“Take that sickly brat of yours and get out, this house was a gift from my son!” shrieked the mother-in-law.
Natalie stood by the stove, stirring soup, when she heard the familiar cough behind her. Valerie had entered the kitchen with her trademark strideslow and self-important, like a general inspecting her domain.
“Overcooked the potatoes again,” Valerie peered over her daughter-in-laws shoulder into the pot. “Is this how you cook? My Anthony likes them firm, not falling apart.”
Natalie said nothing, continuing to stir. A year of living under the same roof had taught her to ignore such remarksor at least, to try.
“Smells lovely,” Anthony walked in and kissed his wifes cheek. “Proper appetising.”
“Only because youre hungry,” Valerie huffed, taking a seat. “You shouldve browned the meat first before adding it to the soup. Thats how its done properly.”
Anthony shrugged and left. Natalie turned off the hob and set the table. From the next room, eight-year-old Jamie called out:
“Mum, can I go to Charlies after lunch? Hes got a new Lego set!”
“Well see. Finish your homework first,” Natalie replied.
“Homework in summer?” Valerie clutched her head dramatically. “The boy needs a break! In my day, children played outside all summerturned out just fine!”
Jamie appeared in the doorway, listening.
“Jamie, love, come here,” Valerie beckoned. “Grans got sweets for you. Ignore your mumno homework in summer!”
“Valerie, we agreedan hour a day keeps his skills sharp,” Natalie said calmly.
“Oh, *you* agreed! Was I consulted? Do I live in this house or not?”
Natalie bit her tongue. This argument had been Valeries refrain since moving in a year ago. Before that, theyd had two peaceful yearsValerie had visited weekly from her village. Then came what Anthony called the “logical decision”his mother sold her house and moved in permanently.
“Why should I rattle around alone in a big house?” Valerie had reasoned. “Here, Ive got my grandson, and I can help you. Im family, arent I?”
Anthony had agreed instantlywithout consulting Natalie. Just announced it: *Mums moving in, clear out the spare room.* Natalie had stayed silent. The house was spacious enough. Shed hoped Valerie would helpwith Jamie, with chores.
Reality proved different. Valerie offered no help but critiqued everythingNatalies cooking, cleaning, parenting.
“Anthony, tell your wife not to starve the child!” Valerie shouted toward the lounge. “Lunch first, then this nonsense!”
“Mum, stay out of it,” came Anthonys weary voice. “Natalie knows what shes doing.”
Valerie snorted and dumped a handful of sweets in front of Jamie. “Eat up, love. Granll look after you, since your mums too busy.”
Natalie set the plates down with a clatter. Jamie flinched.
“Ill have the sweets later,” he whispered.
“Good lad,” said Natalie, ruffling his hair. “Go wash your hands.”
Valeries lips thinned. “Turning him against me?”
“Im not turning anyone against anyone. These are rules Anthony and I set.”
“*Anthony?*” Valerie laughed. “My son didnt set rules. This is *your* doing. Youll give the boy a nervous breakdown!”
Natalie exhaled. Arguing was pointless. Every attempt to stand her ground ended with Valerie reminding herthe house was in *her* name.
The house was its own wound. When Natalie first moved in after marrying Anthony, she hadnt questioned his explanation: *Mum owns itsafer that way. Just paperwork, really.* Shed believed him. After her divorce, shed left her ex the flat just to be free. Shed rented until meeting Anthony.
The first two years had been bliss. Anthony was kind to Jamie; the boy adored him. The house was cosy, with a big garden. Natalie planted flowers. Life finally felt steady.
Then Valerie arrived with her suitcases.
“Ive every right to live in my own home!” shed declared. “Unless you object to a mother living with her son?”
Anthony had hugged Natalie, whispering, *Give it timeshell settle.*
But Valerie hadnt settled. She rearranged furniture, replaced Natalies curtains with garish rose-patterned ones, claimed the best armchair, and blasted soap operas all day.
“Anthony, could you ask your mum to turn the telly down? Jamie cant concentrate,” Natalie had pleaded one evening.
“Let her watch,” hed dismissed. “And stop exaggerating. Shes fineyoure too sensitive.”
Natalie had bitten her tongue. Anthony idolised his mother, always siding with hereven when she was cruel.
Like last month, when Valerie raged over Jamies new trainers.
“Wasteful cow!” shed shrieked. “My Anthony wore the same shoes for three yearsturned out fine!”
“I bought these with *my* money,” Natalie had said.
“*Your* money? In *my* house, theres no *yours* or *mine*! And no dictating terms!”
Anthony had vanished to the garage, returning only after the storm passed.
At lunch, Valerie had grumbled, “In my day, wives respected husbands. Now? Women think they own the place.”
“Mum, enough,” Anthony muttered.
Natalie had slammed the plates down. Jamie flinched.
“Gran, Ill have sweets later,” he whispered.
“Good boy,” Natalie said. “Go wash up.”
Valeries eyes flashed. “Poisoning him against me?”
“Im poisoning no one. These are *our* rules.”
“*Your* rules!” Valerie sneered. “My son wouldnt dream of it. Youll ruin that boy!”
Natalie had inhaled deeply. Pointless. Every argument circled back*my house, my rules.*
Jamie, trembling, had blurted, “Gran, youre *mean*!”
Valerie had lunged, but Natalie stepped between them. “Dont touch him.”
“Your brat? Who do you think you are? Some stray my fool son took in!”
Anthony sat frozen. Natalie had looked to him*Say something.* But he stayed silent.
“Jamie, pack your favourite toys,” shed said steadily.
“Are we leaving?” hed sniffled.
“Yes, love. To Nanas.”
Valerie had smirked. “Good riddance! And dont steal whats *mine*!”
Natalie had packed methodicallyclothes, documents, Jamies books. Valerie had hovered, snarling about “her” possessions.
Neighbours had witnessed the exit. Valerie had crowed triumphantly.
Anthony had appeared as the taxi arrived. “Natalie, waitwe can fix this!”
“Fix what? Your mother just threw us out. And you said *nothing*.”
“She didnt mean it! Thats just her way!”
Natalie had looked at himthree years together, now a stranger. “Your mother called my son a *freak*. And you *let her*.”
The taxi had pulled away. Jamie, tearful, had asked, “Mum, are you crying?”
“Just tired, love.”
At her parents house, Natalie had collapsed into her mothers arms.
A month later, the divorce was final. Anthony hadnt contested it.
Six months on, a neighbour called with updates: Anthony, haggard, now waited on Valerie hand and foot. She badmouthed Nataliebut no one believed her.
Natalie had shrugged. Let her talk.
She and Jamie were safe now. No shouting. No humiliation.
That was priceless.
