Mother-in-law peeked into the pot and gasped in horror.
Margaret woke at dawn and, as usual, made her way to the kitchen of her home in the outskirts of Cambridge. To her surprise, her daughter-in-law was already bustling by the stove.
“Good morning,” smiled Emily, stirring something in the pot.
“Morning,” Margaret muttered, wrinkling her nose. “What on earth are you cooking?”
“Beef stew,” her daughter-in-law replied without looking up. “William loves it.”
“Beef stew?” Margaret sniffed suspiciously. “Since when does stew smell like that?”
“And how should it smell?” Emily shrugged, covered the pot with a lid, and walked out.
Not wasting a second, Margaret darted to the stove, yanked off the lid, and peered inside. What she saw made her recoil in shock.
“What sort of concoction is this?” she muttered, stepping back as if from a witch’s brew.
Emily returned with plates and, noticing her mother-in-law’s reaction, calmly explained, “Beef stew, Margaret. Fresh vegetables from our garden—just picked this morning. Cooking with homegrown things makes it taste special.”
“Special?” Margaret scoffed, crossing her arms. “Gardening is nothing but back-breaking work! Why waste time digging in dirt when you can buy everything at the market? I’ll never understand you.”
“I enjoy it,” Emily replied gently, ladling stew into bowls. The scent of carrots, cabbage, and herbs filled the kitchen. “Working with the earth gives you energy.”
“Energy?” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Might be a hobby for those with nothing better to do. But proper people—” She cut herself off when she saw Emily simply smiling, as if ignoring her jabs. “And who’s this mountain of food for?”
“For us,” Emily said. “Enough for a couple of days. William always asks for seconds.”
Margaret theatrically flinched, as if the smell alone made her queasy.
“I won’t touch a bite of this!” she declared dramatically. “Just the stench turns my stomach! What on earth have you put in it?”
Emily sighed, avoiding her gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted her husband William entering the kitchen, watching the scene unfold in tense silence.
Margaret couldn’t fathom what had happened to her son. Just two years ago, William had been a promising city boy, a rising IT specialist. They’d visited exhibitions, discussed new restaurants, and dreamed of his career. And now—this countryside life, the garden, this plain woman Emily! Even her name sent a prickle of irritation down Margaret’s spine.
William had always been a catch—tall, clever, charming. How many respectable girls from good families had sighed over him? Why had he chosen this country lass and this cottage in the middle of nowhere? Margaret had hoped he’d snap out of it and return to the city, to a proper life. But time passed, and William only sank deeper into this “rural fantasy.”
She decided to act. Emily’s dinner invitation was the perfect opportunity. Margaret had a plan—to remind her son who he truly was and drag him back to civilisation before it was too late.
William walked in, hugged his wife, and turned to his mother.
“Mum, try the stew. Emily makes the most amazing version!”
“William, you know your father and I never ate these peasant soups,” Margaret waved him off. “I remember you as a boy grimacing at stew, calling it old people’s food.”
Emily couldn’t help but smile, imagining a young William turning up his nose at his bowl. But now her husband was a grown man, and his tastes had clearly changed.
“Times change, Mum,” he chuckled. “Emily’s stew is a masterpiece. Try it—you won’t regret it.”
“Masterpiece?” Margaret gasped in outrage. “You call a pot of boiled vegetables a masterpiece? Real masterpieces are in theatres and galleries, not this… slop!”
Emily bit her tongue, but the words stung. She knew Margaret saw her as nothing more than a country bump, unworthy of her son. Still, she longed for just one shred of approval.
“Mum, enough,” William said firmly. “Emily does so much for us. We’re happy—that’s what matters.”
“Happy?” Margaret pursed her lips. “We’ll see how long that lasts. You’re a city boy, William. The city calls to you—this little cottage fantasy is just a phase. You’ll remember my words.”
William looked at her sternly.
“I’m a grown man, Mum. Emily and I chose this life, and I don’t regret a thing.”
“Not yet,” Margaret shot back. “But you’ve forgotten what real life is. This little wife of yours has charmed you with her garden, but it won’t last.”
Emily couldn’t stay quiet.
“Margaret, what’s so wrong about our life? We’re not hurting anyone. William’s happy—shouldn’t that make you happy too?”
“Happy?” Margaret snapped. “I see right through you—dragging my son into this backwater, away from everything civilized! You’ve got him trapped here. Next, you’ll pop out a child just to tie him down for good!”
Emily froze, stunned by the cruelty. William stood, his eyes darkening.
“Mum, you’ve gone too far.”
Margaret didn’t back down.
“I’m telling the truth. You can’t live cut off from the world forever. Tell me, how can a city man like you enjoy grubbing in the dirt and eating slop?”
William suddenly smiled.
“You know, Mum, I was a city boy because I didn’t know any different. Emily showed me another way, and I love it.”
Margaret huffed but didn’t argue. The battle was lost—but deep down, she was already plotting her next move. She wouldn’t give up.
After Margaret left, Emily sat at the kitchen table, staring at the pot of stew. It warmed her that William had stood by her, but the hurt still burned. She’d wanted so badly for Margaret to accept them. Tapping her spoon against the pot, she sighed.
William walked in, took her hand, and sat beside her.
“Emily, don’t let it get to you. Mum’s always been like this—thinks she knows best. But I chose you and this life. If she can’t see that, that’s her problem.”
Emily nodded, leaning into him.
“I just wish she’d accept us. Maybe I’m asking too much.”
“Maybe one day she’ll understand,” William said softly. “But even if she doesn’t, we’ll still be happy.”
Emily smiled, the ache easing. Their little world, their home, their stew—this was their happiness, and no one could take it from them.
“You know what?” She laughed suddenly. “Let’s finish this stew. To us, to our life, no matter how simple it seems.”
William picked up his spoon.
“To us, to our stew, and to whatever comes next!”
