“Absolutely not, Edward! I won’t take it anymore!” Claire slammed her fist on the kitchen table, making the teacups rattle. Her father-in-law looked up from his paper, baffled.
“Claire, love, what’s got into you?”
“What’s got into me? I’m not your maid, that’s what!” She stood with her hands on her hips. “Your mum bosses me about all day like I’m hired help, and you just sit there saying nothing!”
Margaret, her mother-in-law, walked in just then, frowning at the raised voices. “What on earth’s all this shouting? Claire, must you make such a scene?”
“There! See?” Claire pointed at her. “It’s always, ‘Claire, fetch the bread,’ ‘Claire, make the roast,’ ‘Claire, scrub the floors!’ Am I your servant?”
Margaret pursed her lips and sat down. “Well, someone has to. I’m not as young as I used to be, and Edward’s always at work. You’re young, healthy—”
“I work too!” Claire cut in. “On my feet all day at the shop, and when I come home, it’s more cooking, more cleaning, more laundry!”
Edward scratched his head, glancing between his wife and mother. “Mum, maybe Claire’s right. She is knackered by the end of the day…”
“Oh, so it’s *me* who’s wrong now?” Margaret huffed. “My own son turning against me for some—”
“Some *what*?” Claire snapped. “I’m your son’s *wife*, or have you forgotten? The one who’ll give him children, God willing! And you call me *some*?”
Margaret turned to the window, silent. Edward stood and reached for Claire’s hand. “Claire, come on. Mum’s getting on, it’s hard for her—”
“And it’s easy for me, is it?” She pulled away. “Listen, Ed, I’ll say it plain: things change, or I’m leaving.”
The room went quiet. Margaret slowly turned back. “And where exactly would you go? Back to your parents? Think they’d welcome you with open arms?”
Claire went pale. Her parents—especially her dad—had never forgiven her for marrying Edward.
“I’ll manage. Don’t you worry.”
“Claire, don’t be daft,” Edward said firmly. “We’re family. We sort things out.”
“Exactly!” She yanked her hand free. “So here’s how we sort it. My terms.”
Margaret scoffed. “Terms? In *my* house?”
“*Our* house,” Claire corrected. “Ed, tell her it’s ours too.”
Edward hesitated. The house *was* in his mum’s name—she’d inherited it from her parents. But they’d lived there since the wedding; no other options.
“Mum, technically—”
“No *technically*!” Margaret cut in. “My house, my rules.”
“Fine.” Claire grabbed a notepad. “First: I cook dinner every other night. Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays—your turn or Ed’s.”
“Outrageous!” Margaret bristled.
“Because I’m *not* your cook.” Claire scribbled. “Second: cleaning’s split weekly. My week, then yours.”
“You’ve got a nerve!”
“Third,” Claire plowed on, “no one enters our room uninvited. And no touching my things.”
That stung. Margaret had a habit of “tidying” their room—rearranging Claire’s belongings, even reading her letters.
“And if I need to vacuum?” Margaret challenged.
“Ask. Knock. Like normal people.” Claire kept writing. “Fourth: once a week, Ed and I go out. Just us.”
“Now you’re stealing my son!”
“It’s *not* stealing! Couples do this!”
Edward finally spoke up. “Mum, she’s right. We need time together.”
Margaret threw her hands up. “Ganging up on me! Go on, write your little list!”
Claire paused. Margaret’s voice had cracked—less anger, more hurt.
“Margaret… I’m not against you. I just want peace.”
“Peace?” Margaret sank into a chair. “How’s it peace if my son drifts away?”
Claire put the pen down. “No one’s drifting. But I need space here too. I’m not an outsider.”
“Not an outsider, but not blood.” Margaret muttered. “Here today, gone tomorrow…”
Edward stood abruptly. “Mum, enough. Claire’s my wife. That makes her your family. Full stop.”
Margaret sighed. “Family… Fine. But daughters listen to their mothers.”
“Daughters do,” Claire said softly. “Maids don’t.”
Silence settled. Edward paced; Claire flipped her notepad. Margaret stared out at the neighbors hanging laundry.
“Linda down the road—her son married too,” Margaret said suddenly. “Nice girl. Quiet. Respects her mother-in-law.”
“And I don’t?”
“Dunno. Lists and demands…”
“It’s not disrespect. It’s clarity.”
Margaret turned. “So I just sit about like a potted plant?”
Claire almost smiled. “Course not. You’ve got your garden, your knitting. I’m talking about *shared* work.”
Edward stopped. “She’s right, Mum. I’ll pitch in too.”
“You?” Margaret snorted. “You’ve never boiled an egg!”
“I’ll learn!” He grinned at Claire. “Teach me?”
Margaret shook her head, but her tone softened. “You’ll regret this.”
“No. He’ll help.”
After a pause, Margaret eyed Claire. “If I agree… what do *I* get?”
Claire blinked. “What?”
“A deal goes both ways.”
“Alright. What d’you want?”
“Call me Maggie. Not ‘Margaret.’ And have tea with me evenings. No one to chat with—Ed’s glued to the telly.”
Claire felt something shift. Maybe Margaret wasn’t a tyrant. Just lonely.
“Deal. But not every night. Some days I’m shattered.”
“Fair.”
Edward exhaled. “Thank God. Thought we were headed for WWIII.”
“Was already a battle,” Claire said.
“Peace’s better,” Margaret—*Maggie*—murmured. “Might take getting used to, being ‘Maggie.'”
“You’re not *that* old.”
“Old enough. Joints ache, blood pressure’s dodgy…”
Claire studied her. She *did* look worn. Maybe the demands weren’t malice—just exhaustion.
“Maggie, you seeing the doctor?”
“Pills don’t fix age.”
“What if we hired a cleaner? Just weekly, for the heavy stuff?”
Edward balked. “With what money?”
“I’ll take extra shifts.”
“I’ll pick up odd jobs,” he added. “Helping mate Dave with renovations.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. “You’d do that… for me?”
“For all of us,” Claire said. “Easier for me too. You could rest more.”
“Smart,” Edward agreed. “Should’ve thought sooner.”
Margaret dabbed her eyes. “You’re good kids.”
Claire stood. “Right. Dinner. Tomorrow—fresh start.”
“Fresh start,” Margaret repeated. “Might be nice.”
Over supper, they talked like normal—work, neighbors, weekend plans. Claire mentioned a new colleague; Edward, changes at the factory. Margaret complained about next door’s cat trampling her roses.
“Maggie… what if *we* got a cat?” Claire ventured. “Company for you.”
“Who’d look after it?”
“*We* would. He’d be *yours*.”
Margaret’s face softened. “Haven’t had something of my own in years.”
“You’ve got us,” Claire said. “Family.”
“Family,” Margaret echoed. “Suppose I do.”
Later, in their room, Claire mulled it over. The terms were firm but fair. Edward had backed her. And Margaret—underneath—was just scared of being left behind.
Edward wrapped an arm around her. “Regret putting your foot down?”
“No. Should’ve done it ages ago.”
“Mum came round. Think she understood.”
“She did. Just needed to hear it.”
He kissed her head. “Love you.”
“Mmm. Let’s get that cat.”
“Deal. *You’re* cleaning the litter.”
She laughed. “Team effort.”
Next door, Margaret lay awake, replaying the night. Maybe Claire *had* a point. Age wasn’t an excuse to treat people like staff. And the girl *was* good for Edward—spirited, loyal.
She smiled in the dark. Tomorrow, she’d try calling her Claire. See how it felt. Maybe—just maybe—they’d make it work. People could, if they tried.
