The Baked Truth: How One Cod Turned the Family Upside Down
Simon returned home from work, exhausted but content. A delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen. He peeked in, rubbing his hands together.
— Mmm, smells amazing! What’s cooking, Emily?
— Decided to bake some fish, his wife replied calmly.
But before he could ask what spices she’d used, odd noises drifted from down the hall. Simon frowned.
— Are the neighbours at it again?
— No, not the neighbours. There’s a surprise waiting for you in the back room, Emily said with a cryptic smile.
— What kind of surprise?
— Go and see for yourself.
Simon shuffled down the hallway, cautiously opened the door—and froze. Sitting smugly in the armchair was his mother, Margaret.
She’d arrived unannounced earlier. Emily, assuming it was a delivery, had opened the door without hesitation.
— Margaret, hello. You could’ve called. What if we hadn’t been home?
— Simon’s at work, and you’re here. I can manage, I’m not an invalid yet. Where’s my room?
— Just come through for now, we’ll sort it out.
— You’ve got three bedrooms, and you can’t decide straight away? And how does *he* not know?
— He didn’t know either. You didn’t tell him?
— Why should I? I’m not visiting. I’m moving in.
Emily bit her tongue, though her insides twisted. She still had deadlines to meet, so she asked her mother-in-law to wait. Margaret scanned the flat with a scoff, adding:
— The fridge is practically empty.
— The grocery delivery’s on its way.
When the bags arrived, Emily quickly threw together a simple lunch—cheese, ham, bread, and tea.
— Fancy some porridge? Pancakes?
— Don’t trouble yourself. I can cook if I need to.
Emily nodded and left. Half an hour later, after submitting her work, she returned to the kitchen to find Margaret had “claimed” the spare room—Simon’s man-cave, complete with his gaming setup.
— What a mess! Dishes everywhere. Does he even clean up after himself?
— He works hard. He relaxes in here.
— Works? Playing with his toys, more like. You stay at home, order groceries online, while he’s slaving away day and night?
Emily stayed silent. Too much bitterness had built up, but now wasn’t the time. She remembered her own mother’s words from their last chat, when she’d vented about Simon’s gaming obsession:
— At least he’s not out gallivanting. He’s quiet about it.
— And when are we having kids, then?
— He’s just making up for lost childhood time…
Fair point. All the money his mother had given them for the flat, Simon had splurged on absurdly expensive tech. A childhood dream, he’d said. Still, the flat was in Emily’s name, thanks to her parents’ contribution.
After lunch, Margaret dozed off in her “new” room. Simon came home, heard the snores, and blinked.
— Are the neighbours throwing a rave?
— No, your mother. Go talk to her.
She woke just in time. No pleasantries, straight to business:
— I’m retired now. Planning to travel, and stay with you between trips. Selling my flat—since I gave you the money, I’ve got a stake here too.
— Mum, seriously? We were saving that room for a nursery. Emily won’t like this.
— Then pay me back. Fair’s fair.
— I already send you money every month. We’ve got our own life.
— Your own life? Emily lounges at home. *You* do all the work. Hand over the paperwork—I hope it’s all legal?
Emily said nothing, returned with a folder.
— Here. The flat’s in my name. My parents paid their share.
— And mine?
— Spent. On your golden boy. On his “lost childhood.”
Simon stood, shamefaced.
— Sorry, Mum. But I really wanted it back then. Now—I’m done. No more.
— Ha! Emily snapped. If you don’t stop, I’m filing for divorce. You can go live with Mum and your consoles.
— Emily, don’t! I’ll sell it all. Promise. Let’s eat. No gaming tonight.
At dinner, Margaret sulked in silence.
— So I’m nothing here? I expected better.
— You’re Simon’s mother. But this is *our* home. And I won’t take orders.
— Simon, you’re under her thumb!
— Better under my wife’s shoe than under your thumb. You’ve controlled me my whole life. Enough. I’ve grown up.
Margaret stood, grabbed her bag.
— Call me a taxi. I’m leaving. You’ll regret this.
Simon silently walked her out. Back inside, he slumped at the table.
— I’ll have fish *and* meat. I’m starving.
— About the games—did you mean it?
— Yes. Selling it all. We’ll need the money for kids. I’m ready now. And Mum… we’ll figure it out. Just stay with me.
Emily smiled. Inside, she felt it—this *forbidden fruit* had finally ripened.
