“You’re just a PAR-A-SITE!” spat the mother-in-law, unaware of who truly lived in her house.
On Elm Street, in the heart of the quaint town of Wellingford, among modest cottages and well-tended gardens, stood a grand two-storey house with white columns, an elegant porch, and a manicured lawnlike something from the cover of a countryside magazine. This wasnt just a homeit was a testament to the grit, labour, and pride of Margaret Elizabeth Hartley, a sixty-two-year-old woman with silver hair pinned into a tight bun and eyes burning with the fire of past victories. A retired headmistress, a hardworking woman with an impeccable reputation, she had built this house in the tough ninetiesa time when every brick was earned, every pound squeezed from hardship. 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.
“Emma!” Her sharp, ringing voice made the windowpanes tremble. “James will be home soon! Dont leave your husband waiting! Dinner ready, now!”
From the kitchen came a quiet, almost whispery reply:
“Yes, Margaret.”
Emma, a thirty-five-year-old woman with gentle features and weary eyes, stood by the stove, stirring a thick beef stew that filled the house with the scent of rosemary, thyme, and slow-cooked meat. She had been married to James for five years, yet she still felt like an outsider in this home, where every word from her mother-in-law cut like a verdict, every movement an inspection of her worth.
“And quite frankly,” the voice snapped behind her. Margaret marched into the kitchen like a general onto a battlefield, “when are you going to find a proper job? Sitting here like some penniless relative, eating my food, living in my sons house. James works his fingers to the bone at the factorywhat do you give this family besides pots of stew?”
Emma stayed silent. Her hands shook, but she kept her eyes down. Four years ago, shed lost her job as an accountant at the local bankclosed down, like so many businesses in this small town. Since then, shed searched, but Wellingford, with barely ten thousand souls, had few vacancies. And when they did appear, they paid barely a thousand pounds a month. How could anyone live on that?
“Margaret, Ive been trying” she started softly.
“Trying?” Margaret scoffed. “How convenient! Living under my roof, eating my food, letting my son provide. A freeloader! A parasite sucking this family dry!”
Just then, the door swung open. In walked Jamesa broad-shouldered thirty-seven-year-old in work clothes, exhaustion in his eyes but a smile on his lips. A foreman at the construction materials factory, he carried the rumble of machinery in his ears and dust in his hair. Seeing the tension, he sighed.
“Mum, again? Picking on Emma?”
“Im only speaking the truth!” she shot back. “Four years this woman has lived off our hard work! My son breaks his back, and shea leech, draining us!”
James looked at his wife. Emma stood with her head bowed, as if crushed under the weight of the words. He knew she wasnt lazy. Knew she kept the house spotless, cooked, cared for him. But he had no idea what lay beneath that silence.
Because Emma wasnt just “sitting at home.” Every night, once the house slept, she opened her laptop, put on headphones, and vanished into the digital worldbalance sheets, tax returns, consultations for business owners from Chester, Shrewsbury, even Manchester. For two years, shed built a reputation”Emma, Wellingford Accountant”reliable, discreet, impeccable. Her earnings? Two to four thousand pounds net a month. Sometimes more.
But the real shock came six months ago.
“Mum, lets just eat in peace,” James sighed, sitting at the table.
Over dinner, Margaret wouldnt let up.
“Look at Sarah Wilkinsons daughter-in-lawnow theres a proper woman! Works at the council, earns four thousand a month, while this one” she jerked her chin at Emma, “only knows how to spend my sons money.”
“I dont just spend your money,” Emma said quietly but clearly.
“What else do you do?” Margaret sneered. “Besides sit on your backside?”
“Margaret, do you remember when this house nearly went to auction six months ago?”
The older woman froze.
“What auction? What are you on about?”
“Through the bailiffs. Over the mortgage arrears. Starting bidhalf a million. You remember, dont you? It was a nightmare. You cried every night. Then a buyer appeareda kind businessman, who let you stay, charged a token rent…”
“Yes…” Margaret whispered. “A miracle. A good man…”
“Do you know who that was?” Emma stood, walking to the cabinet.
She pulled out a thick folder of documents, laid them on the table. Silence fell like a thick fog. James dropped his fork. Margaret turned pale.
“It was me,” Emma said. “I bought this house.”
Silence. Heavy as the stew in the pot.
“What? You? How? With what money?”
“I sold Grans flat in Chester. Borrowed from my parents. Added my savingsfrom the night work you never knew about.”
“What night work?” James croaked.
“While you slept, I worked. Managed accounts for dozens of businesses. Remotely. Earned more than you.”
James stared as if shed grown a second head.
“Sometimes double,” she added. “But I kept quiet. Didnt want to hurt you. You were suffering over the debts… If Id just said, I bought the house, youd have thought I was lying. Or joking.”
“So… this house… is yours now?” Margaret whispered.
“Yes. The deeds 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 weve been paying rent…” James began.
“To me. Five hundred a monthjust a token, so you wouldnt feel indebted. It covers the bills.”
Margaret clutched her chest.
“So… I live in my daughter-in-laws house… and pay her for it?”
“Yes. But I never meant to tell you. Wanted you to think some kind soul had helped.”
“Then why say it now?”
“Because Im tired of being a parasite. But youre right. I am one.”
James frowned. “How?”
“Ive been feeding off your love for this house. Using your feelings to feel needed. I wanted you happy here. Your home intact.”
“Emma…” Tears rolled down Margarets cheeks. “I didnt know… Forgive me.”
“For what? Its not your fault. I am a parasite. Just not on your moneyon your happiness. Im glad I could save it.”
“How much do you spend on the house?” James asked.
“Bills, taxes, repairs… But lets not dwell on that. Its my concern.”
After a pause, Margaret whispered, “Why hide your work?”
“Because it was easier for you to think me a housewife. And for meto work quietly. I didnt want praise. Just your peace.”
“But you saved our home!”
“I bought a house I liked. And luckily, a wonderful family already lived here. I just gave them a chance to stay.”
James shook his head. “Emma, youre a genius. You see family differently.”
“How else? Familys about giving what you can. Youlove, wisdom, warmth. Mestability, protection, means. Not debt. Exchange. Fair. Honest. Full of love.”
Margaret wiped her eyes. “So… I feed off my daughter-in-law now?”
“We feed off each other. You on my money. Me on your love. James on our care. We on your wisdom. And thats fine. Thats family.”
A month passed.
Everything changed. Emma no longer hid. She set up an office upstairs, hung a sign: “Hartley Accounting. Consultations. Tax Services.” Clients camefrom town, from nearby villages. Margaret? She greeted them with tea, offered biscuits, listened, smiled. Slowly, she joined in. Became an assistant. One day, she said:
“Emma… Maybe I should work too? Feels wrongyou carrying us.”
“Why not open a nursery?” Emma suggested. “My clients always complainnowhere to leave their children. And youexperience, qualifications, heart!”
“Could we?”
“Of course! Ill handle the paperwork, taxes, funding. Youll run it. Like before.”
“But the capital…”
“An investment. In us. Our family.”
James, listening, smiled. He saw his mother look at Emmano longer as a “freeloader,” but as a partner. A daughter.
That evening, he asked, “Emma, whos the real source in this family?”
“No one. Everyone. Were like a river
