The Old Mirror, or How the Son-in-Law and Mother-in-Law Made Peace
Emily returned home late. The flat was suspiciously quiet—no sign of her husband’s voice, none of her mother’s usual muttering.
“Mum? James?” she called, peering into the rooms. Empty.
“James must be tinkering in the garage shed,” she thought. “But Mum… Did she really get upset and leave?”
She threw on her jacket and stepped outside. Yellow light spilled from the slightly open garage doors, and voices drifted out. Stepping inside, Emily froze.
James and her mother, Margaret Hartley, were absorbed in restoring an antique mirror. Her husband was painting the frame, while her mother, her hair tucked under a scarf and wearing an old apron, enthusiastically explained something.
“Just look how the wood grain stands out now!” Margaret marvelled. “Your work is proper craftsmanship, James!”
“Don’t overdo it, Mrs. Hartley,” he chuckled. “Just a bit of fiddling.”
“Fiddling, he says!” Margaret scoffed. “It’s a masterpiece!”
Emily sank onto a stool, unable to believe her eyes. That morning, they’d nearly come to blows…
It all started when Margaret had moved in “temporarily” after the care home she’d lived in for the past two years closed its doors.
“Mum’s only staying a fortnight, love,” Emily had assured her husband. “Just until they sort her a new place.”
“A fortnight,” James grumbled. “With her underfoot.”
He paced the kitchen, fists clenched, then suddenly exhaled. “Couldn’t we put her up in a B&B? I’ve got that bonus coming…”
“Are you mad?” Emily retorted. “And have her tell everyone her own daughter threw her out?”
The doorbell shattered the silence. Margaret, ever punctual—or rather, an hour early “to assess the situation”—breezed in.
She began her inspection immediately. “Emily, darling, these wallpapers have faded dreadfully. And this coat rack! James, can’t you at least tighten the screws?”
James vanished into the loch without a word.
Within a week, Margaret had rearranged the furniture, scrubbed the kitchen spotless, reorganised the crockery, and—inevitably—dug into James’s paperwork.
“Mrs. Hartley!” James snapped when he couldn’t find an important folder. “Where are my documents?”
“Chucked the crumpled ones,” she said airily. “Sorted the rest into new files. Alphabetically!”
James stormed off, slamming the door.
Emily tried to focus at work, but her thoughts kept drifting home. Her mother—stubborn. Her husband—stubborn. And her, stuck in the middle.
After work, she hurried home. The flat was empty. Her heart skipped—until she heard voices from the garage.
Now here she sat, stunned: these two, at each other’s throats just this morning, were debating varnishes and wood oils, laughing like old mates.
“Mum?” she ventured.
“Oh, there you are!” Margaret beamed. “Look at James’s handiwork! And here I was, nagging like a silly old bat…”
She lifted a plate of scones from the workbench.
“Made these to apologise, but then—well, you see!”
“You’ve no idea!” James jumped in. “Your mum knows everything about antique furniture! I was racking my brains over how to treat this frame, and she just says, ‘Try linseed oil,’ and—bam! It’s alive!”
“Mum?” Emily blinked. “But you worked in accounting your whole life…”
“Oh, just a hobby,” Margaret waved off.
“Come off it!” James held up a painted trinket box. “Look at the detailing! I’d never have figured that out in a week.”
“You’ve got more of this stuff back in the village, haven’t you?” he asked eagerly.
“The shed’s packed! Dressers, vanities, shelves… Come down and see for yourself!”
“We will!” He turned to Emily. “Let’s visit your mum this summer! Imagine what we could restore!”
Margaret clapped her hands. “Really? You’ll come?”
“Absolutely!”
They gathered around a makeshift table covered with a plastic cloth, balancing scones, a teapot, and a jar of jam.
“After this, I’ll show you another trick,” Margaret winked. “I’ve got an idea for this frame’s finish.”
Emily watched them—so different, yet now so close. Her chest tightened. Yes, it happens… Sometimes happiness hides in the most unexpected places—like a dusty garage, smelling of paint and wood shavings, where a mother-in-law and son-in-law finally found common ground.
