“You’re nothing but a PARASITE!” spat the mother-in-law, oblivious to who truly resided in her home.
On High Street, nestled in the heart of the picturesque town of Willowbrook among charming cottages and well-kept gardens, stood a grand two-story house with white columns, an elegant porch, and a lush gardenlike something straight from the pages of a countryside magazine. This house wasnt just a home; it was the pride and labour of Margaret Whitmore, a sixty-two-year-old woman with silver hair pulled into a tight bun and eyes that burned with the fire of past victories. A former headmistress of a primary school, a respected community figure, she had built this house in the harsh economic downturn of the ninetieswhen every brick was hard-earned, every pound scraped together. Now, gazing at the perfectly hung curtains in the sitting room, she felt warmth swell in her chest. This house was her life, her achievement, her fortress.
“Emily!” Her voice rang sharp, making the windowpanes tremble. “Daniel will be home soon! Dont let my son go hungry! Dinnernow!”
From the kitchen, a quiet voice, barely above a whisper, answered: “Yes, Margaret.”
Emily, a thirty-five-year-old woman with soft features and tired eyes, stood at the stove stirring a rich beef stew, its aroma filling the housethyme, garlic, slow-cooked meat. She had been married to Daniel for five years, yet still felt like an outsider in this house, where every word from her mother-in-law cut like a verdict, every movement a test of worthiness.
“And when,” Margarets voice sliced through the air as she marched into the kitchen like a general onto a battlefield, “are you going to find proper work? Sitting here like some penniless relative, eating my food, living under my sons roof. Daniel works himself to the bone at the factorywhat do you contribute? Nothing but pots of stew!”
Emily said nothing. Her hands trembled, but she kept her eyes down. Four years ago, shed lost her accounting job when the local bank shut downlike so many businesses in this small market town. Since then, shed searched, but Willowbrook, with its meagre twenty thousand residents, had no opportunities. The wages offered, if any, barely covered necessities.
“Ive been looking” she began softly.
“You havent!” Margaret snapped. “Its convenient, isnt it? Living off my son, eating my food. A proper freeloader! A leech, clinging to this family!”
The door swung open. Daniel walked ina thirty-seven-year-old man with broad shoulders, clad in his workwear, exhaustion in his eyes but a smile on his lips. A foreman at the building materials plant, he carried the noise of machinery in his ears and dust in his hair. Seeing the tension, he sighed.
“Mum, again? Youre at it again?”
“And why? Because Im right! Four years shes lived off your back while you work like a dog! And her? Sucking us dry!”
Daniel looked at Emily. She stood with her head bowed, shrinking under the weight of the words. He knew she wasnt lazy. He knew she kept the house immaculate, cooked, cared for him. But he didnt know the truth beneath her silence.
Because Emily wasnt just “sitting at home.” Every night, when the house slept, she opened her laptop, slipped on headphones, and disappeared into spreadsheetsaccounting reports, tax filings, consultations for clients from neighbouring towns, even as far as Manchester. Over two years, shed built a reputation”Emily Ledger Willowbrook.” Reliable. Discreet. Her income? £1,500 to £3,000 a month. Sometimes more.
But the real shock came six months agowhen she did the unthinkable.
“Mum, lets just eat,” Daniel sighed, slumping into his chair.
Margaret wasnt finished. “Susan Parkers daughter-in-law? Now theres a proper girl! Works at the council, makes £3,000 a month! And this one” she jabbed a finger at Emily, “just spends your money.”
“I dont spend only your money,” Emily said quietly.
“Oh? What else do you do?” Margaret sneered. “Besides sit on your backside?”
“Do you remember,” Emily met her gaze, “when your house was nearly repossessed six months ago?”
Margaret froze. “What?”
“Court order. Mortgage arrears. Listed at £450,000. You wept for nights. Then a kind businessman stepped inlet you stay, charged a token rent…”
“Yes… A miracle. A good man…”
“Do you know who that was?” Emily stood, walked to the cabinet, and pulled out a thick folder. Silence fell as she dropped it onto the table.
“It was me. I bought this house.”
The air turned thick. Daniels fork clattered onto his plate. Margaret went pale.
“What? You? How?”
“I sold my grandmothers flat in Chester. My parents lent me the rest. Plus my savingsfrom the work you never knew about.”
“What work?” Daniel rasped.
“You slept; I worked. Remote accounting. I earned more than you.”
Daniel stared as if shed grown a second head.
“Sometimes double,” she continued. “But I stayed quiet. Didnt want to wound your pride. You were drowning in debtif Id said, I bought the house, youd never have believed me.”
Margaret clutched her chest. “So… this house… is yours?”
“Yes. The deeds are in my name. But I wasnt going to throw you out. This is your life. Your memories. I just didnt want you to lose it.”
“But we pay rent” Daniel started.
“To me. £200 a montha token, so youd never feel indebted. It covers the bills.”
Margarets voice cracked. “Ive been living in my daughter-in-laws house… paying her?”
“Yes. I never planned to tell you. I wanted you to think a stranger had saved you.”
“Then why now?”
“Because Im tired of being a parasite. But youre rightI am one.”
Daniel frowned. “How?”
“I feed off your love for this house. I use your happiness to feel needed. I want you to stay. To be safe.”
“Emily…” Tears spilled
