The marble tiles in the kitchen were cold, hard, unforgiving. On that icy floor sat Rose, a frail 72yearold, curled up with trembling hands resting on her lap. In front of her was a deep bowl of cold leftovers.
The kitchen door swung open with a soft squeak, the jingle of keys and the familiar clatter of a tin of baked beans being set against the wall.
Mum? Jamess voice echoed down the hallway. Im back.
Roses heart gave a sudden thump.
Instinctively she tried to stand, pushed the bowl away as if it were evidence of a crime she didnt want James to see.
Now youre mine! she whispered, shaking. In a jealous flash, the husbands loverno, her own sonsnatched the oxygen tube from the dying woman
Her legs, weak as they were, wouldnt obey. The spoon slipped from her trembling hand and clanged sadly against the marble.
Emily, Jamess wife, turned sharply.
For a heartbeat her eyes flashed pure irritationnot just at Jamess return but at the drama she imagined her motherinlaw would now stage.
In one swift motion she snatched the bowl from the floor, dumped it into the sink, and turned the tap on as if she were trying to wash away the whole scene.
James! she called, her voice suddenly sugary. What a surpriseI thought youd be later today!
James shuffled in, loosening his tie. Dark circles sat under his eyes, his face marked by endless meetings, but there was still that boyish glint from the days he used to run barefoot through the village green.
Seeing his mother hunched on the floor like a wounded bird, he stopped dead. The keys jingled in his hand.
Mum? he asked, voice low and confused. What are you doing on the floor?
Roses gaze darted from James to the tiles.
Emily was quicker.
Oh James, your mother she sighed, rolling her eyes but still smiling. Ive told her a thousand times not to crouch, yet she insists on cleaning the kitchen herself. She lost her balance when she tried to get up and fell back down. I was just helping her with a little plate of food.
Its not true Roses breath came out in a thin whisper.
Emily pressed her foot lightly against Roses ankle, a silent warning only they understood.
Didnt you, Rose? the daughterinlaw pressed, phone glued to her hand. Did you trip again?
James frowned. Something felt off.
The sour smell of the food still hung in the air, the tap running. The plate in the sink bore a clump of overcooked rice and a piece of chicken that looked like a dried stone.
Roses expression wasnt just a stumble; it was embarrassment, humiliation.
Mom, why are you crying? James knelt beside her. Did you hurt yourself?
She tried to smile, her lip quivering.
No, love, she murmured. Just oldage things. We get emotional for no reason.
He examined her arms, turned a wrinkled hand over. A purple bruise marked her wrist, as if someone had squeezed it hard days before.
Whats that from? he asked, tone serious. Where did you fall?
I I knocked the cupboard door over the other day, Rose improvised. Nothing serious.
Emily was already at the fridge, pretending everything was normal.
James, would you like a coffee? she offered. Ive just had fresh rolls made. Your mums had a bite, but I can warm something for you if you like
James rose slowly, eyes still on his mother, but he didnt answer his wife.
Mom, why are you sitting on the floor? he pressed. You have a chair, a sofa, even a bed why here?
She opened her mouth, shut it again. Shame knotted her throat. She didnt want to embarrass her son or become a cause of friction in his marriage.
Shed spent her whole life sacrificing so James could have what she never had: education, a decent house, a future in the city. Now being the source of disorder was the last thing she wanted.
Sometimes the tiles feel cooler, she began, swallowing hard. My back aches I feel better here.
Jamess eyes darkened. He knew his mothers stubbornness, her attempts to be a burdenfree guest.
Emily sensed the shift. She leaned on the counter, forcing a laugh.
Oh James, look at youdrama queen today? My mums little quirks. I do everything for her: appointments, meds, new clothes and yet Im painted as the villain.
James finally turned to his wife.
I never said youre a villain, he said, controlled. Im just trying to understand whats happening at home.
Emily crossed her arms.
Whats happening is your mum wont accept getting older, she snapped. She wants to keep doing everything alone. Ive told you she needs a care home, professional help, not to be in the way of our routine. But you keep pretending everythings fine.
Rose closed her eyes. The word care home always made her shiver.
She isnt getting in the way, James retorted, firmer than usual. This is her house too.
Emily let out a incredulous laugh.
Her house? Since when? Did she sign the deed? Pay for every brick?
James took a deep breath.
She laid the first stone of my life, he replied. Without her Id never have gone to university, started my firm, bought any property. Dont speak like that about my mother.
Emilys eyes widened; she rarely saw James raise his voice.
