The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of frying pasties when the sharp rap at the door startled Emily. Standing on the threshold was Margaret Whitaker—her mother-in-law, her expression as stony as ever, her gaze unflinching.
“I didn’t come for tea,” she said coldly, brushing past without waiting for an invitation. “This is important.”
“What is it?” Emily wiped her hands on her apron, forcing a tight smile.
“Julia and Oliver are staying with me after the wedding. The flat’s too small—it’s stifling with three of us. You’ve got your grandmother’s place sitting empty. Let them move in.”
“No. After everything—absolutely not,” Emily snapped, crossing her arms as she stepped forward.
“What have I ever done to you?” Margaret feigned innocence, as if she genuinely didn’t understand.
Emily still remembered the weeks she’d spent agonising over Julia’s wedding. She’d racked her brain for the perfect gift—she and Julia had always been close, almost like sisters. She was certain they’d be among the first invited. Especially since Julia had borrowed five thousand pounds from them for the reception.
“Wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t invite us at all,” her husband, James, had muttered with a bitter smirk.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re her brother—he’d never snub you,” Emily had replied, clinging to hope.
She’d even pulled her finest dress and shoes from the wardrobe, ready. Waiting. Hoping.
But as the wedding neared, no invitation came—not from Julia, not from Margaret. Three days before, the crushing truth settled in her chest: they’d been deliberately excluded.
Tears had streaked her cheeks as she folded the dress away. James, ever indifferent, had only shrugged. “I’d rather sleep in on my day off,” was all he’d said.
A few days after the wedding, Margaret called, announcing she’d drop by. Emily decided to confront her outright.
“Why weren’t we invited?”
“Well… we only wanted young people there. You’re in your thirties,” Margaret had stammered, unconvincing.
Emily nearly bought it. But later, bumping into Margaret’s sister at the market, she learned the truth—guests had included elderly relatives, distant cousins. No mention of age restrictions.
“Why *weren’t* you there?” the woman had asked, baffled.
Shame burned through Emily—shame for people who should have been family.
At home, she told James everything. He suggested calling his mother.
“Margaret, be honest—why *weren’t* we invited?” Emily demanded. “Don’t lie. I just spoke to your sister—she told me who was there.”
“Julia and I decided to only invite people who… mattered,” Margaret replied smoothly. “Those who could give something valuable—or help in the future.”
“And the five thousand we lent Julia? That wasn’t valuable?”
“You’ll want it back. If it had been a *gift*, that would’ve been different.”
Emily barely recognised this woman. Were they truly nothing in their eyes?
Two weeks passed. Margaret arrived again—no call, no apology.
“That flat of yours is just sitting there. The newlyweds are cramped,” she began, false concern dripping from her tone.
“It’s not yours. Let it stay empty—it’s not costing you a thing,” Emily shot back.
“Why are you being so cruel? We’re family.”
“Family?” Emily’s voice trembled with fury. “You remembered us only when it suited you. Before that, we were just excess baggage.”
“What did we *do* to you?”
“You *seriously* don’t see it? You humiliated us! Then you *ghost* us, and now you demand keys? Has Julia even *mentioned* paying us back?”
“Keep saying no, and you’ll *never* see that money,” Margaret hissed. “Think carefully.”
Emily’s restraint shattered. She snatched up a glass of water and flung it in Margaret’s face.
“James—say something!” Margaret sputtered, wiping her face with her sleeve.
“Ask the people you *did* invite for help,” James replied, eerily calm.
Without another word, Margaret spun on her heel and stormed out, the door slamming behind her.
