*A Slice of Someone Elses Pie*
“Darling, my hearts acting up again,” she sighed, pressing a hand to her chest. “The doctor says I need expensive medication Youll help your mum, wont you?”
The flat smelled of vanilla and freshly brewed coffeeEmily had just pulled an apple and cinnamon pie from the oven. The golden crust crackled under the knife, filling the kitchen with a warm, comforting scent, like autumn itself had wandered in through the window. She was carefully plating slices onto fine china when the doorbell rangsharp, insistent, like a metronomes beat.
Her mother-in-law, Margaret, stood on the doorstep. Elegant in a cashmere coat the colour of sea foam, her silver hair perfectly styled, she held a glossy patisserie bagthe kind where a single cake cost what their family might spend on groceries for a day.
“Emily, love, hello!” she trilled, arms outstretched for a hug. “I was passing by and thought Id pop in. It smells divine in here! Just like my childhood”
Emily forced a smile, that familiar tension coiling inside herlike a spring wound too tight. She knew this wasnt a casual visit.
Margaret had become a constant presence three years ago, after her husbandDaniels fatherleft. At first, it was sweet: Sunday dinners, cosy chats over tea, help with chores. But gradually, the visits multiplied, and the requests grew bolder.
“Daniel, sweetheart,” Margaret would sigh theatrically, hand on heart, “my blood pressures all over the place. The doctor says I need these new pills Youll help your mum, wont you?”
Daniel, kind to a fault, never refused. At first, it was small sumsfifty, a hundred quid. Then two hundred, three. Emily tried to reason with him, but hed brush her off with a flick of irritation:
“Em, enough. Mums unwell. Shes familywe cant turn our backs.”
Meanwhile, Margaret “forgot” to mention the money wasnt for medicine at all. One week it was a “vital vitamin course,” the next a “private clinic treatment,” then an “urgent loan for a friend.”
Then Emily stumbled on a social media post: Margaret grinning over a cappuccino and a raspberry tart, captioned *”Sweet treatsthe best cure for the blues!”*
Emily frowned. Just yesterday, Margaret had sobbed to Daniel: “I feel dreadful, darling. The pills ran out, and the doctor says I need imported onesthey cost a fortune! Im at my wits end”
She showed Daniel the photo. He scowled, swiping the screen as if to erase it. “Maybe its old? Or she just needed a pick-me-up. Even ill people deserve small joys.”
“Dan,” Emily said quietly, a lump in her throat, “shes spending our money on cafés while were scrimping for a new washing machine. How can you not see this?”
That evening, Margaret called in tearsEmily could hear her wails through the speaker:
“Daniel, Im so lonely Youve no idea how hard this is. And now Emilys turned against meaccusing me of wasting money! All I want is a bit of warmth”
Daniel turned on Emily, jaw clenched. “Why must you always attack Mum? Shes barely coping, and youre making it worse!”
Emilys anger burned white-hot. “Im not attacking her! Im asking you to see the truth. Shes manipulating you!”
“Youre just stingy!” he snapped, the words hanging like poison. “Shes my mothermy flesh and blood!”
Emily walked out, shutting the bedroom door softly behind her. Outside, rain tapped at the window, mirroring the storm inside her.
The next day, Margaret arrived to “make peace,” bearing lilac-wrapped chrysanthemums. Her apologies dripped like syrup, but her eyes were cold beneath the act.
“Emily, I know budgets matter,” she murmured, stirring her tea with hypnotic grace. “But caring for elders is sacred. I ask so little”
Emily gripped her cup until her fingers ached. The teas usual comfort now felt suffocating.
“Margaret, have you considered *we* might need things too? The house, holidays, our future”
Margaret gasped, bangles clinking. “Oh, love, youre too young to understand aging. Yesterday, I nearly fainted! The doctor insists on vitamins, tests, massagesit all adds up”
Emily opened her mouth, but Daniel called just then.
“Mum, where are you?” His voice was tight with worry.
“At yours, darling,” Margaret cooed, silk-smooth. “Emily and I are having a lovely chat.”
Emily stepped onto the balcony. The wind bit her face, but it was better than the cloying flowers and hollow words. Below, the city buzzedlights, cars, people living honest lives while hers twisted in lies.
A week later, Emily laid their dining table with receipts, screenshots, and photosa battlefield of proof.
“Look, Daniel,” she said steadily, though her hands shook. “Heres a pharmacy receipt for £50. Heres Mum at a café *that same day*. Heres her Im so ill text, then a theatre selfie. Hereneed a heater, followed by a salon appointment”
Daniels face darkened as he pieced it together. When Margaret dropped by, he confronted her.
“Mum, is this true?” His voice cracked.
Margaret paled but rallied, pressing a hand to her chest. “Darling, the arts heal! Is it wrong to want joy? Im not squandering it alljust *living*”
“You *lied*! For months!” Daniels voice rose, raw.
“I I just wanted you to *care*,” she whispered, tears glistening. “You never call, never visit I was *lonely*.”
Emily watched, her chest tight. Margaret played her son like an instrument, but this time, he didnt yield.
“Enough!” he roared, the sound shaking the walls. “No more games. You *used* me. Called Emily greedy when *you* were the one taking. Its cruel.”
Margaret crumpled, face in hands. “You dont understand I never meant”
“I understand perfectly,” Daniel cut in, steel in his gaze. “Youll get helpbut no more cash. If you need pills, *Ill* buy them. If the sink leaks, *Ill* fix it. No more blank cheques.”
Margaret flinched as if struck. Her fingers twisted the tablecloth.
“Daniel, how could youIm your *mother*”
“Which is why Im saying this,” he said gently. “Because I love you.”
Emily watched, exhausted. Margarets trembling wasnt griefit was a tactic, one last play for pity.
The following weeks were tense. Margaret cycled between tearful calls and icy silence. Then one day, she arrived unannounced, staring out at the rain with unreadable eyes.
“You seem sad,” Emily ventured.
Margaret turned slowly. For once, her mask was offjust weariness left.
“No. Just thinking.”
They sipped tea in silence, not the old oppressive kind, but something softer.
“Ive been selfish,” Margaret admitted suddenly, avoiding Emilys gaze. “When my husband left, I felt like Id lost everything. And youso capable, so *steady*. I was scared.”
Emily blinked. It was the first real thing Margaret had ever said to her.
“Scared?”
“Yes. That Daniel would forget me. The money it was my way to keep him close. Stupid, I know. Forgive me, Emily.”
Her voice held no artificejust regret.
Things shifted after that. Daniel still helped, but practically: doctor runs, prescriptions, repairs. Emily stopped bracing for every phone call.
One day, Margaret invited her to the very patisserie from the incriminating photo. This time, she ordered only tea and a modest slice of cheesecake.
“You know,” she said, stirring absently, “Ive thought a lot about what you said. About all of us being tired. And I realised I was draining you instead of giving back.”
Emily listened, silent. No act this timejust truth.
“I was the centre of my husbands world, then Daniels. When he grew up, I clung to him like a life raft.”
“Mum.” Daniel appeared behind them, setting down a bouquet of wildflowers. “Thought you two might like company.”
Margaret looked up, and for once, her eyes held no calculationjust warmth.
Six months later, Emily and Daniels kitchen still smelled of bakingtheir new Saturday ritual. Margaret visited fortnightly, no longer a trial.
One afternoon, she brought an old photo album.
“Look,” she said softly, flipping pages. “Daniel at three. Us at the seaside when he was