The show of endless gratitude is about to start. You work like a dog, I run the household, keep up the family image, and she, she gestured at Rose, plays the victim because she didnt eat at a fivestar hotel.
Emily, shut up, James snapped low but steelstrong.
Silence fell heavy. Even the street outside seemed to hold its breath.
What did you say? Emily asked slowly.
I told you to shut up, James repeated. And watch your words around this house, especially about my mum.
He turned back to Rose.
Lets get up, Mum, he said, offering his hand. You wont stay on the floor. Ill fix us a fresh plate, something proper. Then well talk.
Emily scoffed.
Oh, now youre cooking too? The bigshot businessman at the stove? she mocked.
James ignored her, helping his mother up gently. She seemed unusually light.
Youve lost weight, he noted, worried. More since the last doctors visit.
Old age dries you out, love, she quipped. Dont worry.
He pulled out a chair, sat her down, then opened the fridge. Shelves were stocked with yoghurts, fresh fruit, eggs, tomatoes, onions. He began whisking an omelettea skill he hadnt used in years.
When he was a teenager, hed watch his mother come home exhausted from the farm, sometimes making scrambled eggs for himself. The motion was still familiar.
Emily watched, half offended, half confused.
James, youre overdoing it, she said, shifting tactics. I look after her. It was just a bit of spoiled food I was about to toss. She insisted on it.
The words flew out faster than she intended.
James stopped beating the eggs.
She insisted on eating rotten food off the floor? he repeated, turning slowly to face her.
Emily fumbled.
You get what I meant she tried.
Enough, he cut her off. Well finish this conversation later. Right now, my mum gets a proper meal.
Dinner was simple but respectable: fluffy omelette, fresh rice, simmered beans, a slice of avocado. James plated it neatly and set it in front of Rose, not on the floor.
Eat, Mum, he said warmly. Its warm.
Rose stared at the plate as if it were a feast. Her throat tightened, making it hard to swallow.
You dont have to she whispered. Youre tired from work.
Im only tired when I come home to see my mother eating trash on the floor, he replied bluntly. Thats what really drains me.
She lifted a bite, tears returning.
Is it good? he asked.
She nodded.
Emily, isolated on her phone, fidgeted, torn between losing control of the house and fearing a fall in status if the marriage collapsed.
After the meal, James helped Rose to the bedroom, fluffed her pillow, adjusted the blanket.
Tomorrow well see the doctor, he said. I want fresh tests. And Mum
She turned to him.
Yes?
Whatever happens, if Im not here tell me everything. Dont hide anything so I dont worry. Its time I knew whats really going on.
Roses eyes filled with tears she could barely hold back.
James your wife she whispered.
The wife will answer for everything shes done, he interjected, guessing. But I need the truth, not silence.
She clutched his hand.
Just one night, she pleaded. Let me sleep knowing I wont have to eat on the floor again. Tomorrow well talk.
He studied her, seeing a lifetime of fatigue and a childlike fear.
Okay, he said. Tomorrow.
He kissed her forehead and left the room.
In the hallway, Emily waited.
Can we talk now? she asked, arms crossed.
We can, James replied. But not with you shouting.
They went to the living room. He sat on the sofa; she sat opposite in an armchair. A tense silence stretched.
So? Emily began. Youre going to condemn me without hearing my side?
James rubbed his face, weary.
Ive been trying to understand your side since my mum moved in, he said. I know its not easy. I know you didnt want this. I know the house changed, the routine shifted. But theres a line between hardship and cruelty, Emily.
She arched an eyebrow.
Cruelty? she repeated. Now Im cruel because I cant stand looking after a cantankerous old lady who complains about everything?
Making her eat spoiled food on the floor is cruelty, James said flatly. Theres no other word for it.
Emily slammed her hand on the arm of the chair.
You know nothing! she exploded. You spend all day away, come home for a bit of drama, think you understand what its like caring for an old woman all day. She forgets her meds, spills tea, barges into my closet with dirty shoes, turns the TV up loud, argues with the kids Im the one who has to fix everything. Im exhausted, James!
The kids spend most of their time at school, James cut in. When theyre here, the nanny looks after them. You barely come down for dinner, Emily.
She flushed.
Someone has to keep the familys image! I have events, meetings, commitments
And the familys image improves when the motherinlaw eats food on the floor? he retorted.
She chuckled nervously.
It was just once, she said.
Once? he asked. Ill find out.
Install cameras? Interrogate the nanny? Ask the neighbours if they heard me? she snapped sarcastically.
James stayed silent, his mind racing.
