When Emily got married, she believed it was love for a lifetime. She adored her husband, Oliver, and did everything to be the perfect wife—the one he could always rely on, the one who’d never let him down.
Emily was impossible not to love. Kind, warm-hearted, with a radiant smile, she was always ready to help. Even her mother-in-law, Margaret, leaned on her endlessly. A call about back pain or exhaustion, and Emily would rush over—cleaning, cooking, popping to the shops.
“I’m so lucky to have you, pet,” Margaret would sigh. “My son’s no help—never has been. Men, eh? Always wanted a daughter, but fate gave me you instead.”
It warmed Emily to hear it. She tried even harder not to disappoint. And truth be told, Margaret wasn’t wrong. Oliver never lifted a finger—not for her, not for their home.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. Oliver believed housework wasn’t his responsibility. Emily didn’t mind; she enjoyed making their home cozy. The real issue? He did nothing but nitpick. The floors weren’t spotless. The soup needed more salt.
Soon, his complaints grew sharper. He accused her of overspending, though she earned her own money and never asked him for a penny.
“How much does that manicure set you back?” he sneered.
“Thirty quid,” she murmured, as if apologising.
“Thirty quid every month!” he scoffed. “That could’ve gone toward our savings!”
“You spend that much on gym sessions,” she ventured.
“That’s different! The gym’s for health, for strength! Your nails are just vanity!”
His gripes piled up like dirty laundry. Next, he resented her monthly café meet-ups with friends. Just once a month—but even that grated on him.
“Why d’you need to gad about without me?” he grumbled. “Stay home.”
Emily was gentle, conflict-avoidant—but even saints have limits. The rows became daily, the understanding vanished. Three years in, she asked for a divorce. Oliver fought it—not to save their marriage, but because he refused to lose control. Emily couldn’t live like that anymore.
Once the papers were signed and Oliver moved out, Margaret called.
“Pet, how could you?” she wailed. “Why throw it all away?”
Emily sighed. Explaining herself to her ex-mother-in-law was the last thing she wanted. But she answered:
“It wasn’t sudden, Margaret. I tried. Oliver wouldn’t meet me halfway—just constant criticism. I’m exhausted.”
“But you were such a lovely pair!” Margaret near-sobbed. “And I adore you! What’ll I do without you?”
Emily needed support herself, but as ever, Margaret made it about her.
“You won’t be without me,” Emily said softly. “We can still talk. The divorce doesn’t mean I’ll vanish. Call if you need anything.”
“Oh, you’re an angel!” Margaret chirped. “So we’re not saying goodbye?”
“Of course not.”
The divorce was hard. Oliver couldn’t stomach being left. The man who thought himself flawless was bruised. But soon, the dust settled. Emily breathed again. No regrets—love had died under his endless nagging. Once, he’d seemed her dream man. Had he changed, or had she been blind?
She started fresh. Oliver was blocked everywhere—he didn’t reach out. Margaret, though, clung tight.
A week later, she rang:
“Pet, how are you?”
“Fine,” Emily said. “You?”
Pure politeness, but Margaret pounced.
“Oh, dreadful! My blood pressure’s sky-high. Asked Ollie to fetch my pills, but he refused! However will I—”
Emily saw the hint. Too kind to leave her stranded, she sighed.
“I’ll bring them. Text me what you need—I’ll be there in an hour.”
“My saviour!” Margaret trilled. “Knew I could count on you!”
Emily delayed her plans, bought the pills, and spent two hours at Margaret’s—tea, complaints, the usual.
But hope of fewer calls was dashed. Margaret’s demands grew constant: shopping, cleaning, errands. Once, she asked for a lift to the mall. Emily snapped:
“Why can’t Oliver do it?”
Margaret mumbled excuses. Guilt gnawed at Emily. “She’s struggling. I’m being unfair.”
Soon, she saw Margaret more than her own mum. Calls came at all hours—urgent, unrelenting. If Emily hesitated, Margaret’s theatrics wore her down. Plans cancelled. Life on hold.
After all, you’re responsible for those you’ve tamed. Emily had offered help—but she hadn’t expected such shameless exploitation.
It might’ve gone on forever—if Margaret hadn’t slipped up.
One day, another call:
“Pet, my sister’s visiting. Fancy driving us to the countryside tomorrow?”
“Not too early,” Emily said wearily.
“Oh, we’d hoped to leave by nine…?”
“Fine.”
“Ta, love! Lost without you!”
Emily moved to hang up—then froze. Margaret’s sister’s voice crackled through:
“So, she agreed?”
Margaret hadn’t ended the call. Eavesdropping felt wrong—but this was about her.
“’Course she did!” Margaret snorted. “Where else would she be?”
“How d’you manage it?” her sister marvelled. “Divorced your son, yet she’s still at your beck and call.”
“Because she’s soft,” Margaret said flatly. “People-pleaser. Frankly, I’m glad they split—Ollie needs a sharper woman. This one? Might as well use her. Better her than my son—he’s got a new life to build. Who’d want her?”
Emily’s breath caught. Fury burned her throat. She’d helped out of kindness—and this was Margaret’s gratitude?
Next morning, Emily didn’t stir. She slept till noon, savouring the silence. Waking to ten missed calls, she answered sweetly:
“Sorry, overslept!”
“We had plans!” Margaret hissed.
“Leaving now—be there in fifteen!”
“We’ve been ready for hours!”
Emily smirked, poured coffee, and lounged. Fifteen minutes later, her phone buzzed again.
“Where are you?”
“Outside your door! Look closer.”
“We don’t see you!”
“Funny—I don’t see you either,” Emily drawled, sipping her drink. “Oh! Wrong building—always mix them up. Pop over, I’ll wait.”
When the calls resumed, Emily tired of the game. She texted Margaret: *Heard everything. Lose my number.* Then blocked her.
Coffee in hand, Emily exhaled. The weight was gone. She should’ve cut Oliver and Margaret off sooner. Now? Freedom. And maybe—just maybe—something better lay ahead.
