“If I’m the villain in your mum’s story, then let her live however she wants. Im done being her personal assistant!”
Layla always tried to keep her cool when it came to Margaret. Her mother-in-law would drop by their flat two or three times a week, and every visit felt like a test. The September days grew shorter, and Laylas patience grew thinner.
Margaret loved hosting. Shed show up with bags of groceries, take over the kitchen, and cook enough to feed an armythen invite neighbours, friends, and sometimes complete strangers to join.
“Now *this* is proper hospitality!” Margaret would announce, setting the table. “Not like some people who cant even brew a decent cuppa.”
Layla clenched her jaw and kept slicing bread. Margaret never named names, but everyone knew who she meant.
At the table, Margaret transformed into a storyteller. Her eyes lit up, her voice turned dramatic, and the performance began.
“My nieces wife? Absolute gold!” Margaret would exclaim, waving her hands. “Emmas so craftyyou should see her embroidery! Proper artwork! And she knits, sews, keeps their garden immaculate. Jams, pickles, you name it. A proper homemaker!”
The guests would nod approvingly, while Layla felt her cheeks burn. Her husband, James, sat beside her, glued to his phone, pretending not to notice.
“And Rebecca, my cousins wife? Lovely girl,” Margaret continued. “So obedient, so respectful. Never talks back. Her mother-in-law feels like shes behind a fortress! Always helping, always asking for advice. *Thats* good upbringing!”
One of the neighbours turned to Layla. “What about you? What do you do?”
Layla opened her mouth, but Margaret cut in.
“Oh, why bother asking?” Margarets voice dripped with poorly hidden mockery. “Our Laylas a modern woman. Works in an office, glued to a computer. No time for homemaking. Shes used to everyone doing things for her.”
“Im a manager at a trading firm,” Layla tried to explain.
“Ah yes, a *manager*,” Margaret nodded sagely. “And who does everything at home? My poor James has to cook and clean after work. Spoiled, our daughter-in-law is.”
Layla clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. James still hadnt looked up from his screen.
After another one of these dinners, once the guests had left and the dishes were done, Margaret approached Layla with a saccharine smile.
“Layla, darling, could you take me to the clinic tomorrow?” Margaret asked, as if requesting a huge favour. “Ive got test results to pick up, and its a bit scary going alone.”
“Of course, Margaret,” Layla said, even though she had an important client meeting the next day.
“Oh, youre a gem! James is always busy at work, and youve got that *flexible schedule*, so you can pop out whenever.”
Layla bit back the urge to say her schedule wasnt that flexible. Better not to start a scene.
The next week, it happened again. Margaret appeared with another request.
“Layla, love, could you run to the chemists?” She handed over a list of prescriptions. “The doctors given me new meds, and I dont understand these names. Might get the wrong thing.”
“Fine,” Layla nodded.
“And if its not too much trouble, grab some groceries. Need cereal and cleaning supplies. Cant carry heavy things with my back.”
Layla spent half the day driving to three different chemists, then queued at the supermarket. She came home exhausted and irritated.
“Howd it go?” James asked, eyes still on the telly.
“Fine,” Layla said flatly.
A few days later, Margaret showed up againthis time with relatives in tow.
“Meet my daughter-in-law, Layla,” Margaret introduced. “This is my sister-in-law, Patricia, and her daughter, Sophie.”
Sophie was Laylas age but carried herself like she was older and wiser.
“I hear you work in an office?” Sophie asked, scanning the flat with a critical eye.
“Yeah, at a trading firm.”
“Oh, how *fascinating*!” Sophie gushed, fake enthusiasm dripping. “I stay home with the kids. Three of them, can you imagine? All so bright and well-behaved. The eldest already takes violin lessons.”
Margaret beamed. “Now *thats* a proper woman! Raises kids, keeps the home, supports her husband. Not gallivanting around offices.”
Laylas face burned, but she held her tongue.
Sophie chimed in, “I even keep a veg patch. Grow my own produce, make preserves. My husband says our homes like paradise.”
Margaret turned to Layla. “Hear that, Layla? Maybe take notes! Then James might actually want to come home instead of disappearing every evening.”
Layla froze. Only she knew about Jamess recent late nights. How did Margaret know?
“Is James often out?” Patricia asked curiously.
“Hes busy with work,” Layla deflected.
“Of course he is!” Margaret scoffed. “Any man would flee a home like this. Empty fridge, wife always at work. No wonder he looks for comfort elsewhere.”
Sophie shook her head sympathetically. “Men need to *want* to come home. Cosy atmosphere, home-cooked meals. My husband refuses business tripssays nothing beats home.”
The conversation dragged on. Layla sat silently, irritation simmering.
When they finally left, Layla snapped.
“James, did you hear what your mother was saying?”
“What? Just women chatting.”
“*Chatting*? She humiliated me in front of everyone!”
“Dont be dramatic. She was just making comparisons.”
“Calling me useless and spoiled isnt *just comparisons*!”
“She didnt *say* that, she hinted. Maybe you *should* listen to her advice.”
Layla stared at him. “So you agree Im a bad wife?”
“I didnt say that. But you could pitch in more at home.”
“Who cooks, cleans, does laundry? The *house elf*?”
“We take turns…”
“Turns? Seriously? When did you last cook? Heating up frozen pizza doesnt count!”
James winced. “No need to shout. Im being civil.”
“Im *done*! Done with your mums digs, and you just *sitting there*!”
James sighed. “Fine. Ill talk to her.”
But the next day, Margaret called againthis time for a special cream sold across town.
“Layla, love, please? Its so hard for me to get there. Youve got a car!”
Layla checked the clock. She had a meeting in three hours.
“Margaret, maybe another day? Ive got”
“Oh, whats so important? Youll be a *bit* late! My skins *itching*!”
Layla caved. Got stuck in traffic, missed the meeting, got chewed out by her boss.
That evening, James shrugged. “So you were late once. Mum needed help. Couldve just said no.”
“And if I get *sacked* over this?”
“You wont. And if you do, find another job.”
A week later, Margaret hosted another dinner, comparing Layla to “perfect” daughters-in-law.
“My nieces wife takes her mother-in-law on *holidays*,” Margaret sighed. “Always asking advice. Like a real daughter!”
Then she eyed Layla. “*Some* people think marriage means ignoring their in-laws. No respect.”
“Margaret, if youve got an issue, say it outright,” Layla snapped.
Margaret gasped. “What issue? Just making observations!”
After dinner, as Layla washed up, Margaret sidled up.
“Layla, are you even *good* for anything?”
The plate slipped from Laylas hands and shattered.
“What did you just say?”
“Nothing! Just wondering if youve got *any* skills beyond office work.”
Laylas hands shook as she picked up the pieces.
“If Im the villain in your mums story, then let her live however she wants. Im done being her personal assistant!”
Silence. Margaret blinked, stunned. James finally looked up.
“Layla, whats got into you?”
“Your mum just asked if Im *good for anything*. And youre *okay* with that?”
“I didnt mean it like that!” Margaret cried.
“Months of this. Comparing me, calling me spoiled. *Done*.”
James tried to mediate, but Layla stood firm.
The next week, Margaret called againgroceries, as usual.
“Layla, darling, could you”
“No.”
Silence. Then, sputtering: “*No*?”
“No. Ask Emma or Rebecca. You
