“Let Ian take the holidayyou go back to work,” snapped her mother-in-law.
When Emily heard the jangle of keys in the lock, her stomach twisted. She knew that sharp click of heels down the hallway better than her own heartbeat. Eight months pregnant, every movement was an effort, and now she had to face the person she dreaded more than labour. The door swung open, and in swept a whirlwind of criticism in the form of Margaret Whitmore.
“What on earth is this?” Margaret barked instead of a greeting. “Why does my daughter-in-law look so miserable?”
The last thing Emily wanted was Ians mother turning up unannounced. Shed planned to rest after lunchher growing belly demanded constant breaks. Even simple chores had become endurance tests. Finally, maternity leave had given her some relief, but now those plans crumbled.
“Welcome, Margaret,” Emily murmured, stepping aside.
“And wheres my Ian?” Margarets eyes darted around, searching for her son.
“Working,” Emily replied evenly. “Providing for us and the baby.”
“Cant you manage on your own?” Margaret dropped her heavy suitcases with a thud, nearly knocking Emily off balance as she marched in. “Youre a grown womansoon to be a mother. Time to toughen up!”
Once inside, Margaret inspected every corner like a drill sergeant. Emilys unease grew.
“Was there a reason for your visit?” Emily ventured. “Did you forget something?”
Margaret turned, eyebrows raised. “Im moving in.”
Emilys legs nearly gave way.
“Buthow?” she stammered.
“That insufferable man I rented fromIve had enough of him,” Margaret huffed. “Couldnt stand his cheek another day. Packed up straight away. The flats in my late husbands name, and finding a new place is impossible, so Ill stay here for now.”
Emilys heart sank. Yes, their house was spacious, but did that give Margaret the right to barge in and claim it? She wanted to argue, but exhaustion won, and she retreated to the bedroom to wait for Ian.
When Ian came home, little changedhe pitied his mother. Despite Margarets difficult nature, shed raised him, and he couldnt abandon her. Emily resigned herself, hoping Margaret might help around the house.
That hope vanished within days. Margaret seized control of their home, and with Ian working long hours, Emily bore the brunt of her demands. Nothing pleased herunwashed floors, crumbs on the table, a single unrinsed cup.
“Margaret,” Emily said wearily, “bending is difficult now. My back aches, my feet swell”
“Oh, spare me the excuses!” Margaret crossed her arms. “Women have always worked through worse. Being pregnant doesnt absolve you of duty! I raised a sonyouve much to learn!”
Emily bit her tongue. Stress wasnt good for the baby, so she avoided conflict.
One afternoon, with groceries running low, Emily hesitantly asked for Margarets help.
“Fine, Ill come,” Margaret sniffed. “God knows what youd pick otherwise.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, though shed have preferred going alone. Her body, however, couldnt manage the weight.
The trip passed without incident, save for Margarets constant nitpicking.
“Hurry up!” Margaret snapped as they left. “Take the bagswere going home.”
Emily blinked. “You wont help carry them?”
“Dont be dramatic!” Margaret scoffed. “Its barely anything!”
Emily obeyed, but after a few steps, dizziness overwhelmed her.
“Oh I dont feel well,” she gasped.
“Honestly!” Margaret rolled her eyes as Emily swayed.
A stranger rushed over. “Maam, are you alright? Should I call an ambulance?”
“No, Ill be fine,” Emily whispered.
“Women today,” Margaret muttered. “No resilience at all.”
Luckily, Emily recovered, and Margaretgrudginglytook some bags. They made it home.
When Ian heard what happened, he rushed back.
“Em, love,” he murmured, holding her hand, “why didnt you wait for me? Id have handled it.”
“I thought I could manage,” she admitted. “Youre always working I wanted to help.”
“Why didnt you ask Mum?”
Emily shut her eyes. “Ian it was Margaret who made me carry them. When I nearly fainted, she just dismissed me.”
Ian froze. “Mum did that?”
The silence thickened before he stormed off to confront Margaret. Raised voices followed, but Emily couldnt make out the words. She prayed it would end the torment.
When baby Charlotte arrived, joy briefly eclipsed the strain. Ian wept holding his daughter, and Emily dared to hope life would improve.
But motherhood was exhausting. Nightly cries, endless rockingCharlotte was fussy, and Emily barely slept.
“And you call yourself a mother!” Margaret sneered, finding fault even now.
If anything, after Ians confrontation, Margaret grew worse. She lectured constantly but never lifted a finger to help.
Then, one evening, Ian came home silent and grim.
“I was laid off,” he said hollowly.
Emilys shoulders slumped. Before they could speak, Charlotte wailed. Emily forced a smile. “Well figure it out,” she whispered, leaving to soothe the baby.
The next day, as they debated solutions, Margaret barged in.
“Planning without me?” she scoffed. “Whys my son the only one working? When will *you* step up, Emily?”
Emily stared. “What?”
“Its simple!” Margaret snapped. “*Ian* should take leave*you* go back to work!”
Emilys breath caught. Between sleepless nights and constant care, she was barely holding on. Now this?
But Ian erupted. “How *dare* you! Shes raising our child, running this housewhile you do nothing but criticise!”
Margaret gaped. “Im looking out for you!”
“Then stop making my wife miserable,” Ian said coldly. “Pack your things. Find a flat. Youre leaving.”
Margarets face twisted. “Ungrateful wretch! Id rather live with that insufferable landlord than you!”
“Good. Go.”
Margaret spent days hunting for a place, venom dripping all the while. But Ian shielded Emily, refusing to let Margaret near her.
“Fine! Im done with you!” Margaret finally shrieked, hauling her suitcases out.
“Dont let the door hit you,” Ian muttered.
The house exhaled. Ian found new work; Emily grew more confident with Charlotte. They never heard from Margaret againand neither missed her.
Sometimes, cutting ties is the kindest choicefor everyone.
