**The Mysterious Sack: A Tale of Change**
In the quiet seaside village of Pinecliffe, where morning mist clings to the rooftops and the scent of pine mingles with salt air, Oliver hauled a massive white sack to the doorstep, exhaustion weighing him down.
“Bloody heavy, this,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.
He keyed the code into the intercom.
“Ollie, is that you?” his mother-in-law Margaret’s voice crackled through. With a grunt, he dragged the sack toward the lift.
Once in the kitchen, he dropped it by the table.
“Oliver, what on earth?!” Margaret gasped, eyeing the sack with suspicion.
He grinned slyly.
“Just wait and see,” he said, untying it and spilling the contents onto the table.
“Good Lord, Ollie, why so much?” Margaret’s eyes widened in shock.
Before Oliver came along, Margaret had prided herself on frugality. Her daughter, Emily, had suffered for it.
“Emily, put that detergent back!” Margaret would snap at the supermarket. “Get the one next to it—half the price! Stock up, even!”
“Mum, it’s rubbish quality,” Emily protested.
“Nonsense! It’s all the same! You’re too gullible!”
Emily muttered about false economy but obeyed, grudgingly.
Detergent was bearable. Clothes were worse.
“Mum, do you like this skirt?” Emily twirled in a new purchase.
“Another one? How much?” Margaret frowned.
“Does it matter? I haven’t bought anything in ages! It suits me!”
“Of course it matters!” Margaret crossed her arms.
Emily huffed, naming the price, bracing for impact.
“That much for a scrap of fabric? Outrageous!”
“Mum, prices aren’t what they used to be! I want to look nice—I wear everything to threads!”
“You can look nice without wasting money!”
Arguments about fabric quality or fit fell on deaf ears.
“Mum, why are you such a penny-pincher? We’re not paupers!”
“We’re not paupers *because* I save! You take after your father—reckless!”
Emily fell silent, recalling her parents’ bitter divorce—rows over money, alimony, who got what. It had turned Margaret into a miser.
At university, Emily never invited friends over. Margaret saw guests as wasted groceries.
“I don’t see the point of these gatherings!” she’d complain. “Chatting, eating, drinking—then the host’s left scrubbing dishes and restocking the fridge!”
Emily gave up explaining. After uni, she landed a job and met Oliver.
“Mum won’t like him,” she realised immediately.
Oliver had none of what Margaret valued: no house, no trust fund, no inheritance. Just an office job and ambition—something Margaret dismissed as “airy-fairy.” Emily delayed introducing them, but when Oliver proposed, she had no choice.
“Ollie, my mum’s… particular,” she warned. “Very thrifty.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“No, you don’t get it. She’s *miserly*. Counts every slice of bread. Brace yourself. Once we marry, we’ll rent our own place—let her hoard in peace.”
“Nonsense!” Oliver chuckled. “We’ll manage. Honestly, we’d save more living with her. My place is a shoebox—let’s try it!”
Emily hesitated. “You’ve no idea what you’re signing up for. But fine—we’ll bail if it’s unbearable.”
“Underestimating me, love.”
The wedding was modest—Margaret approved.
“Sensible! No need to throw money about.”
When the newlyweds moved in, she hesitated but saw logic.
“Fine, save for your own place. But *my* rules stand!”
“No change needed!” Oliver cut in. “You’re brilliant, Margaret. Young people blow wages, then whinge. I’m with you!”
Margaret flushed, pleased.
“What a gem! Poor but clever—he’ll go far.”
Oliver earned her trust swiftly.
“Let me handle supermarket runs—I know where’s cheapest. Smart savings!”
“Oh, Ollie, you’re a treasure!” Margaret beamed.
Emily watched, baffled, as Oliver winked.
Soon, cupboards overflowed with stockpiles. Margaret was delighted—until Oliver snatched the detergent scoop from her.
“No, no—half that amount!” He poured some back.
Margaret blinked. “But it won’t clean properly—”
“If it lathers, it’s clean!”
She frowned but wondered—was he right?
Later, Oliver asked Emily, “What’s her weakness?”
“Ah! Mum’s obsessed with crockery. Skimps on everything *except* tableware—must be new, must match.”
“Got it.” Oliver smirked. “A splurge? We’ll fix that.”
“Margaret, look—a bargain dinner set online!” He displayed chipped teacups.
She recoiled. “Online? Second-hand?”
“Who cares? A scrub and it’s new!”
“Absolutely not! Strangers ate off these!”
“Fine—I’ll buy new if needed!”
“But what about saving?” Oliver sighed.
“Some things are worth the cost.”
“Fair enough. Just remember—we might want exceptions too.”
Margaret sensed a trap but missed it.
“Round one to us,” Oliver whispered.
“You actually got through to her?” Emily marvelled.
“A crack. But wait.”
The next move came when his mate James called. His mother had passed; her flat was packed with unused stockpiles—soap, detergent, linens.
“Ollie, it’s mad—she lived like a nun but hoarded like a dragon!”
Oliver filled a sack with expired soap.
“Expired?” James frowned.
“Perfect!”
That evening, Oliver lugged the sack home.
“Ollie, what’s *this*?” Margaret gasped as he dumped soap bars onto the table.
“James’s mum passed. He was binning it all. Thought we’d use it. Poor woman—saved everything, lived on nothing…”
Margaret stared at the growing pile, unease gnawing at her.
That night, she dreamed she lay in bed, buried under mountains of unused things—shoes, blankets, cleaning supplies. A shadowy figure loomed.
“Time’s up. None of this comes with you.”
She woke in a cold sweat.
At breakfast, she beamed at Emily and Oliver.
“Listen, loves—I’ll help with your house deposit. I’ve saved a bit.”
Emily’s spoon clattered. Oliver choked.
“Mum—thank you! We’ll pay you back! But… why now?”
“What’s the point in saving forever? Can’t take it with you!” Margaret hummed, reaching for the teapot. “Now—who fancies a shopping trip?”
Emily and Oliver exchanged glances. A miracle—and who were they to argue?
