpered in my arms, and I held him closer.
*”Mark?”* I called toward the door.
He walked in then, two grocery bags in hand, his face drawn, eyes distant.
*”What?”*
*”Your mum says shes living here now.”*
He nodded, like it was nothing. *”Yeah. Youll need help. Mum agreed to stay awhile, till youre back on your feet.”*
*”Awhile?”* My fingers dug into Alfies blanket. *”And the fridge?”*
*”Oh, that.”* He set the bags down, rubbed the bridge of his nose. *”Mum got it so her food stays separate. Shes on a special diet.”*
*”Special diet,”* I repeated slowly. *”In my flat.”*
*”Em, dont start. Im knackered. Mums only trying to help, and youre making a fuss.”*
Margaret confidently opened the new fridge and began unpacking the bagsyogurts, cottage cheese, labelled jars, veg in boxes.
*”See?”* She shut the door. *”Now everyones got their own space. No more arguments.”*
I wanted to speak, but Alfie wailedhungry, demanding. Feed him, change him, soothe him. My head throbbed with exhaustion. Questions could wait.
*”Go on, feed him,”* Margaret shooed. *”Ill sort things here.”*
I walked out, numb, and sank onto the bed. The nursery had changed too. A strangers things cluttered the dresserhand cream, perfume, a hairbrush. A bathrobe draped over the chair, unmistakably not mine.
*”Mark,”* I whispered.
He appeared in the doorway. *”What now?”*
*”Why are your mums things in our bedroom?”*
*”Shes sleeping on the sofa, but her stuffs in here so its not in the way. Whats the problem?”*
*”The problem is this is my flat.”*
He sighed like I was nitpicking. *”Emma, drop it. Mums here to help, and youre picking fights over nothing. Dyou really want to handle Alfie alone?”*
I said nothing. Alfie latched on, his tiny nose twitching, while my thoughts spiralled. How had this happened? Id left for the hospital from my own homemy and Marks homeand returned to what? A shared house with separate fridges and rules?
When Alfie finally slept, I crept back to the kitchen. Margaret sat at the table, flipping through a magazine, coffee in hand.
*”Asleep? Good. Babies need routine from day one.”*
I opened the old fridge. Nearly emptya pint of milk, a scrap of cheese, a few eggs. Everything else was gone.
*”Margaret, wheres the food?”*
*”What food, love?”*
*”The chicken, the veg, the juices. They were here.”*
*”Oh, those.”* She sipped her coffee. *”Tossed them. Theyd gone offsmelt funny. Didnt want you getting ill.”*
My breath caught. *”You threw out my food?”*
*”Em, dont shout,”* Mark cut in, stepping into the room. *”Mum did the right thing. Better safe than sorry.”*
*”Im not shouting,”* I said, icy calm. *”Did you even check the dates?”*
*”Didnt need to.”* She smiled. *”A mother knows. Instinct.”*
I shut the fridge and turned to Mark. *”We need to talk. Alone.”*
He followed me to the bedroom. I left the door ajar, just enough to hear Alfie.
*”Explain this,”* I said. *”I was gone a week, and your mums acting like she runs this place.”*
*”Shes not!”* He raked a hand through his hair. *”Shes helping.”*
*”Helping?”* My voice sharpened. *”Throwing out my food, bringing her own fridge, spreading her things everywhere? Thats not help.”*
*”Emma, she means well. You said yourself itd be hard with the baby. I fixed it.”*
*”Fixed it?”* I gripped the doorframe. *”Did you even ask me?”*
*”When? You were in hospital, your phone died. Mum offered, I said yes.”*
*”Offered to move into my flat? With her own fridge?”*
*”It wasnt like that.”* He wouldnt meet my eyes. *”Shes had issues with her neighbours. Noise, drilling. Then you had Alfie, so I thoughttwo birds, one stone.”*
*”Two birds,”* I echoed. *”So your mum ditched her problem neighbours to control us. That it?”*
*”Its not about control!”* His voice rose. *”Youre overreacting! She just wants to help!”*
Alfie stirred, whimpering. I scooped him up, rocking him gently.
*”Listen,”* I said, low and steady. *”Your mum can visit. Help during the day. But living here? No. This is my flat. I decide who stays.”*
*”Its your flat, is it?”* His jaw clenched. *”Funny how that only matters now.”*
*”Its always mattered.”*
*”Right.”* He stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. Alfie burst into tears. I held him close, humming the lullaby my nan taught me.
—
**Next Morning**
The doorbell rang at 8 a.m. Two movers stood outside.
*”Here for the fridge,”* one said.
I nodded. *”Take it.”*
They unplugged Margarets silver monstrosity and hauled it away. The kitchen felt lighter. Only the old fridge remainedsturdy, dependable, *mine*. Inside: baby food, fresh milk, veg. Only what belonged.
Mark called that evening. *”Im coming for my things,”* he said flatly.
*”When?”*
*”Tomorrow after work.”*
He arrived, packed a box of his bits in silence. Alfie g
