Emily stood by the window, watching the rain tap against the sill. Behind her, she could hear the quiet footsteps of her husband, James, pacing the flat with his phone glued to his hand. He’d been whispering into it for the past three hours, just loud enough for her to know he was talking but too quiet for her to catch a single word.
“James, what’s going on?” she finally turned to ask, unable to take the tension any longer. “You’ve been on edge all day.”
James stopped mid-step, guilt flashing across his face. His phone screen still lit up with notifications.
“Em, there’s something I need to tell you,” he started hesitantly. “Just—don’t freak out straight away, alright?”
Her heart dropped. Eighteen years of marriage had taught her every tone in his voice—this one meant bad news.
“Just say it,” she said, sitting on the edge of the sofa.
“Mum’s coming back.”
“Coming back?” Emily blinked in confusion. “From where?”
“From Brighton. From Alice’s. They had a row, and now she wants to come back. To us.”
A cold shiver ran down Emily’s spine. Margaret, her mother-in-law, had moved in with James’ younger sister six months ago after yet another explosive argument in their home. At the time, Emily had thought—finally—she’d have some peace. No more nitpicking over how she cooked, cleaned, or raised the kids.
“James, no,” she said firmly. “We agreed. Remember how awful it was last time?”
“Em, she’s my mum,” James sighed, sinking down beside her. “She’s got nowhere else to go.”
“She has her own flat!”
“It’s rented out long-term. She signed the lease when she left. It’s not up till the end of the year.”
Emily closed her eyes, breathing slowly. Memories of those endless months with Margaret living under their roof flooded back—the constant remarks about her cooking, the way she cleaned, how she parented. The woman had an opinion on everything, and none of them were ever good enough.
“What happened with Alice?” Emily asked.
“Don’t know exactly. Mum just said she couldn’t stay there any longer. She and Alice’s husband didn’t get on.”
“And how long does she plan to stay here?”
“Till the end of the year, when her flat’s free again.”
Emily stood and walked across the room. Four months. Four whole months living with a woman who’d never once thought she was good enough for her son.
“James, I can’t,” she said, stopping in front of him. “I can’t go through that again.”
“Em, please,” he took her hands. “She’s changed. Six months living with Alice and her lot must’ve taught her something.”
“Your mother doesn’t change. She’ll always blame me for everything wrong in this family.”
James stayed quiet. He knew she was right. His mum had never accepted Emily, always finding fault where there was none.
“When’s she arriving?” Emily asked, exhausted.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?” Emily nearly jumped. “James, are you mad? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“She only called today. Says she’s already bought her ticket.”
“Brilliant,” Emily shook her head. “So she wasn’t even going to ask. Just drop it on us last minute.”
“Em, what was I supposed to do? Tell my own mum to sleep at the station?”
“She could’ve booked a hotel. Or stayed with friends.”
“She can’t afford a hotel. And friends… you know what she’s like.”
Oh, Emily knew. Margaret had managed to fall out with every neighbour, every acquaintance. Nothing was ever good enough for her.
That evening, over dinner, they told the kids. Fourteen-year-old Jack just shrugged—to him, Grandma was just Grandma. Sometimes she gave him money, sometimes she nagged. But eleven-year-old Lily frowned.
“Is she going to tell me off about my homework again?” she asked.
“Sweetheart, Grandma just wants what’s best for you,” James tried to explain.
“Then she can want it from far away,” Lily muttered, and Emily had to bite back a smile.
The next morning, Emily got up early, made breakfast, and cleaned the kitchen spotless. She wanted Margaret to walk in and see a perfect home—even though she knew it wouldn’t matter. Margaret would find fault anyway.
At half ten, the doorbell rang. James rushed to answer while Emily stayed in the kitchen, wiping already-clean plates.
“Jamie, my boy!” Margaret’s voice carried down the hall. “Oh, I’ve missed you!”
“Mum, come in, come in. How was the journey?”
“Awful. The train was stuffy, the air con was broken, and some drunk kept causing a scene all night.”
Emily took a deep breath and stepped into the hallway. Margaret stood surrounded by bags—so many it looked like she was moving in permanently.
“Hello, Margaret,” Emily said politely.
Her mother-in-law turned, eyeing her critically.
“Oh, hello,” she replied coolly. “You’ve lost weight. Been ill?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Strange. You look peaky. Probably those silly diets again. No wonder your husband barely looks at you.”
Emily clenched her jaw. Here we go.
“Mum, not now,” James cut in. “Let’s have some tea, yeah? Tell us what’s been happening.”
“What’s been happening is your sister’s lost her mind,” Margaret marched into the kitchen, inspecting everything. “Living with a man who won’t even let me through the door.”
“What? Why not?” James asked.
“Because, apparently, a house only needs one person in charge. Says I ‘interfere too much’.”
Emily privately thought Alice’s husband sounded like a smart man.
“Imagine,” Margaret went on, sitting down. “He told me I can’t correct their children. Said grandparents should spoil grandchildren, not parent them.”
“Maybe he’s got a point?” James ventured carefully.
“James!” Margaret gasped. “How can you say that? Don’t I have a right to my opinion?”
“Of course you do,” Emily cut in. “But every family has their own rules.”
Margaret turned to her with icy eyes.
“And this is exactly why I didn’t want to come back. I knew I wasn’t welcome here either.”
“Mum, don’t say that,” James protested. “You’re always welcome.”
“Welcome as a guest,” Margaret repeated bitterly. “In my own son’s house, I’m just a guest.”
Emily set a cup of tea in front of her and returned to the stove, feeling the tension thicken by the minute.
“Where are the children?” Margaret asked.
“At school,” James said. “Lessons.”
“I see. Hope they’re doing well? Not like last year when Lily was struggling with maths.”
“They’re fine,” Emily said. “Jack even competed in a school tournament.”
“Competed or won?” Margaret corrected. “Anyone can compete.”
“He came second.”
“Second isn’t first. Should always aim higher.”
Emily felt her blood boil. Even the kids’ achievements were never enough.
After breakfast, James helped his mum unpack in what used to be his study. Emily watched as Margaret hung up dresses, arranged framed photos, and lined up medicine bottles.
“She packed enough for a year,” Emily thought dryly.
The kids came home at lunch. Lily said a quick hello before bolting to her room, but Jack lingered in the kitchen.
“Grandma, why’d you come back?” he asked bluntly. “Aunt Alice ill?”
“No, darling. We just didn’t get on.”
“Oh,” he nodded. “You staying long?”
Margaret blinked at him. “Don’t you want me here?”
“Yeah, course,” Jack said quickly. “Just… Mum’s got enough on her plate.”
Emily, stirring soup at the hob, felt warmth spread through her chest. He’d noticed. He understood.
“Your mother hardly works,” Margaret sniffed. “Part-time at the school, home by lunch. Other women work proper jobs.”
“Mum works at home too,” Jack argued. “Marks homework, plans lessons. Does all the house stuff.”
“That’s not work, that’s just keeping busy.”
Emily gritted her teeth. She taught English at the kids’ school—gone part-time just to be there for them more.
That night, once Margaret was settled in the lounge watching telly, Emily and James talked in hushed voices in the kitchen.
“James, this isn’t going to work,” Emily said. “She hasn’t changed. It’s just like before.”
“Em, give her time. She’s upset, that’s all.”
“She’s always upset. At least with me.”
“Maybe you’re overreacting?”
Emily stared at him. “So it’s my fault now?”
“No! Just… try to be patient?”
“James, I’ve been patient for eighteen years. How much longer