Emily sensed his agitation.
Youve gone mad, she muttered. Youre succumbing to sentimental blackmail from this old woman. Its always the same: they play the victim, you feel guilty, you cave.
Those humble people? James repeated slowly. You called my mum a village old woman, not the woman who raised me alone.
She realized the slip but it was too late.
I didnt mean she started.
You did, he interrupted. Youve always seen my mother as the village granny, not as the woman who built my life. I havent forgotten. Im standing up now.
He rose.
This ends here, he said. Tomorrow, after Ive spoken with my mum and Dr. Harris, Ill decide what to do. Until then, any gesture towards my mother that isnt respectful is out. Thats the minimum.
He walked to his office, shut the door. Emily sat frozen, feeling the control slip away.
The next day James didnt go to work. He called his partners, handed over urgent tasks, and stayed home.
At nine, they were in Dr. Harriss clinic, the familys trusted physician. Rose sat on the examination table, looking embarrassed.
The weight loss since your last visit is concerning, Dr. Harris said. Are you eating properly, Mrs. Whitfield?
She hesitated, glanced at James.
Can I have a minute alone with her, James? the doctor asked. Ill call you back.
James nodded, stepped out.
When the door closed, Dr. Harris leaned closer to Rose.
Mrs. Whitfield, Ive known you for years. Youve always been honest with me. Your son is worried, and so am I. Whats happening at home? he asked gently.
Roses eyes filled.
Do you have a mother? he asked.
I did, she replied. Shes gone now. If she were in a strange house with strangers, wouldnt you want to protect her, even at a cost to others?
She nodded.
Is this oldage thing really just that, or is there abuse? he pressed.
The knot in her throat finally burst.
She began to speak, not everything, but enough. She told him about the plates shoved onto the floor, the reheated leftovers, the sour rice, the mouldy beans, the sharp words: Youre a burden, youre useless. She mentioned the times she was slapped, bruised, denied medication, forced to eat food that had been left out for days.
Dr. Harris listened, taking notes, his jaw set.
This is more than neglect, he said. Its emotional and physical abuse. It cant continue.
Rose whispered, I know. Im scared. If I cause a scandal, my son will lose everythingdivorce, gossip, the kids Ive spent my life avoiding conflict.
The conflict is already here, he replied. If you stay silent, it will haunt him forever. He deserves to know the truth.
Rose lowered her head, tears streaming.
James your wife she began, voice breaking.
James entered, the doctors words hanging in the air.
Whats the diagnosis, doctor? James asked.
Mrs. Whitfield has severe malnutrition and chronic anxiety from ongoing abuse, Dr. Harris said. She needs immediate supportboth medical and legal.
James looked at his mother, the woman who once carried him on her back over the village fields.
Mom, Im sorry I didnt see it, he said, voice thick. Ive been too caught up in work, in keeping up appearances. Ill fix this.
Rose reached for his hand.
Dont blame yourself, she said. Your wife also did things. I Im not asking you to forgive everything, just to protect me from more hurt.
James stood, determined.
Doctor, I need a full report, he said. Ill also arrange a psychologist for her. And Ill find a proper care home if thats what she needs.
Dr. Harris agreed, promising the paperwork.
Back at home, James walked into the hallway where Emily waited, arms folded, a sneer ready.
Did the doctor see anything? she asked, dripping sarcasm.
I saw the truth, James replied. My mother is a victim, not a nuisance. I wont repeat everything she told me, but you know what you did. Im giving you one chance to listen. No more drama, no more humiliation. Do you understand?
Emilys mouth twitched, then she lifted her chin.
You think Im the villain? she hissed. Im doing what I have to to keep our life tidy. Shes an old woman who refuses to adapt. If she cant fit into my rules, thats her problem.
Your rules are cruelty, James said coldly. You forced her to eat leftovers on the floor, called her a burden, and pretended its all for the familys image. I wont let that continue.
Emilys face hardened.
Youre threatening me? she asked, eyes wide.
No, James said evenly. Im warning you. Ill involve a solicitor, the doctors report, anything needed. The only way this doesnt become a scandal is if you stop abusing my mother. Until we sort out our marriage, stay away from her.
Emily laughed, a nervous sound.
So youll kick me out of my own house? she scoffed.
The house is mine, James replied. I bought it before we married. If we ever split assets, it stays with me. You can collect your things and leave. Ive already asked the driver to take them to your mothers placeEmily gathered her belongings in silence, walked out the front door, and for the first time in years felt the weight of her own conscience finally lift.
