Emily stood by the window, gazing at the overcast London sky. Three months ago, she had been a joyful newlywed, but now she felt like a maid in her own home.
Another morning began with the familiar rap on the bedroom door.
“How much longer are you going to laze about?” came her mother-in-laws sharp voice. “William, love, its time for work!”
Emily sighed deeply. Margaret Whitmore, as usual, acted as though she werent even there, speaking only to her son. William stretched sleepily and began dressing.
“What have you packed for his lunch?” Margaret was already directing affairs in the kitchen. “More of those fancy salads? A man needs a proper roast dinner!”
“The one I made yesterday,” Emily thought but held her tongue. In the three months since her wedding, she had learned to swallow insults like bitter medicine.
“Mum, dont start,” William muttered, hastily knotting his tie.
“Dont start what?” Margaret huffed. “Im concerned for your health! And her…” She curled her lip in disdain. “She doesnt even know how to cook properly.”
Emily felt a lump rise in her throat. A decade of lecturing at university, a PhD, and here she wasreduced to a silent ghost in her own life.
“Perhaps thats enough?” she whispered, surprising herself with her own boldness.
“What do you mean, ‘enough’?” Margaret turned fully toward her. “Did you say something, dear?”
The venom in the word made Emily stiffen. William pretended to be engrossed in searching for his briefcase.
“I mean perhaps you could stop pretending I dont exist,” Emily said, her voice growing firmer. “This is our homeWilliams and mine.”
“Yours?” Margaret laughed. “Darling, I bought this house thirty years ago! Every brick is mine! And you… youre temporary. You came, and youll go.”
The words struck harder than a slap. Emily looked to her husband for support, but William was already rushing to the hallway, shoving on his coat.
“Im offrunning late!” he called before slamming the door.
In the silence that followed, Emily heard Margarets triumphant chuckle. She began washing already-clean dishes, every motion dripping with contempt.
“Oh, and my friends are coming round today,” she added. “Make sure the sitting room is properly tidied. Last time, there was dust on the sideboard.”
Emily left without a word. In the bedroomthe only space untouched by her mother-in-laws controlshe took out her phone and dialed her oldest friend, Charlotte.
“You were right,” she whispered. “I cant take any more.”
“Finally!” Charlotte exclaimed. “Ive watched you turn into a doormat for three months. Remember what I said about the flat?”
“I remember,” Emily murmured. “Is that one-bedroom still available?”
“Yes, I held it for you. Come by today and have a look.”
All day, Emily mechanically obeyed Margarets orders, but her mind was already plotting.
That evening, as Margaret basked in her friends attention, Emily slipped quietly into the hallway.
“Where are you off to?” Margaret called.
“To the shops,” Emily replied calmly. “For your dinner.”
“Dont dawdle!” was the last thing she heard before closing the door.
The flat was small but cosylight walls, a large kitchen window, blissful quiet.
“Ill take it,” Emily said firmly, handing her ID to the letting agent. “When can I move in?”
“Anytime,” the woman smiled. “Just pay the deposit.”
When Emily returned, loud chatter spilled from the sitting room. Margarets friends were dissecting her without mercy.
“Shes not what William needed,” Margaret was saying. “Cant cook, cant keep house. All she knows is fancy books.”
“Oh, I know, Maggie,” her friend Patricia chimed in. “Modern womeneducated but useless. Back in our day…”
Emily froze in the hallway, gripping the shopping bag. Each word felt like a needle to her heart, but an odd calm settled over her. The decision was made.
The next morning, she rose early and made breakfast before Margaret could take over the kitchen. William sat at the table, glued to his phone.
“We need to talk,” Emily said quietly.
“Later, loveIm in a rush,” he dismissed her, as usual.
“No. Now.”
Something in her voice made him look up. For the first time in months, he truly saw his wifeand was startled by the change. Where was the bright, lively Emily hed married?
“I cant live like this anymore,” she said, soft but unshakable. “This isnt a marriageits a farce where I play the silent servant.”
“Emily, whats got into you?” William attempted a smile. “Mums just a bit…”
“A bit what?” she cut in. “A bit tyrannical? A bit cruel? Or a bit determined to make you choose between your wife and your mother?”
Just then, Margaret floated into the kitchen in her dressing gown.
“Whats all this whispering?” she demanded. “William, youll be late!”
Emily turned slowly to face her.
“And you, Margaret, still cant resist controlling everything, can you?”
“How dare you speak to me like that?” Margaret flushed crimson. “William, are you hearing this?”
But Emily was done listening. She pulled a folder from her bag and set it on the table.
“This is a diary of the last three months. Every insult, every humiliation. Dates, witnesses. And recordings of your charming chats about me.”
Margaret paled. William looked between them, bewildered.
“Youyou spied on me?” Margaret gasped.
“No. I defended myself. And these,” Emily produced a set of keys, “are for my new flat. Im leaving today.”
“Youre not going anywhere!” William shot up. “Were family!”
“Family?” Emily smiled bitterly. “Do you even know what that means? Family supports each otherit doesnt tear each other apart.”
“See!” Margaret crowed. “I told you shed leave! Theyre all the samethese modern, educated”
“Enough!” Emily raised her voice for the first time. “You left me no choice. For three months, I tried. I cooked, cleaned, bit my tonguehoping for respect. But you dont want a daughter-in-law. You want a servant.”
She turned to William.
“And you… You hid behind work, pretending nothing was wrong. But a man whos afraid of his mum cant be a proper husband.”
The kitchen fell silent. Emily stood and walked toward the door. Behind her, a chair scrapedMargaret clutched her chest dramatically.
“William! My pills! Im having palpitations!”
Emily turned. Shed seen this act beforeevery time Margaret didnt get her way, the heart attack routine began. And every time, William dropped everything to play the rescuer.
“Mum, hang onIm coming!” he rushed, but Emily caught his arm.
“Wait,” she said firmly. “Look at me, William. Just look.”
Their eyes met. His were full of confusion; hers, resolve.
“You must choose,” she said. “Not between me and your motherbut between being a man or a child. Between responsibility and dependency.”
“Dont be ridiculousMums ill!” he protested.
“Really?” Emily turned to Margaret. “Shall we call an ambulance, then? Let the doctors check you over.”
Margaret instantly straightened, scowling.
“No need for that! Just get out, you ungrateful girl!”
“See?” Emily said sadly to William. “Always the same. Manipulation. Drama. And you fall for it every time.”
She pulled a card from her pocket.
“Heres my new address. When you decide to grow up, come see me. Alone.”
The first week in her flat passed in a daze. William called endlessly, but she ignored him. Messages from Margaret swung between threats and weepy pleas for her return.
Then, on Friday evening, a knock came at the door. William stood thereunshaven, hollow-eyed.
“May I come in?” he asked hoarsely.
Emily stepped aside. He slumped onto a kitchen stool, head in his hands.
“I understand now,” he said. “But perhaps its too late.”
“What exactly do you understand?” Emily leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“That Ive never lived my own life. That Ive let Mum dictate everythingfrom what socks I wear to…” He trailed off. “…our marriage.”
“And what will you do about it?”
“Ive bought Mum a flat. Small, but in a decent area. She screamed, threatened to cut me off, said I was a terrible son…”
“And?”
“For the first time, I didnt back down,” he met her gaze. “The strangest part? When she realised I meant it, she calmed down in minutes. All those fits, the illnessesjust performances. My
