“Take your little runt and get out of here, this house belongs to memy son gave it to me!” shrieked the mother-in-law.
Emily stood by the stove, stirring a pot of soup, when she heard the familiar cough behind her. Margaret swept into the kitchen with her usual air of importance, slow and deliberate, like a general inspecting her territory.
“You’ve overcooked the potatoes again,” Margaret sniffed, peering over Emilys shoulder. “Is this how you cook? My Anthony likes them whole, not mushy.”
Emily said nothing, just kept stirring. A year under the same roof had taught her not to reactor at least, she tried not to.
“Smells delicious, love,” Anthony said as he wandered in, kissing his wife on the cheek. “Proper tasty.”
“Thats because youre hungry,” Margaret snapped, taking a seat at the table. “You shouldve fried the meat first, then added it to the soup. Thats the proper way.”
Anthony shrugged and left. Emily switched off the stove and began setting the table. From the next room, eight-year-old Tommy called out,
“Mum, can I go to Jakes after lunch? Hes got a new Lego set!”
“Well seehomework first,” Emily replied.
“Homework in summer?” Margaret clutched her head dramatically. “The child needs a break! In my day, kids played outside all summer and turned out just fine!”
Tommy hovered in the doorway, listening.
“Tom, come here, darling,” Margaret cooed. “Grannys got sweets for you. Never mind your mothers nonsenseno lessons in summer!”
“Margaret, we agreedan hour a day keeps his skills sharp,” Emily said evenly.
“Oh, so *you* agreed, did you? Was I consulted? Do I live here, or is this some joke?”
Emily bit her tongue. This argument had been the soundtrack of her life since Margaret moved in a year ago. Before that, thered been peacetwo blissful years after the wedding when Margaret only visited from her cottage, sometimes once a week, sometimes less. Then came what Anthony called the “logical solution”his mother sold her house and moved in permanently.
“Why should I rattle around in a big house alone?” Margaret had declared. “Here, Ive got my grandson, and I can help you. Im family, arent I?”
Anthony had agreed instantlyhadnt even asked Emily, just announced it: *Mums moving in. Clear out the spare room.* Emily had stayed silent. The house was big enough. And shed hopednaivelythat Margaret *would* help. Watch Tommy, lend a hand.
Reality was different. Margaret didnt lift a finger but *did* comment on everythingEmilys cooking (“too salty”), her cleaning (“not thorough enough”), her parenting (“too strict”).
“Anthony, tell your wife not to starve the child!” Margaret shouted toward the living room. “Lunch first, then this nonsense with lessons!”
“Mum, leave it,” came Anthonys weary reply. “Emilys got it handled.”
Margaret huffed and slid a handful of toffees toward Tommy. “Eat up, darling. Grannyll look after you, since your mums too busy with her silly rules.”
Emily slammed the plates down hard enough to clatter. Tommy flinched, eyes darting between his mother and grandmother.
“Ill have the sweets after lunch,” he mumbled.
“Good lad,” Emily said, ruffling his hair. “Go wash your hands.”
When Tommy left, Margarets lips thinned. “Turning him against me, are you?”
“Im turning no one. These are rules Anthony and I set.”
“Anthony?” Margaret laughed. “My son didnt set any rules. This is *your* doing. Ive seen mothers like youyoull give that boy a nervous breakdown!”
Emily exhaled slowly. Arguing was pointless. Shed learned that. Every attempt to stand her ground ended with Margarets trump card: *the house is in my name.*
The house. That was its own nightmare. When Emily first moved in after the wedding, she hadnt thought much of Anthonys offhand remark that it was in his mothers name.
“Safer this way,” hed said. “No one can touch it if its Mums. Just a formalityI paid for it, my money built it.”
Emily had believed him. Shed had nothing after her divorceleft her ex the flat just to be done with it. She and Tommy had rented until she met Anthony.
The first two years had been a dream. Anthony was kind to Tommy, the boy adored him. The house was cozy, with a big garden. Emily planted flowers, grew vegetables. Life had finally settled.
Then Margaret arrived with her suitcases.
“Ive every right to live in my own house!” shed snapped when she saw Emilys shock. “Or do you object to a mother living with her son?”
Anthony had hugged Emily and whispered, “Give it time. Shell settle.”
She hadnt. If anything, shed grown bolderrearranged the furniture, replaced Emilys curtains with garish rose-patterned ones, claimed the best armchair by the telly, which she blared all day.
“Anthony, could you talk to her?” Emily had pleaded one night. “Tommy cant focus on homework with that noise.”
“Let her watch telly, love. What else has she got?” Hed waved her off. “Youre overreacting. Mums harmless.”
Harmless. Like last month, when Margaret had screeched about Emily buying Tommy new trainers.
“Wasteful little madam!” shed yelled. “Money down the drain! My Anthony wore the same shoes for three yearsturned out fine!”
“Its my money. I earned it,” Emily had said.
“*Your* money? In *my* house, theres no *yours* and *mine*! Everythings shared! And dont you dare set your own rules!”
Anthony had vanished to the garage. Came back hours later, pretending nothing happened.
At lunch, Margaret had grumbled, “In my day, women respected their husbands. Now theyre all high and mighty.”
“Mum, enough,” Anthony muttered into his plate.
“Enough? Im speaking truth! Your wife treats me like dirt. Burns the food, tortures the child with lessons, wastes money”
“Margaret, I work double shifts as a nurse, support my child, keep this house. What exactly is your problem?” Emily snapped.
Margaret set down her spoon and fixed her with a glare.
“My problem is youve forgotten whose house this is. I could throw you and your brat out anytime. *My* son gave *me* this house!”
“Mum!” Anthony finally raised his voice.
“What? Its true! The deeds are in my name. *Im* mistress here. Shed best learn her place.”
Tommys lip trembled.
“Tom, go to your room,” Emily said softly.
When he left, she stood. “You know what, Margaret? Im done.”
“Good! Take your runt and scram!”
Emily packed calmly. Margaret hovered like a vulture, snarling, “That dress stays! It was bought here!”
“I brought it with me three years ago,” Emily said without looking up.
“Liar! Anthony, tell her!”
But Anthony was nowhere. Emily tucked away their documents, her savings, her mothers jewelry.
“Whats that? Show me!” Margaret grabbed for the bag.
“Ours. Dont touch.”
In Tommys room, the boy clutched his teddy. “Mum are we coming back?”
“I dont know, sweetheart.”
Next door, Mrs. Thompson watched in horror as Emily loaded their things into a taxi.
“Ill call the police if you steal anything!” Margaret screeched.
“Go ahead.”
Anthony appeared as the cab pulled up. “Em, waitwe can fix this!”
“Fix what? Your mother called my son a bastard to his face. And you said *nothing*.”
The divorce took a month. Anthony signed everything without protest.
Six months later, Mrs. Thompson called with news: Anthony was a shadow, run ragged by Margarets demands.
“She tells everyone you were ungrateful,” she said.
Emily shrugged. Let her.
She and Tommy were free. That was priceless.
