“Stop talking to your mothershes a bad influence on you,” demanded William, barely glancing up from his phone.
Emma froze in the middle of the kitchen, teacup trembling in her hand. Had she heard him right?
“What?” was all she managed.
“I mean it,” William finally looked at her. “Your mothers always meddling in our lives. Every time she visits, we end up fighting.”
“Will, how can you say that?” Emma set the cup down, fingers unsteady. “Shes my *mum*. The only one Ive got.”
“Thats exactly why you dont see how shes tearing us apart,” William snapped, pacing the kitchen. “Every time she leaves, we spend a week cleaning up the mess. The wallpapers wrong, I dont treat you right, my salarys not enoughalways something.”
Emma sank into a chair. Her mothers words from last night echoed in her head: *”Love, why did Will shout at you over dinner? I dont like how he speaks to you.”*
“She just worries about me,” Emma said quietly. “She wants me to be happy.”
“She wants to *control* you,” William shot back. “Cant you see? She resents that youre married. You were hers first, and now she has to share.”
“Will, thats ridiculous” Her throat tightened. “She *cried* at our wedding!”
“Did she?” He scoffed. “Remember what she said when we got engaged? *Dont rush, darling. Maybe sleep on it.*”
“She just wanted me to be sure”
“She wanted you to *change your mind*,” he cut in. “And now shes chipping away at us. Every visit ends in a row. Dont you notice?”
Emma swiped at her eyes. It was trueafter her mum left, tensions flared. But surely that wasnt *her* fault…
“Its just timing,” she mumbled.
“Its *calculated*,” William said coldly. “She plants doubts in your head. Tells you Im neglectful, that youre unhappy. Then you come at me with accusations.”
“I dont”
“Last week, who threw a fit because I watched football instead of putting up shelves? Who put *that* idea in your head?”
Emma bit her lip. Mum *had* muttered about men helping more around the house.
“See?” William slammed a hand on the table. “And suddenly youre on about us not spending time together. Whered *that* come from? Another of her gems?”
“Mum said couples should talk more…”
“*Exactly*.” His voice turned brittle. “She rewires your thoughts, and suddenly *Im* the problem. We were fine before she started dropping by every week.”
Emma tried to remember. After the wedding, Mum had kept her distance, saying newlyweds needed space. Then Dad passed, and the visits multiplied.
“Shes *lonely*, Will,” Emma whispered.
“I get that,” he said, softer now. “But she cant fix her grief by sabotaging us. Think, Em. We barely argue when shes not here. The second she arrives, you turn into someone else.”
“Someone else?”
“Defensive. Restless. Like her voice is coming out of your mouth.”
Emma hesitated. Maybe he was right. After Mum left, she *did* scrutinise Williamthings shed once let slide now grated.
“But what do I *say* to her?” Her voice wavered.
“You dont cut her off. Just… meet for coffee instead. Neutral ground.”
“Will, I *cant*”
“You *have* a husband,” he reminded her. “And I wont tolerate third parties in our marriage.”
Her chest constricted. Choosing between Mum and William? It wasnt *fair*.
“Listen,” he took her hands. “Im not asking you to ghost her. But boundaries, Em. Less detail about us. No dissecting her advice. Just… distance.”
“What if shes hurt?”
“And what if *Im* hurt that my wife values her mothers opinion over mine?”
That night, Mum called.
“Darling, how are you?” Her voice was bright. “Wills not cross about yesterday, is he?”
“Why would he be?”
“Well, I *did* say the flat felt drafty. Maybe he thought I was criticising.”
Emma recalled Williams muttered *”Nothings ever good enough for her.”*
“Its fine, Mum,” she said carefully.
“You know, Ive been thinking,” Mum pressed on. “Why not go back to work? Youre too clever to just sit at home.”
“Will and I agreed”
“*Did* you agree?” Her tone sharpened. “Or did *he* decide?”
Emmas grip tightened on the phone. “I *like* being home.”
“Do you? Or have you just convinced yourself?” A pause. “Love, I worry youre disappearing in this marriage.”
When William came home, Emma met him with:
“Why *dont* you want me to work?”
He stilled. “Let me guess. Your mum?”
“Its not”
“Em, we *talked* about this. Why take on stress? My salary covers us.”
“But extra income”
“Wholl cook? Wholl keep the house?” He stepped closer. “I come home exhausted. I want *my wife* herenot some stranger chasing a promotion.”
“Other couples manage”
“Other couples divorce,” he said flatly. “Youre *happy*, arent you?”
“…Yes.”
“Then stop letting her *get inside your head*.” He pulled her close. “I want *us* to thrive.”
But Mums words clung like cobwebs: *”Youre disappearing.”*
The next day, Mum arrived unannounced, arms full of groceries.
“Im making roast,” she declared, bustling past. “Youve lost weight.”
“Mum, I *havent*”
“Ready meals and toast dont count,” she said, already chopping veg. “Wheres the protein? The greens?”
“I *have* greens”
“Frozen peas arent greens, darling.”
As she cooked, Mum chatted about her neighbours, her garden clubthen, seamlessly:
“Why was Will so glum last week?”
“Work stress.”
“He doesnt take it out on you?” Her eyes narrowed. “If somethings wrong, youd tell me?”
“*Nothings* wrong.”
“Then why the dark circles? Youre *exhausted*.”
Emma touched her face. Lately, sleep *had* been elusiveevery minor spat with William gnawing at her.
“Im just tired”
“From *what*? No kids, no job…” Mum wiped her hands. “Love, be honest. Is he unkind?”
The front door slammed. William stood in the doorway, jaw tight.
“Oh! Youre early,” Mum smiled. “Dinners nearly ready.”
“Not hungry.” His tone was icy.
“Nonsense. Nothing beats home cooking.”
“I said *no*.” He turned to Emma. “We need to talk. *Now.*”
In the bedroom, William shut the door.
“We *agreed*,” he hissed. “What part of boundaries is unclear?”
“She just *showed up*”
“And you couldnt say we had plans? That you were *busy*?”
“Will, she *cooked for us*”
“Emma.” He gripped her shoulders. “Youre *my wife*. Not her puppet.”
She crumpled onto the bed. How could she choose?
Later, Mum found her crying.
“What happened?” She sat beside her. “Wheres Will?”
“Gone.”
“Over *what*?”
Emma looked at herthose familiar eyes, brimming with concern.
“Mum… do you *dislike* Will?”
A beat. “Darling, I just want you happy.”
“Thats not an answer.”
Mum sighed. “Youre… *diminished* with him. Like youre walking on eggshells.”
Emma flinched. Was it true?
“If youre *truly* happy,” Mum pressed, “why jump when he snaps his fingers?”
“Maybe *hes* right,” Emma whispered. “Maybe you *do* interfere.”
Mum recoiled. “*Interfere*? Im your *mother*.”
“And Im his *wife*.” Emma stood, fists clenched. “I need to live *my* lifenot yours, not his. *Mine.*”
Silence. Then Mum picked up her handbag.
“Ill go.”
“Youre *leaving*?”
“If Im toxic, better Im not here.” Her voice cracked. “I thought we were close. But
