Margaret woke up at dawn and, as usual, headed to the kitchen of her home in the outskirts of York. To her surprise, her daughter-in-law was already bustling by the stove.
“Good morning,” smiled Emily, stirring something in the pot.
“Morning,” grumbled Margaret, wrinkling her nose. “What’s that you’re making?”
“Beef stew,” replied Emily, not looking up. “William absolutely loves it.”
“Beef stew?” Margaret sniffed suspiciously. “Since when does stew smell like that?”
“How’s it supposed to smell?” Emily shrugged, put the lid on the pot, and walked out.
Margaret wasted no time. She darted to the stove, yanked off the lid, and peered inside. What she saw made her gasp in horror.
“What on earth is this concoction?” she muttered, stepping back as if it were poison.
Emily returned with plates and, noticing her mother-in-law’s reaction, calmly explained, “It’s beef stew, Margaret. Veggies from our garden—fresh, just picked. Cooking with homegrown ingredients feels like a celebration.”
“A celebration?” Margaret scoffed, crossing her arms. “That garden of yours is nothing but drudgery! Wasting time digging in dirt when you could just buy everything at the supermarket? I don’t understand you lot.”
“I enjoy it,” Emily said gently, ladling stew into bowls. The aroma of carrots, potatoes, and herbs filled the kitchen. “There’s something grounding about working with the land.”
“Grounding?” Margaret rolled her eyes. “It’s a hobby for people with too much time. Proper folks have real work to do—” She cut herself off when she saw Emily just smiling, unfazed by the jab. “And why’ve you made so much?”
“For us,” Emily replied. “Enough for a couple days. William always asks for seconds.”
Margaret recoiled dramatically, as if the smell alone made her queasy.
“I won’t touch that!” she declared. “Just the scent turns my stomach. What on earth did you put in there?”
Emily sighed, avoiding Margaret’s glare. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed her husband William stepping into the kitchen, watching the scene in tense silence.
Margaret couldn’t fathom what had happened to her son. Just two years ago, William was a sharp young banker in London—ambitious, polished. They’d gone to art exhibitions, debated Michelin-starred restaurants, and dreamed of his career. And then—this! A cottage in the countryside, a vegetable patch, this plain Emily! Even her name made Margaret’s skin crawl.
William had always been a catch—tall, clever, charismatic. How many well-bred girls from respectable families had sighed over him? Why had he chosen this farm girl and this backwater life? Margaret had hoped it was just a phase, that he’d snap out of it and return to the city. But time passed, and William only sank deeper into this “rural fantasy.”
She’d had enough. Emily’s dinner invitation was the perfect opportunity. Margaret had a plan: remind her son who he really was and drag him back to civilization before it was too late.
William walked in, kissed Emily’s cheek, and turned to his mother.
“Mum, try the stew. Emily makes it brilliantly.”
“William, you know your father and I never ate these peasant dishes,” Margaret waved him off. “I remember you turning your nose up at stew as a boy—said it was old folk’s food.”
Emily smiled, picturing little William scowling at his plate. But her husband was a grown man now, and his tastes had clearly changed.
“Times change, Mum,” he chuckled. “Emily’s stew is a masterpiece. You’ll love it.”
“A masterpiece?” Margaret sputtered. “William, you’re calling a pot of muddled vegetables a masterpiece? Real masterpieces are in galleries, orchestras—not this… mess!”
Emily tried to ignore her, but the words stung. She knew Margaret saw her as some yokel unworthy of her son. Still, she wished just once her mother-in-law would acknowledge her effort.
“Mum, that’s enough,” William said firmly. “Emily does so much for us. We’re happy—what else matters?”
“Happy?” Margaret pursed her lips. “We’ll see how long that lasts. You’re a city boy, William. The city’s calling you—this little rural experiment is just a whim. You’ll remember my words.”
William gave her a disappointed look.
“I’m an adult, 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 girl’s roped you in with her little garden, but it won’t last.”
Emily couldn’t stay quiet.
“Margaret, what’s so wrong with our life? We’re not hurting anyone. William’s content—isn’t that what matters?”
“Content?” Margaret’s voice turned sharp. “I see you dragging my son into the middle of nowhere, away from everything! You’ve got him right where you want him. Planning to pop out a baby next, really tie him down?”
Emily froze, stunned by the cruelty. William stood, his expression dark.
“Mum, you’ve gone too far.”
Margaret didn’t back down.
“I’m speaking the truth. You can’t hide in this isolation forever. Tell me—how can a man like you enjoy digging in dirt and eating slop?”
William suddenly grinned.
“Funny thing, Mum—I was a city boy because I didn’t know any different. Emily showed me another way, and I prefer it.”
Margaret huffed, but didn’t argue. Her plan had failed, but she wasn’t giving up. A new scheme was already forming.
When Margaret left, Emily sat at the kitchen table, staring at the stew pot. 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 sat beside her and took her hand.
“Em, don’t let it get to you. Mum’s always thought she knows best. But I chose you—I chose this. If she can’t accept it, that’s her loss.”
Emily nodded, leaning into him.
“I just wanted her to understand. Maybe that’s asking too much.”
“Maybe one day she will,” William said softly. “But even if she doesn’t, we’ll be all right.”
Emily smiled, feeling the ache fade. Their little world, their home, their stew—it was their happiness, and no one could take that.
“You know what?” she laughed. “Let’s finish this stew. To us—to our life, however simple it seems.”
William raised his spoon.
“To us, to our stew, and to whatever comes next.”
