Oh, Sophie! Hello, love, her mother-in-law stammered, opening the door. We were expecting you the day after tomorrow.
Good evening, Margaret, Sophie replied calmly, giving her a quick hug. Work called me back earlier—my leave got cut short. I thought I’d come home sooner. Is James here with our son?
Margaret hesitated. James is here, but Oliver… he went to see off his colleague, Emily. Didn’t you two talk?
Now it was Sophie’s turn to be confused.
He didn’t pick up. And who’s Emily, if you don’t mind me asking?
Oh, nothing serious… Margaret fumbled. Oliver dropped by with little James for the weekend, and Emily… well, she was just waiting in the car. I… I invited her in for tea and cake.
Right, of course you did. Where are they now? How long have they been gone?
About two hours, Margaret muttered, looking down.
Perfect. Sophie’s voice went icy as she turned to find her son.
Inside, she was boiling. She scooped up five-year-old James, gave a stiff goodbye, and drove home. In the car, her son chattered away.
Me and Dad and Auntie Emily had ice cream, went on the carousel, and visited Nanny. It was so fun!
Sophie nodded, but her mind was spinning. For the first time in ten years, she’d taken a holiday alone—a spa break she’d won for her years of service. Her chronic stomach issues had finally warranted a proper rest. *Go on,* Oliver had said. *Mum will help. We’ll manage.*
She’d doubted it, but he convinced her. And now her son was talking about cosy outings with *Auntie Emily*—some woman she’d never even heard of, already sipping tea with her mother-in-law and taking her child to fairs.
Late that night, her phone rang.
Soph, hey… Sorry, my phone died… Oliver mumbled.
Hey. Where are you?
At Mum’s. James and I stayed over. Everyone’s asleep…
Interesting. Because I’m lying in *our* bed. James is in his cot. And you’re nowhere. Hiding in a wardrobe, maybe?
Her voice was steady, but furious.
Silence. Then the call cut.
Forty minutes later, he was at the door.
Don’t start a fight. You found out anyway. Yeah, there’s Emily.
Are you *kidding* me? You brought her to your *mother’s*? You let our son spend time with her?!
I needed to see if she’d fit in. With my family. With James.
Sophie nearly staggered. This wasn’t a nightmare. This was her life.
So… you were auditioning your *mistress* for our family? What’s next—introducing her to *me*?
Don’t twist it. I didn’t know you’d be back.
Tears burned her eyes. Not because he’d cheated. Because he spoke like he was picking out a new sofa.
He went to bed.
The next morning, Sophie dropped James at nursery and drove to Margaret’s.
Tell me one thing—what did I ever do to you? I looked after you when you broke your hip. I bottled jams for your garden parties. Why betray me?
Margaret looked down. I’m sorry. I didn’t know before you left. And after… I couldn’t say no to Oliver. He’s my son.
And what am I? Sophie whispered.
No answer. She turned and left.
That evening, Oliver was home.
We’re done. Let’s talk about splitting the flat.
What flat? The one my dad left me right before the wedding?
But I put money into it. The renovations—
Your *parents* paid, not you. Consider it their investment in their grandson’s home.
His face twisted.
Half of it’s *mine*!
Forget it, she said firmly. After what you’ve done, you’re not getting a penny.
He screamed, hurling every cruel word he could. Sophie pressed into the wall—until James, woken by the noise, ran out frightened. That stopped him. He wouldn’t keep shouting in front of their son. He left.
He filed for divorce. Lost the flat.
A year passed.
At first, James visited his dad. Then he stopped—Oliver’s new wife, Emily, didn’t want him around. She clashed with Margaret, too.
Sophie decided: Time to move on. She sold the flat and left for Brighton—where that spa had been. Somewhere fresh. For the first time, she’d live just for herself.
