**The Wife and Her Ultimatum**
This morning, my daughter-in-law, Emily, looked me dead in the eye and declared: Margaret, from now on, dear mother-in-law, you shant eat another bite of my cooking. Do as you pleaseyoull have a shelf in the fridge, cook for yourself. Preferably before I wake or return from work. I stood frozen, as if struck by lightning, unable to believe my ears. So, after all these years of cooking for the family, Ithe mother-in-lawam now banished from the kitchen and denied a proper home-cooked meal? Im still seething with indignation. If I dont vent, I might burst from sheer audacity.
My husband, Arthur, and I have lived in the same house as our son, William, and his wife, Emily, for two years now. When they married, we suggested they move inthe house is large, plenty of room, and I thought I could help the young couple. At first, Emily seemed delightfulalways smiling, thanking me for dinners, even asking for my Yorkshire pudding recipe. Foolishly, I was pleased William had found such a wife. I cooked for all, cleaned, did my best to make them comfortable. And now she drops this on me! As if I were some intruder in my own home, as if my roasts and puddings were beneath her highness.
It started months ago, when Emily began muttering that I “cooked too much.” Said she was on a diet, claimed my dishes were “too rich.” I was baffledwho forced her to eat my steak-and-kidney pies? Want a salad? Boil your own greens, I wont stop you. But instead, she nitpicked everythingthe gravy too thick, the roast potatoes too crisp, “why so much butter?” I bit my tongue, avoiding rows. William pleaded, “Mum, dont mind her, Emilys stressed with work.” But I knew better. Shed decided the kitchen was hers now, and I was in the way.
Yesterday was the final straw. As usual, I made pancakes in the morningthin, golden-edged, just as Williams loved since he was a boy. Plated them up, called everyone down. Emily took one look, as if they were enemies of the state, and said, “Margaret, Ive asked you not to cook so much. William and I have porridge now.” I wanted to snap that porridge wasnt forbidden, but then came the ultimatum. A shelf in the fridge! Cook for myself! In my own home, where Ive ruled for forty years, every corner steeped in my sweat!
I tried speaking to William. “Son, am I to cook just for myself now, like some barracks lodger? This is your home, but Im no maid.” But he, ever the peacekeeper, just said, “Mum, Emily needs her space. Try to understand.” Space? And wheres mine? I gave my life to this family, and now Im relegated to a shelf? Arthur didnt back me either. “Margaret, dont overreact,” he said. “Emilys young, she wants to run the house.” Run it? Then what am I?
Honestly, Im torn. Part of me wants to pack my bags and visit my sister in another townlet them fend for themselves. But this is my home, my kitchen, my son! Why should I yield? Ive tried to be a good mother-in-lawkept quiet, never mocked Emilys quinoa experiments, even washed up when she was “too tired.” And now she strikes me from the family table as if I were a stranger.
Last night, I cooked my own dinnermushrooms on toast, just how I like it. Emily huffed, “There, Margaret, isnt this better?” I stayed silent, but inside, I boiled. Better? A family split into “yours” and “mine” at mealtimes? I always believed food brought people together, that problems were solved over supper. Now were at war over pancakes and a bloody fridge shelf.
Im weighing my options. Maybe talk frankly with Emily? Tell her it hurts, that I wont live like a guest in my own house? But I fear shell twist it, say I “smother” or “ignore her boundaries.” Or perhaps stop cooking altogetherlet William and her have their porridge while I order a kebab. Lets see how long they last without my shepherds pie.
But what stings most is William. Stuck between a rock and a hard placehis mother and his wife, whos clearly forcing him to choose. I dont want him hurt, but I wont grovel. Ive worked my whole life, raised him, built this home. And now some girl tells me which shelf is mine? No, Emily. Not like this.
For now, Ill stay neutral. Cook for myself, as ordered, but I wont surrender. Maybe shell reflect when she sees I wont come begging. Or perhaps Arthur and William need a proper talking-to. I dont want war, but Ill not stay silent. This is my house, and Ive a right to my place at the table. Emily ought to thinkis tearing this family apart over “boundaries” really worth it?
