**”The Door Will Stay Closed”**
“Mum, open the door! Mum, please!” Her son’s fists pounded against the metal with such force she feared the hinges might give way. “I know you’re home! Your car’s still parked outside—you haven’t gone anywhere!”
Margaret Lancaster sat stiffly in her armchair, her back to the entrance, fingers clenched around a teacup long gone cold. The porcelain trembled against the saucer, the sharp clinking the only sound in the stifling silence.
“Mum, what’s going on?” Daniel’s voice grew more desperate. “The neighbors say you haven’t let anyone in for a week! Not even Emily!”
At the mention of his wife, Margaret winced. *Emily.* His precious Em, the one he’d move mountains for—even if it meant what happened last Thursday.
“Mum, I’ll call a locksmith!” Daniel threatened. “We’ll break the lock!”
“Don’t you dare!” Margaret finally snapped, still refusing to turn. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on this door!”
“Mum, *why*? Talk to me!”
She shut her eyes, struggling to gather her words. How could she explain what she’d overheard in the clinic corridor?
“Please,” Daniel pleaded, voice breaking. “We’re worried. Emily’s worried too.”
*Emily’s worried.* Of course she was. Probably terrified her plans were unraveling.
“Leave, Daniel. Don’t come back.”
“Are you ill? Is it your blood pressure? Let me call a doctor—”
“I don’t need a doctor. I need you to *leave me alone*.”
Margaret rose and walked to the window. Below, Daniel paced, phone pressed to his ear. Calling *her*, no doubt, complaining about his mother’s *tantrums*.
He looked up, spotted her, and waved before hurrying back toward the building. Margaret retreated to her chair just as the knocking resumed.
“Mum, it’s me and Em. Please let us in.”
Her jaw tightened. So he’d brought *her*. His devoted wife, so carefully plotting their future.
“Margaret,” came Emily’s honeyed voice, “it’s me. Please open up. Daniel’s beside himself.”
*What an actress.* Even her tone shifted when it suited her.
“We brought groceries,” Emily pressed on. “Milk, bread, those ginger biscuits you love.”
*Ginger biscuits.* Margaret scoffed. A month ago, Emily had “discovered” her fondness for them and made a show of buying them weekly. *Such a thoughtful daughter-in-law.*
“Margaret, say something,” Emily implored. “We’re frightened for you.”
“*Frightened*,” Margaret echoed, too softly for them to hear.
“I’m not leaving until you open this door!” Daniel barked. “I’ll stand here all night!”
She knew he meant it. Stubborn as his father—once he dug his heels in, he’d never yield.
“Fine,” she relented. “But just you. Alone.”
“What?”
“Emily goes home. I’ll speak only to you.”
Behind the door, muffled whispers. Then Daniel:
“Mum, *why*? Em cares about you too!”
“Because I said so. Just you, or no one at all.”
More hushed arguing. Finally, Emily’s voice:
“Fine, Margaret. I’ll go. Daniel, call me after you’ve talked.”
Margaret waited until Emily’s footsteps faded down the stairs before turning the key.
Daniel barreled in like a storm, crushing her in a hug before holding her at arm’s length. “You’ve lost weight! You’re *pale*—are you ill?”
“I’m not ill.” She pulled free and moved to the kitchen. “Tea?”
He sat, watchful. “Tell me what’s wrong. Why lock yourself away?”
The kettle hissed as she faced him. “Why open the door? What good waits on the other side?”
“Mum, you can’t live like this! You need groceries, appointments—”
“Mrs. Thompson next door shops for me. I leave a list and cash. As for doctors…” Her voice hardened. “Last time, I heard enough to wish I’d stayed deaf.”
Daniel frowned. “Heard *what*?”
“Your wife. On the phone with her friend. Thought I wasn’t listening.”
“What did she say?”
Margaret studied his face—those familiar eyes, so like his late father’s. Kind. Honest. Could this man truly be part of it?
