“If I’m such a villain to your mother, then let her live as she pleases. I won’t lift a finger for her again!”
Lydia had always prided herself on keeping her composure around Margaret Ashworth. Her mother-in-law visited their London flat two or three times a week, and each visit felt like a trial. The September days grew shorter, and Lydias patience grew thinner.
Margaret adored hosting gatherings. Shed arrive with bags full of groceries, take over the kitchen, and cook enough to feed an armyalways inviting neighbours, acquaintances, and sometimes even strangers to join.
“Now this is what I call hospitality!” Margaret would announce, setting the table with a flourish. “Not like some people who cant even brew a proper cup of tea.”
Lydia clenched her jaw and kept slicing the bread. Margaret never named names, but everyone knew who she meant.
At the table, her mother-in-law transformed into a storyteller, her eyes bright, her voice dramatic.
“My nephews wife, Emilynow theres a gem!” Margaret would exclaim, throwing her hands up. “Such a craftswoman! The embroidery she doeslike real paintings! And she knits, sews, keeps their garden immaculate. Jams, picklestheir home is full to the brim!”
The guests would nod approvingly, while Lydias cheeks burned. Her husband, Edward, sat beside her, buried in his phone as if none of it concerned him.
“And then theres Charlotte, my cousins wifesuch a dear,” Margaret continued. “So meek, so biddable. Never a word out of turn. Her mother-in-law lives like a queen! Always helping, always consulting her. Now thats proper upbringing!”
One of the neighbours turned to Lydia. “And what do you do, dear?”
Before Lydia could answer, Margaret cut in. “Oh, whats the point asking? Our Lydia here is a modern woman! She works in an office, glued to her computer. No time for crafts or housekeeping. Shes used to others doing things for her.”
“Im a manager at a retail firm,” Lydia managed.
“Oh yes, a manager,” Margaret nodded knowingly. “And who does everything at home? My poor Edward comes back from work and has to cook, cleanour spoiled daughter-in-law!”
Lydias jaw ached from clenching it. Edward still hadnt looked up from his screen.
After another such dinner, once the guests had left and the dishes were done, Margaret approached Lydia with a saccharine smile.
“Lydia, darling, could you take me to the clinic tomorrow? Ive tests to collect, and its rather daunting alone.”
“Of course, Margaret,” Lydia replied, though she had an important client meeting the next day.
“Oh, bless you! Edwards so busy at work, I hate to bother him. But youve flexible hours, dont you? You can slip away anytime.”
Lydia bit back the retort that her schedule wasnt that flexible. Better to avoid a scene.
The following week, it happened again. Margaret appeared with another request.
“Lydia dear, could you pop to the chemist? The doctors prescribed new pills, and I cant make head nor tail of the names.”
“Fine,” Lydia said.
“And if its no trouble, the groceryI need oats and washing-up liquid. My backs been dreadful.”
Lydia spent half the day traipsing between chemists for the prescriptions, then queued at the supermarket. She returned exhausted.
“Howd it go?” Edward asked, eyes fixed on the telly.
“Fine,” she said flatly.
Days later, Margaret returned with a gaggle of relatives.
“Meet my daughter-in-law, Lydia,” Margaret announced. “This is my sister-in-law, Beatrice, and her daughter, Sophie.”
Sophie, Lydias age, carried herself like a woman twice as wise.
“I hear you work in an office?” Sophie asked, casting an assessing glance around the flat.
“Yes, in retail.”
“How fascinating!” Sophie gushed with false enthusiasm. “I stay home with the childrenthree of them, can you imagine? All so bright, so well-behaved. The eldest plays violin at the Royal Academy.”
Margaret beamed. “Now thats a proper woman! Home, children, supporting her husbandnot gallivanting about offices.”
Lydias face burned, but she held her tongue.
“Sophies so capable!” Beatrice chimed in. “Cooks divinely, sews, knits. I always tell herany man would be lucky to have her.”
“I keep a garden too,” Sophie added modestly. “Grow my own veg, make preserves. My husband says its heaven at home.”
Margaret turned to Lydia. “Hear that, dear? Maybe you could learn from Sophie! Then my Edward might stay home evenings instead of vanishing.”
Lydia froze. Only she knew Edward had been staying out late. How had Margaret found out?
“Edwards often out?” Beatrice asked eagerly.
“He works late,” Lydia said vaguely.
“Of course he does!” Margaret scoffed. “What man wouldnt flee such a home? Empty fridge, wife always working. No wonder he seeks comfort elsewhere.”
Sophie sighed. “Men must be nurturedcosy homes, little treats. My husband wont even travel for work, says nowhere compares to home.”
The conversation continued, each barb sharper than the last. When they finally left, Lydia snapped.
“Edward, did you hear what your mother said?”
“Whats the fuss?” He shrugged. “Just womens chatter.”
“Chatter? She humiliated me in front of them!”
“Dont be dramatic. Mum just shared how others live. Maybe you could learn from it.”
Lydia stared. “You think Im a bad wife?”
“I didnt say that. But Mums rightyou could tend to home more.”
“Who cooks, cleans, does the laundry? The housemaid?”
“We share chores”
“Share? When did you last cook? Heating ready meals doesnt count!”
Edward grimaced. “No need to shout. Im being civil.”
“Civil? Im exhausted! Your mother belittles me, and you say nothing!”
“Mum doesnt belittle. She advises.”
Lydia stormed off. The next day, Margaret called againthis time for a special cream sold only in Boots at the other end of town.
“Lydia dear, please? I cant manage the trip alone.”
Lydia checked her watch. A crucial meeting loomed.
“Margaret, perhaps another day? Ive”
“Oh, what could possibly be so important?” Margaret cut in. “Youll be a tad late! Im in agony here!”
Lydia gave in. Traffic made her forty minutes late to work. Her manager reprimanded her.
That evening, Edward dismissed it. “One late day wont kill you. Mum needed help. Couldnt you refuse?”
“And if Im sacked for lateness?”
“They wont sack you. And if they do, find another job.”
Lydia was stunned.
A week later, Margaret hosted another dinner, comparing Lydia unfavourably to other daughters-in-law.
“My nephews wifeher mother-in-laws in raptures! Holidays together, gifts, always seeking advice. Like a real daughter!” Then, eyeing Lydia: “Some think marriage means ignoring in-laws. Living selfishly, never consulting anyone.”
“Margaret, if youve grievances, voice them plainly,” Lydia said.
“Grievances? Im merely remarking on how some treat their elders.”
After dinner, as Lydia washed up, Margaret sidled up.
“Lydia dear, are you good for anything?” The question dripped faux innocence.
Lydia whirled around, a plate smashing on the floor.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, nothing,” Margaret shrugged. “Just wondering if youve any skills beyond office work.”
Lydias hands shook as she picked up the shards.
“If Im such a villain to your mother, then let her live as she pleases. I wont lift a finger for her again!”
Silence fell. Margaret blinked, as if hearing wrong. Edward finally looked up from his phone.
“Lydia, whats got into you?”
“Your mother just asked what use I am! In front of guests! And you think thats fine?”
“I didnt mean it like that!” Margaret cried.
“Months of this! Calling me spoiled, uselessall accidental?”
Margaret sniffed. “Im used to being helped! At my age”
“Then ask your perfect daughters-in-law! Emily the craftswoman or meek Charlotte! Let them serve you!”
Edward stood. “Lydia, calm down. Mums elderly, set in her ways”
“Im done tolerating disrespect in my own home.”
Lydia called the police. Within minutes, officers arrived.
“Evening. You called?”
“Yes. I want these people to leave my flat.”
The senior officer eyed them. “Issue?”
“They refuse to go
