**Storm in the House: Charlotte’s Dilemma**
Charlotte had just waved her husband, Edward, off to work, looking forward to a quiet moment in their cosy flat in Manchester. But before she could even lie down, the doorbell rang sharply.
“Open up, now!” came the commanding voice of her mother-in-law from behind the door.
Startled by the harsh tone, Charlotte opened it. There stood Margaret Whitmore, her eyes gleaming with resolve.
“Margaret, is everything alright?” Charlotte asked cautiously, her stomach tightening with dread.
“Were you asleep? Pack your things—we’re preparing my room! I’m moving in!” Margaret declared, as though issuing a challenge.
“Moving in? Why?” Charlotte froze, unable to process what she’d just heard.
In Charlotte and Edward’s household, joy had been growing—Charlotte was five months pregnant. But their happiness was overshadowed by Margaret. Ever since learning about the grandchild on the way, she had smothered Charlotte with so-called “care,” suffocating her with unwelcome advice.
Margaret had always doted on her son, but her concern for her daughter-in-law bordered on meddling. Her manner was as heavy as a lead weight—each word laced with backhanded compliments.
“Look at you—it worries me,” she said once, appearing unannounced yet again.
“Why?” Charlotte asked, glancing at herself reflexively.
“Have you seen yourself in the mirror?” Margaret squinted. “Thin as a rake! Narrow hips like that—how will you give birth? At least you’ve got lovely eyes—that’s clearly what Edward fell for. Not much else, is there?”
Charlotte was stunned. A compliment? An insult? She didn’t know how to respond.
“You must’ve been sickly as a child,” Margaret went on. “What were your parents thinking?”
“I wasn’t!” Charlotte snapped. “My parents took me to the seaside every summer!”
“Exactly—because you were weak! You just don’t remember!” Margaret cut in, as if settling the matter.
Such was her *special* brand of care—never praise without a sting. The only exceptions were Edward and her daughter, Victoria, who lived in another city. For them, she held nothing but blind adoration.
By the seventh month, Charlotte dreaded Margaret’s visits more than labour itself. She even considered cancelling her birthday party just to avoid her. But Edward insisted:
“I want to make you happy, Char. A family celebration is something to enjoy!”
Edward, accustomed to his mother’s ways, didn’t notice how much her words stung.
“Char, shall we do your birthday at home?” he suggested a week before. “Restaurants are hectic, and you shouldn’t risk it in your condition.”
“*Why* at home?” she asked flatly.
“You’re due soon—why risk catching something?”
“Fine,” she sighed. “But no grand feast. I can’t handle the cooking.”
“Mum will come early to help!” Edward announced cheerfully.
Charlotte stiffened, her eyes darkening.
“Did *Margaret* suggest this?”
“What’s Mum got to do with it? It was my idea!”
“Of course! Can’t do anything without her input!” Charlotte retorted.
“Char, she means well!”
“Enough! We’ll do it at home—but *my* mum is helping.”
“Yours takes an hour to get here from the countryside. Mum’s just round the corner!” Edward argued.
“My parents will come the night before and stay over.”
“What’s got into you?”
“One more word, and I’ll ask them to bring the dog!”
“You know I can’t stand dogs.”
“Exactly!” Charlotte stormed off, slamming the bedroom door.
The day before the party, Charlotte’s parents, Susan and Robert, arrived with gifts—fresh vegetables from their garden and baby clothes. Susan knew her daughter wasn’t superstitious, so she’d already bought supplies for the baby. Charlotte and Edward had a crib and pram ready but kept it secret from Margaret.
“Mum, don’t mention the baby things in front of Margaret,” Charlotte whispered.
“Still pushing her superstitions on you?”
“She’s unbearable. Ever since I went on leave, I flinch at every doorbell.”
“What does Edward say?”
“He’s fine. Works late. But *her*—”
“This isn’t right,” Susan frowned. “I’ll have a word with her tomorrow.”
“Mum, *don’t*.”
“I’ve been a mother for thirty years—I won’t let her bully you!”
On the morning of her birthday, Charlotte’s parents bustled in the kitchen.
“Happy birthday, love!” Robert hugged her first.
“Our beautiful girl—be happy!” Susan chimed in.
Charlotte showed off Edward’s gifts—a ring and tickets to an exhibition she’d wanted to see.
“Lucky with that husband of yours,” Robert smiled. “I’d never remember which gallery Susan fancied!”
“Let me freshen up, then I’ll help,” Charlotte said.
“I’ll set the table,” Edward offered.
The mood shattered when the intercom buzzed—Margaret had arrived.
“Oh, in-laws! What a surprise—six months and barely a visit! Why trek all the way out here?” she snipped.
Susan didn’t hold back:
“Unlike *some*, we don’t intrude uninvited. At least we send money regularly.”
Margaret scowled but stayed silent—Susan had struck a nerve. The celebration was tense, Charlotte and Edward straining to keep the peace.
The next morning, Robert and Susan left. Edward went to work, and Charlotte, exhausted, headed back to bed—until the intercom blared again.
“Open up!” Margaret barked.
Heart sinking, Charlotte let her in.
“Margaret, is something wrong?”
“Still in bed? Up! We’re setting up my room—I’m moving in before the baby comes!”
Charlotte went cold. *Living* with Margaret? A nightmare.
“That’s not necessary. Edward and I will manage. Stay in your own home—where would you even sleep? The lounge?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! Buy a sofa bed for the nursery—I’ll stay with the baby. Tend to him at night, handle his routine. I’ll raise him *properly*!”
Charlotte’s blood ran cold. Margaret already made life unbearable—now this?
“I lived in student halls with Edward while he studied!” Margaret ranted. “Cooked, ironed, even helped with his dissertation! *I* made him who he is today!”
Shaking, Charlotte called Edward. He rushed home and took one look at his mother.
“Mum, go home. You’re not moving in. Enough—I’m a grown man!”
Margaret flushed with rage. She’d only wanted to help!
“Ungrateful wretches! You’ll never see me again!”
She stormed out.
Until the birth, Charlotte and Edward had peace—Margaret stayed away. On discharge day, Charlotte’s parents arrived—and unexpectedly, so did Margaret. They took photos outside the hospital and went back to the flat. There was no grand feast—the baby was too small. Sensing Charlotte’s exhaustion, her parents prepared to leave.
But Margaret, watching them, announced:
“You go—I’ll stay. They need help!”
Charlotte nearly cried. Susan, seeing her daughter’s face, stepped in:
“Margaret, when *Victoria* has a child, help *her*. Charlotte has me. If she needs anything, she’ll call. Need a lift home?”
“How *dare* you eject me? You don’t care about your grandchild, but *I* do! I’m staying!”
A full-blown row erupted. Edward intervened, driving his mother home.
“Don’t come back unless invited,” he said firmly.
Margaret argued, but he held firm. They fought. Now she refuses to speak to either of them, waiting for an apology. But the young couple feels no guilt—and won’t be making amends anytime soon.