“She spoke of selling my flat. Putting me in a care home. Spending the money.”
Daniel went white. “You misheard. Em would *never*—”
“I heard every word,” she cut in. “*‘Daniel’s agreed. Says she can’t live alone at her age. We’ll find her a nice home, sell the flat. The equity covers our deposit.’*”
“Mum, I didn’t—”
“*And this:* ‘Thank God she’s sweet. Never suspects a thing. Thinks we adore her. Really, she’s just in the way.’”
Daniel’s fists clenched on the table.
“She even knew the care home’s name—Willow Grove. Knew my flat’s been valued at half a million.”
“*She had it valued?*”
“The number didn’t pluck itself from thin air.”
He dragged his hands down his face. “I swear, I knew *nothing*. Emily never mentioned this.”
“Or you didn’t *listen*. Maybe she planted the idea bit by bit?”
Outside, children laughed in the courtyard, carefree.
“Perhaps she’s right,” Margaret murmured. “Perhaps I *am* in the way.”
“*Don’t say that!*”
“Why not? Here I sit in a three-bedroom flat, while you’re cramped in that tiny leasehold. I’ve savings; you’re drowning in debt. Old, frail—one fall, and where would you be?”
“If you’re lonely, *move in with us*! I’ve offered a dozen times!”
Margaret turned. “And what did Emily say to *that*?”
Silence. Then, quietly: “She said… we should wait until we upsized.”
“There you are. While you ‘wait,’ I’m just a burden growing heavier.”
“You’re *my mother*. Not a burden.”
“Yours, yes. But to her? Just the *mother-in-law*. An outsider.”
She sat again, levelling her gaze. “Tell me truthfully: Do you want me in a home?”
“No! *Never*.”
“Do you want my flat sold?”
“No. It’s *yours*.”
“Then why is your wife planning it?”
Daniel’s fists trembled. “I don’t know. Truly, I don’t.”
“Do you *want* to know?”
“Yes.”
“Then go home. Ask her. Straight out.”
He stood, cheeks flushed. “Mum… will you unlock the door after?”
“Depends on your answer.”
“And if she *did* plan this?”
Margaret held his gaze. “Then this door stays shut. To both of you.”
“But *I’m* not at fault!”
“You’re a grown man, Daniel. If your wife schemes behind your back, you’re a poor husband. If you knew and stayed silent, you’re a worse son.”
She nudged him toward the hall. “Go. Sort your life. I’ll wait.”
Alone again, Margaret wandered past family photos—wedding portraits, Daniel’s first steps, graduation. Their last happy shot: Emily hugging her at the wedding, vowing to cherish their family.
Had the act begun that day? Or had the girl always been this way?
Dinner was a single portion, like all week. As she chopped potatoes, the phone rang. Daniel.
“Can I come back? We need to talk.”
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
She reopened the door to find him hollow-eyed.
“I confronted her,” he said hoarsely. “First she lied. Then confessed.”
“And?”
“Said she wanted ‘a better life.’ That you wouldn’t live forever, and the flat’s equity would ‘set us up.’”
Margaret nodded. “And the care home?”
“Claimed you’d be ‘happier’ there. Less lonely.”
“How thoughtful. Your response?”
“I refused. Said I’d never abandon you.”
“How did she take that?”
His throat worked. “Gave an ultimatum. ‘Her or me.’”
Margaret cupped his face. “You’re not choosing *me*, Daniel. You’re choosing between conscience and comfort. Love and greed.”
Tears spilled over. “Can you forgive me for bringing her into your life?”
“I can.” She squeezed his hand. “The heart’s no fool. She loved you once, didn’t she?”
“I thought so.”
“Then you’re blameless. People change.”
He clung to her. “Will you unlock the door now?”As the door closed behind Daniel, Margaret lingered in the quiet, knowing that whatever path he chose, her own door—to trust, to family, to love—had already swung shut on the life she once believed in.
