The Baked Truth: How One Cod Turned a Family Upside Down
Oliver came home from work, tired but content. A delicious smell wafted from the kitchen. He peeked in, rubbing his hands together.
“Mmm, that smells amazing! What are you cooking, Emily?”
“Decided to bake some fish,” his wife replied calmly.
Before he could ask what spices she’d used, odd noises came from further inside the flat. Oliver frowned.
“Are the neighbors making noise again?”
“No, not the neighbors. There’s a surprise waiting for you in the back room,” Emily said with a mysterious smile.
“What kind of surprise?” he asked, puzzled.
“Go and see for yourself.”
Oliver walked slowly down the hallway, carefully opened the door—and froze. Sitting in the armchair, as if nothing was out of the ordinary, was his mother—Margaret Simmons.
She’d shown up unannounced earlier that day. Emily, thinking it was a delivery, had opened the door straight away.
“Margaret, hello. Why didn’t you let us know you were coming? What if we hadn’t been home?”
“Oliver works, and you’re at home. I can manage on my own—I’m not an invalid yet. Where’s my room?”
“Come in for now, we’ll sort it out later.”
“You’ve got three bedrooms, and you can’t decide straight away? And how come he didn’t know?”
“He had no idea. You didn’t tell him?”
“Why should I? I’m not visiting. I’m moving in.”
Emily held her temper, even though she felt everything inside her tighten. She still had work to finish, so she asked her mother-in-law to wait a bit. Margaret gave a sly look around before adding,
“There’s nothing in the fridge…”
“Groceries are on the way.”
When the delivery arrived, Emily quickly put together a simple meal—sliced cheese, ham, bread, and made tea.
“Would you like some porridge? Or pancakes?”
“Don’t trouble yourself. If I want anything, I’ll make it.”
Emily nodded and left. Half an hour later, after finishing work, she came back to the kitchen and found Margaret had “claimed” the room next to the bathroom—the one where Oliver spent nights gaming. She’d already remarked,
“What a mess. Dust everywhere, dirty dishes. Does he even clean up after himself?”
“He works hard. This is where he relaxes.”
“Works? Playing his little games, more like. You sit at home, order groceries online, while he has to slave away day and night?”
Emily bit her tongue. Too much bitterness had built up, but now wasn’t the time. She remembered a recent chat with her own mum, venting about Oliver’s gaming habit.
“Well, at least he’s not out drinking. He plays quietly,” her mum had consoled her.
“And what about when we have kids?”
“Guess he’s making up for lost time…”
It was true. Every penny his mother had given them for the flat, Oliver had spent on expensive tech. “Childhood dream,” he’d called it. Still, the flat was in Emily’s name, thanks to her parents’ contribution.
After lunch, Margaret dozed off in her “new” room. Oliver came home, heard the snoring, and frowned.
“Is that the neighbors?”
“No. Your mum. Go talk to her.”
Right on cue, Margaret woke up. Skipping pleasantries, she dove straight in.
“I’ve retired now. I plan to travel, and in between, I’ll stay here. I’m selling my place—gave you all that money, so I’ve got rights to some space here too.”
“Mum, seriously? We were going to make that room a nursery. Emily won’t agree.”
“Then pay me back. Fair’s fair.”
“I already send you money every month. I’ve got my own family now.”
“Family? Emily sits at home. You’re the only one working. Bring me the paperwork. I hope everything’s properly sorted?”
Emily left without a word and returned with a folder.
“Here. The flat’s in my name. My parents put in the money.”
“And mine?”
“Gone. On your precious son’s ‘childhood.’”
Oliver stood up, looking guilty.
“Sorry, Mum. But back then, I really wanted this stuff. Now? I’m done. No more.”
“Oh, really?” Emily snapped. “If you don’t stop, I’m filing for divorce. Then you can go live with your mum and your toys.”
“Em, don’t! I’ll sell it all. I promise. Let’s have dinner. No gaming tonight.”
At the table, Margaret sat in sullen silence.
“So I’m nothing here? Thought I’d be running things.”
“You’re my husband’s mother. But this is our family. And I won’t be taking orders.”
“Oliver, you’re whipped!”
“Better whipped by my wife than controlled by my mum. You’ve made all my decisions for me. Enough. I’m grown now.”
Margaret stood without another word, grabbed her bag.
“Call me a cab. I’m leaving. You’ll miss me yet.”
Oliver silently walked her out. When he returned, he sat back down.
“I’ll have fish and steak. Both. I’m starving.”
“And about the games—you really meant it?”
“Yeah. Selling it all. We’ll need the money for kids. I’m ready now. As for Mum… we’ll figure it out. Just stay with me.”
Emily smiled. Inside, she felt it—this *forbidden fruit* had finally ripened.
