A Slice of Someone Elses Pie
She presses a hand to her chesther blood pressures all over the place. The doctor says she needs expensive medication Youll help your mother, wont you?
***
The flat smells of vanilla and freshly brewed coffeeEmily has just pulled an apple and cinnamon pie from the oven. The golden crust crackles under the knife, filling the kitchen with a warm, comforting aroma, as if autumn itself has crept in through the window. Shes carefully arranging slices on porcelain plates when the doorbell ringssharp, insistent, like the tick of a metronome.
On the doorstep stands her mother-in-law, Margaret. Dressed in an elegant cashmere coat the colour of sea foam, her silver hair perfectly styled, a radiant smile on her face. In her hands, a bag from an upscale patisseriethe kind where a single cake costs as much as a familys weekly grocery shop.
“Emily, darling, hello!” she trills, arms outstretched for a hug. “I was just passing by and thought Id pop in. It smells divine in here! Just like my childhood…”
Emily forces a polite smile, a familiar tension coiling inside herlike a spring wound too tight. She knows this visit isnt random.
Margaret had become a persistent presence in their lives three years agoafter her husband, Edwards father, left. At first, it was sweet: Sunday dinners, cosy chats over tea, help with chores. But gradually, the visits grew more frequent, the requests more insistent.
“Edward, sweetheart,” Margaret would sigh, theatrically pressing a hand to her chest, “my blood pressures been dreadful. The doctor says I need these expensive pills Youll help your mum, wont you?”
Edward, kind-hearted and obliging, never refused. At first, the sums were smalltwenty, fifty pounds. Then they ballooned to a hundred, two hundred. Emily tried to talk to him, but hed wave her off, irritation flickering in his eyes.
“Emily, come on Mums not well. We cant abandon her. Shes my mother.”
Meanwhile, Margaret would conveniently “forget” to mention the money wasnt for medicine at alljust a “quick vitamin course,” a “special clinic treatment,” or an “urgent favour for a friend.”
Then one day, Emily stumbled upon a social media postMargaret in a café, grinning over a cappuccino and a raspberry tart, the caption reading: “Sweet treats are the best cure for a blue mood!”
Emily frowned. Just yesterday, Margaret had called Edward in tears:
“Darling, I feel simply awful Ive run out of pills, and the doctor says I need these imported ones, but they cost a fortune I dont know how Ill manage I might as well lie down and die…”
She showed Edward the photo. He scowled, swiping at the screen as if he could erase it. Confusion flashed in his eyes, but the excuses came quickly.
“Maybe its an old photo? Or she just wanted a little pick-me-up Even ill people deserve small joys.”
“Edward,” Emily said quietly, a lump forming in her throat, “shes spending your money on cafés while were scrimping on a new washing machine. Do you really not see the problem?”
That evening, Margaret called Edward, sobbing so loudly Emily could hear it through the phone.
“Edward, Im so lonely Youve no idea how hard this is. And now Emilys turned against me Accusing me of wasting money When all I want is a little warmth…”
Edward turned to Emily, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“Why do you always have a go at Mum?” he snapped, slamming his phone onto the side table. The sound was too loud, like a gunshot. “Shes barely holding on, and youre making it worse!”
Emily felt anger boiling inside herhot, molten.
“Im not having a go! Im just asking you to see the truth. Shes manipulating you!”
“Youre just tight-fisted!” Edward shouted, the words hanging in the air like poison. “You begrudge my own mother a few pounds?”
Emily walked silently to the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click. Outside, rain tapped against the window, mirroring the storm inside her.
***
The next day, Margaret arrived to “make amends.” She brought flowerslavender-wrapped chrysanthemumsapologised for “getting emotional,” but her eyes held a cold calculation beneath the remorse.
“Emily, I know you worry about the budget,” she said smoothly, stirring her tea. Her movements were hypnotic. “But you understand how important it is to care for your elders. I dont ask for much Just a little help now and then.”
Emily gripped her cup until her fingers ached. The teas usual comfort now felt suffocating.
“Margaret, have you ever considered we might need money too? For the house, for holidays, for our future?”
Margaret gasped, her bracelets clinking.
“Oh, darling, youre so young You dont understand how quickly age creeps up. Yesterday, I nearly fainted The doctor says I need these expensive vitamins, and tests, and massages It all adds up.”
Emily opened her mouth to reply, but Edward called then.
“Mum, where are you?” His voice was tight with worry.
“Darling, Im at yours,” Margaret cooed, her tone softening like silk. “Just having tea with Emily. Everythings fine, dont fret.”
Emily stepped onto the balcony. The cold wind slapped her face, but it was better than the cloying scent of flowers and fake apologies. She watched the city belowlights, cars, people rushing about. Everyone had their own truth, their own place, while her life had become a maze of lies.
***
A week later, Emily took a stand. She gathered every receipt, screenshot, and photo shed saved and called a family meeting. The living room table became a battlefield, papers stacked like strategy cards.
“Edward, look,” she said firmly, spreading the evidence. Her voice was steady, but inside, she trembled. “Heres a pharmacy receipt for fifty pounds. And heres your mum at a café the same day. Heres a text saying shes terribly unwell, followed by a theatre selfie. And thisneed a new heater, then a salon appointment the next day.”
Edwards face darkened as he pieced it togetherlike a puzzle he didnt want to solve.
“Mum, is this true?” he asked when Margaret dropped by unannounced. His voice held a pain Emily had never heard before.
Margaret paled but quickly composed herself. She pressed a hand to her chest, tears wellingreal or not, it was impossible to tell.
“Darling, you know how I love the theatre Its not a crime to treat myself! Im not squandering it all, I just wanted to feel alive.”
“But you said it was for medicine!” Edwards voice cracked, louder now. “Youve been lying to me?”
“I I just wanted you to remember me,” Margaret whispered, tears streaking her cheeks. “You never call, you never visit I was so lonely. Like I didnt matter anymore.”
Emily watched, her stomach knotting. Margaret was playing Edward like a fiddle, plucking at his guilt. But this time, he didnt yield.
“Enough!” he shouted, the word echoing like thunder. “No more games! Youve been using me. You knew Id never say no, and you exploited that. And you called Emily stingy Thats low. Really low.”
Margaret sobbed into her hands.
“Darling, I didnt mean I just wanted”
“I know what you wanted,” he cut in, his voice harda tone Emily had never heard before. “And I wont let you manipulate us anymore. Youll get help, but on my terms. No more just in case handouts.”
***
After that, Edward set strict boundaries. Hed helpbut only for genuine needs, and only with receipts.
“If you need pills, Ill buy them myself,” he said, holding Margarets gaze. “If you need chores done, call me. But no more cash.”
Margaret flinched, fingers twisting the tablecloth.
“Darling, how could you Im your mother.”
“Exactly why Im saying this,” he replied. “Because I love you. And I want honesty between us.”
Emily stayed silent, watching. There was no victory in her chestjust a weary ache. Margarets trembling hands, her quivering lipsit wasnt real pain. Just another tactic.
***
The next weeks were tense. Margaret swung between old trickshealth scares, lonelinessand sulky silence.
Then one day, she arrived unannounced, as usual. Emily made tea, studying her mother-in-laws face. Something unfamiliar flickered therelike a shadow.
Margaret sat by the window, chin in hand, watching the rain blur the
