The kitchen was thick with tension as Eleanor stirred the stew, her knuckles white around the wooden spoon. Behind her, the familiar sound of a throat being cleared made her shoulders stiffen. Margaret swept into the room with her usual air of self-importance, as though she were inspecting military quarters rather than her sons home.
“Youve overcooked the potatoes again,” Margaret sniffed, peering over Eleanors shoulder. “Does this look like proper cooking to you? My William likes his potatoes firm, not mushy.”
Eleanor kept stirring, her jaw clenched. A year of living under the same roof had taught her the futility of responding. Or at least, shed tried to learn.
“Smells lovely,” William said as he ambled in, planting a cursory kiss on Eleanors cheek. “Proper appetizing, that.”
“Thats because youre hungry,” Margaret scoffed, settling at the table. “You shouldve browned the meat first before adding it to the stew. Thats the proper way.”
William shrugged and wandered out. Eleanor turned off the hob and began setting the table. From the living room, eight-year-old Tommy called out,
“Mum, can I go to Charlies after lunch? Hes got a new train set!”
“Well see. Finish your maths first,” Eleanor replied.
“Maths in summer?” Margaret clutched her chest dramatically. “The boy needs a break! In my day, children ran about all summerand we turned out just fine!”
Tommy appeared in the doorway, listening.
“Come here, love,” Margaret cooed. “Grannys got sweets for you. Never mind your mums silly lessons.”
“Margaret,” Eleanor said evenly, “Tommy and I agreedan hour of reading and sums a day so he doesnt forget what hes learned.”
“Oh, so you agreed, did you? And was I consulted? Do I not live in this house?”
Eleanor bit her tongue. This was Margarets favorite refrain since shed moved in a year ago. Before that, theyd had peaceMargaret visited from her cottage in the Lake District once a week, sometimes less. But then came what William called “the sensible decision”his mother sold her house and moved in permanently.
“What do I need with a big empty house?” Margaret had declared. “Here, Ive got my grandson, and I can help you. Im family, arent I?”
William had agreed instantly. No discussion, just an announcement: Mums moving in, clear out the spare room. Eleanor had stayed silent. The house was spacious enough. And shed hoped, foolishly, that Margaret would actually helpwatch Tommy, lend a hand.
Reality had been different. Margaret didnt lift a finger unless it was to criticizeEleanors cooking, her cleaning, her parenting. Too harsh, too soft, never right.
“William!” Margaret barked toward the living room. “Tell your wife not to starve the child! Lunch first, then lessons!”
“Mum, leave it,” came Williams weary voice. “Eleanors got it sorted.”
Margaret huffed and shoved a handful of toffees toward Tommy. “Eat up, love. Grannyll look after you, since your mums too busy with her nonsense.”
Eleanor set the plates down with a clatter. Tommy flinched, eyes darting between his mother and grandmother.
“Ill have the sweets after lunch,” he mumbled.
“Good lad,” Eleanor said softly, ruffling his hair. “Go wash your hands.”
When Tommy left, Margarets lips thinned. “Turning him against me, are you?”
“Im not turning anyone against anyone. These are rules William and I agreed on.”
“William?” Margaret laughed. “My son never agreed to any rules. This is all your doing. Ive seen your typeyoull turn that boy neurotic with all your fussing.”
Eleanor took a slow breath. Arguing was pointless. Shed learned that. Any attempt to stand her ground ended with Margarets trump cardthe house was in her name.
The house. That was its own agony. When Eleanor had moved in after the wedding, she hadnt thought twice about Williams offhand remark that it was in his mothers name.
“Safer that way,” hed said. “No one can touch Mums assets. Just a formalityI paid for it, didnt I?”
Shed believed him. Shed had nothing after her divorceshed left her ex the flat just to be rid of him. She and Tommy had rented until she met William.
The first two years had been a dream. William was kind to Tommy, and the boy adored him. The house was cozy, with a big garden. Eleanor planted flowers, grew vegetables. Life, at last, had steadied.
Then Margaret arrived with her suitcases.
“Ive every right to live in my own home!” shed snapped when she saw Eleanors stunned face. “Unless youve a problem with a mother living with her son?”
William had hugged Eleanor and whispered, “Give it time. Shell settle.”
But Margaret hadnt settled. Shed grown bolder. Rearranged the furniture. Replaced Eleanors curtains with her own garish floral ones. Commanded the best armchair, blasting telly at all hours.
“William, can you talk to her?” Eleanor had begged one evening. “Shes got the volume up so loud Tommy cant focus.”
“Let her watch,” William had dismissed. “Dont make a drama of it. Shes harmless.”
Harmless. Eleanor had bitten back a reply. William worshipped his mother. In any clash, he took her sideeven when she was cruel.
Like last month, when Margaret had screeched about Eleanor buying Tommy new trainers.
“Wasteful cow!” shed shrieked. “My William wore the same shoes for three yearsand he turned out fine!”
“I used my own money,” Eleanor had said.
“Your money? In my house, theres no yours and mine! Everythings shared! You dont make the rules here!”
William had vanished to the garage. Returned hours later, pretending nothing happened.
Now, over lunch, Margaret was still complaining.
“In my day, women respected their husbands. Now? Too big for their boots, the lot of you.”
“Mum, enough,” William muttered into his plate.
“Enough? Im speaking the truth! Your wife treats me like dirt. Burns the food, tortures the boy with lessons, spends money like water.”
“Margaret,” Eleanor finally cut in, “I work double shifts as a nurse, raise my son alone, and keep this house. What exactly is your problem?”
Margaret set her fork down with a clink and fixed Eleanor with a cold stare.
“My problem? Youve forgotten whose house this is. I could throw you out anytimeyou and that brat of yours. This is my home. My son gave it to me!”
“Mum!” William finally raised his voice.
“Its true! The deeds are in my name. Im the mistress here. Shed best remember her place.”
Tommys lip trembled as he looked between them.
“Tommy, go to your room,” Eleanor said softly.
Once hed gone, she stood.
“You know what, Margaret? Im done.”
“Good! Pack your bags and get out! Take your little nuisance with you!”
Eleanor straightened, refusing to let the woman see her shake.
“Fine. Well leave.”
“About time!” Margaret crowed. “Find some other fool to put up with you!”
“Enough!” William tried, but Margaret only grew louder.
“Blind, are you? Cant see how shes played you? Latched onto you with her little bastard in tow!”
“Im not a bastard!” Tommys voice rang from the hallway.
Everyone turned. The boy stood there, fists clenched, face red.
“Youre mean! I hate you!”
Margaret gasped. “How dare you! In my own home! Ill”
She lunged, but Eleanor stepped between them.
“Dont you touch him.”
“Your son? Who do you think you are? Some stray my soft-hearted boy took in!”
William sat frozen. Eleanor searched his face for even a flicker of support. Nothing.
“Tommy, go pack your favorite toys,” she said calmly.
“Are we leaving, Mum?” he sniffled.
“Yes, love. Were going to Grandma and Grandads.”
Margaret smirked. “And dont take anything of mine!”
Eleanor moved methodically. Two suitcaseshers and Tommys. Clothes, documents, the small box of her mothers jewelry. Margaret trailed her, spitting accusations.
“Try stealing from me, and Ill call the police!”
Eleanor turned. “Actually, Ill ask the neighbors to witness what I take. So theres no lies about theft.”
Outside, she flagged down Mrs. Jenkins, who was watering her roses.
“Could you and
