**Diary Entry – 16th May 2023**
Bloody hell, what is this now? Emily stood in the middle of the lounge, arms crossed, her voice trembling with frustration. She glanced around as if the walls might offer an explanation.
Again? Third time this month! How much more of this?
On the sofa, sprawled lazily against the cushions, sat William. One hand held his phone, the other the TV remote. He glanced at her, though his expression remained indifferent—same as always when it came to his mother.
What’s ‘again’? He squinted. Don’t start another drama. I just got home. I want to relax.
Drama? Emily took a step forward, her voice rising. You call this drama? Five hundred quid! Just like that! No explanation, no discussion! You didn’t even ask what she needed it for—just transferred it!
William set his phone down with a weary sigh. His face showed exhaustion, not surprise.
So what? She’s my mum. If she needs help, I help. What’s the issue?
Emily moved closer, cheeks flushed.
The issue is we’re saving for the cottage! We agreed—every penny goes toward our future! And every month, you siphon money off to God knows where! First it’s prescriptions, then home repairs, now ‘unexpected expenses’—maybe she fancied a new iPhone?
He rubbed his temples.
She’s getting on, Em. It’s hard for her to manage alone. Easier to help than argue.
Getting on? She’s only sixty-five! She’s fitter than you! Theatre trips, spa weekends, guided tours—meanwhile, we haven’t had a proper holiday in ten years!
William’s tone sharpened. Don’t talk about her like that. She raised me.
She raised you, Will. Not me. And yes, I’m grateful. But that doesn’t mean she gets to drain our savings! We live on your salary—my freelancing’s unstable. You know this.
He fell silent, shoulders tense. Emily recognised the look. He wouldn’t argue. He’d just shut down, like always, and in a few hours, act as if nothing happened.
Fine. He stood. I’m going to bed.
And just like that, he left her standing there.
She stayed by the window, staring at the cold, indifferent stars. Nothing would change unless *he* chose to. He was too used to being a son to be a husband—too devoted to his mother to hear his wife.
***
The next morning brought coffee, a jog, and the same heavy exhaustion. Emily ran to clear her head—sometimes to forget, today to understand.
William was already dressed for work when she returned, his expression softer but guarded.
Look, Em, he adjusted his tie, I’ll talk to Mum. Promise.
She studied him. About what? Cutting back on ‘loans’? You know it’s pointless. She could justify buying the moon if she fancied it.
I’ll try. Maybe it’s important this time. I didn’t ask.
Right. Always important when it’s *her* wants. The familiar fatigue settled in.
Gotta go. We’ll talk tonight. A quick peck on the forehead, and he was gone.
Silence filled the flat—thick, suffocating.
***
They’d met at a mutual friend’s party. Back then, everything was different. William was attentive, steady, a bit romantic. Emily was full of ideas and faith in love. They balanced each other—yin and yang.
She met Margaret before the wedding. A sharp, shrewd woman with a gaze that could pin you in place.
I hope you’ll make my son happy, she’d said, studying Emily. He’s special.
At the time, Emily thought it maternal concern. Now, she knew—it was a warning.
After the wedding, they moved into their own flat. Margaret stayed alone. And the calls grew more frequent. At first, helping seemed natural. Then it became obligation.
Once, visiting, Emily heard Margaret boast to a neighbour about the washing machine William had bought her.
The old one was noisy, she’d said, smug. Will insisted I needed a new one.
Emily had seethed. The old one worked perfectly. Margaret just *wanted* new. And William, of course, obliged.
That’s when Emily understood—her mother-in-law wasn’t just asking for help. She was pulling strings.
They started hiding their plans. Quietly, they saved for a house. When they finally got the mortgage, they moved fast—no fanfare, no party. Just keys, smiles, hope.
But Margaret still turned up on moving day.
You could’ve told me, she’d said. I’d have helped.
We managed, Mum, William had replied.
Margaret smiled, but her eyes flashed—something between hurt and losing control.
Their flat was cosy but too small for Emily’s spirit. She dreamed of space, light, *land*. A cottage—somewhere green, with roses climbing the terrace, friends gathered around a fire. The dream kept her going through years of rent and scrimping.
William, seeing her passion, agreed. They saved again. But soon, their budget started ‘leaking’—through the same crack: Margaret.
A week after their last row, Emily was working when the doorbell rang. Margaret stood there, smiling in a way that set alarm bells ringing.
Hello, dear! Will said you were home. Thought I’d pop by for tea.
Emily forced a smile. Come in.
Margaret swept inside, eyeing the flat like an inspector.
So homely! You’ve done well.
Thank you. What brings you?
Oh, nothing much. She pulled out a container. Just wanted to see you. Brought some scones.
They sat at the kitchen table. The air was polite, not warm.
Emily, love, Margaret lowered her voice, I’ve been thinking… Will’s so busy, and I’m on my own. It gets lonely.
Emily tensed. And?
Well, my friends say the countryside’s lovely. Peaceful, fresh air. So, I thought— Her gaze fixed on Emily. Wouldn’t it be nice if you had a cottage?
Emily nearly choked. A cottage?
Yes! Will mentioned you’re saving for one.
Her cheeks burned. So he’d told her. Again. Without discussion.
We are. But we’re not there yet.
Perfect! Margaret clapped. I’ll help! I’ve some savings—for a rainy day. But I’d rather use them for family.
Emily stared. You… have savings?
Of course! Margaret pulled out a thick envelope. I worked hard all my life. And I see you two struggling. Take this. Buy a nice, big cottage. Room for everyone—even me, if I visit.
Emily eyed the money, torn between joy and suspicion.
This is too much—
Nonsense. It’s yours.
That evening, William froze when Emily showed him the cash.
Where’d she get this?
‘Savings’. Says she wants to help. ‘For the cottage, future grandkids, family time.’
Maybe she’s changed?
Emily shook her head. Maybe. But this isn’t over.
They took the money. Two months later, they owned a quaint cottage—surrounded by pines, just big enough for a greenhouse, flowerbeds, a gazebo. That first weekend, they revelled in it. Emily gardened; William fixed the roof. They were *happy*.
Margaret called often, asking for updates. Emily answered politely but warily.
Moving day arrived. Friends and family gathered. Laughter, wine, toasts.
Margaret arrived early, inspecting everything.
Lovely! Cosy! Where’s the guest room?
Emily stiffened. Just the one.
Oh, that’s awkward! You should’ve gone bigger. Oh well, we’ll manage.
At dinner, William raised his glass.
Thanks to everyone—especially Mum. Her help made this possible!
Applause. Margaret beamed, but her eyes flickered to Emily. Something unreadable lurked there.
By morning, the guests had gone—except Margaret.
Over breakfast, she dropped the bombshell.
Lovely cottage! Fancy if me and Mr. Whiskers stay a fortnight?
Ice shot down Emily’s spine. Mr. Whiskers—her demonic cat, a furry tornado of clawed destruction.
She turned slowly to William. He paled.
What?
Well, I’m lonely! Margaret smiled. Fresh air, peace—and since I *helped* buy it, what’s the harm?
William faltered.
Emily spoke first. Actually, Margaret, we’ve got Jerry—our rescue mutt. He’s at the vet now (kennel cough), but he’s *very* playful with cats.
Margaret’s smile twitched. She *hated* dogs—especially big, bouncy ones like Jerry.
What do you mean, Jerry?
Oh, he came with the garden. Loves ‘socialising’—especially with feline guests.
William caught EmilyHe squeezed her hand under the table, a silent promise that this time, they’d stand their ground together.
