So, six years ago, me and Oliver had been saving every penny to buy our own place, cutting back on pretty much everything. Finally, we got this little two-bed flatcosy, bright, even if it was a bit bare. It was supposed to be the start of our happy little family. Emily was about to have the baby, just days away now. Everything was ready: bags packed, nursery set up, just counting down the clock till we became parents.
Emily had always wanted a place of her own, no parents hovering, *especially* no meddling from her mother-in-law. Things with Margaret were tricky. The woman loved to micromanagehow to live, how to breathe, how to *wash dishes*. One day, Emily just snapped and told her straight she didnt need constant advice. Margaret took offence and vanished from their lives. For a while, anyway.
When Oliver drove Emily to the hospital, he had no clue what was coming. The day after she was admitted, his mum rang to say she was popping round. No chance to argue. Margaret showed up dressed to the nines, gave the flat the once-overhallway was “alright,” curtains were “dreadful,” kitchen was “a shiny nightmare that needs scrubbing daily!” She rummaged through the fridge, tutting at the shop-bought dumplings and announcing shed make soup tomorrow. Oliver tried joking, changing the subjectno luck. His mum threw on some leggings and marched round inspecting the place like a drill sergeant.
That evening, he offered to drive her home. But she said, “Ill stay the night. You shouldnt be alone in case Emily comes back tomorrow.” And she did. One night. Then another. And another
While he was at work, shed rearrange things, sort through clothes, decide where the changing table should go and what they *needed* to buy. Oliver was losing patience with her “help,” but he didnt want to upset her. Then she dropped the bomb: shed stay a few months to help with the baby. Theyd never manage alone, after all.
When Emily came home, the whole family was thereher parents, Oliver, and of course, beaming Margaret. Emily knew straight away something was off. The curtains were different, furniture moved, some weird smell lingering. Her parents left. Margaret didnt. Under Emilys silent stare, Oliver mumbled, “Mums staying a bit. To help out”
Exhausted from labour, Emily didnt argue. But that same night, hell began: “Youre not holding the baby right,” “Youre swaddling him wrong,” “Hes crying because you cant rock him properly.” Emily stayed quietuntil Margaret *yanked* the baby from her arms. That was it.
“Thanks for the help, but youre free to go,” she said calmly. “This is *my* child. And *Ill* be the one to rock him. Just me.”
Margaret rolled her eyes, deeply offended. Oliver fumbled some protest, but one look from Emily shut him up. She was calm. Firm. This was *her* home. *Her* family.
Margaret packed her bags. She never came back. Oliver finally got ithis wife needed support, not orders. And for the first time, Emily felt truly at home. However long it took after the birth, the important thing wasshe hadnt backed down.
