“I shall come in whenever I pleaseI have the keys,” declared my mother-in-law as she barged into our bedroom at five in the morning.
The scrape of the lock made me freeze, a damp cloth still clutched in my hand. I had been scrubbing at a sticky jam stain left by Irene Barrow, and the sound was unmistakable.
Paul was still asleep. Sunday, half past eight.
The door swung open, and there she stoodmy mother-in-law. In one hand, a string bag of something green; in the other, a lead tethered to her trembling little terrier.
“Lottie, still in bed?” she chirped, stepping over the threshold. “Ive brought you fresh dill from the allotment.”
I straightened, my back stiffening.
“Good morning, Mrs. Barrow. Were asleep. Or rather, Paul is.”
She ignored me and floated toward the kitchen. The dog gave a half-hearted yap and scurried after.
“I was ever so quiet. No need to fuss. I was on my way to the market and thought Id drop by. Heaven knows what rubbish youd buy otherwisefull of pesticides, no doubt.”
I followed, watching my one peaceful morning of the week crumble before my eyes.
“We could have managed. Or you might have rung first.”
She turned, her gaze sharp and appraising, sweeping over my old T-shirt, bare feet, and tousled hair.
“Lottie, reallywhat nonsense! Why should I ring? I have keys.”
She said it as though she were bestowing a great blessingas if those keys didnt open our flat but the gates of paradise.
That evening, I finally gathered my courage. Paul was sprawled on the sofa, watching some series, idly scratching his stomach.
“Paul, we need to talk about your mother.”
He sighed without looking up.
“Not this again, Lottie. She only brought dill.”
“She let herself into our flat at half eight on a Sunday without so much as a knock. Thats not normal.”
“Whats the harm? Shes my mother, not some stranger.”
I sat beside him, snatched the remote, and turned off the telly. The sudden silence made my words louder.
“Paul, this is our home. Our space. I should be able to walk about naked if I choose. I shouldnt wake to the sound of a lock turning.”
“Oh, dont be dramatic,” he scoffed. “Walking about naked, indeed. She cares, thats all.”
“Then let her care from the doorstep. Or at least ring before barging in. Lets ask her to return the keys.”
He jolted as if scalded.
“Have you gone mad? Take her keys? Thats an insult! Shes given everything for me, and Im to shut her out? Shed think weve cut her off!”
“And now shes cutting us out of our own lives!” I snapped.
He stared at me as if Id proposed robbing a bank. Fear and utter bewilderment filled his eyes. He saw no problem. To him, his mother with her keys was as natural as the sun rising in the east.
A week later, I woke to light flooding the bedroom.
Five in the morning.
Mrs. Barrow stood in the doorway, a raincoat thrown over her nightdress. She squinted against the brightness, clutching Pauls phone.
“Paul, darling, you forgot your telephone,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Saw it on the side table when you left. Thought youd need it for work…”
I sat up, pulling the duvet to my chin. My heart hammered in my throat. Paul mumbled something drowsily and rolled over.
Without sparing me a glance, she tiptoed to his side and laid the phone on the nightstand. Then her eyes swept the room.
“Goodness, its dusty in here, Lottie. You ought to clean properly.”
And with that, she left. The front door clicked shut.
I sat under the harsh light, staring at my sleeping husband. He hadnt even stirred. He didnt grasp what had just happenedthat a boundary hadnt just been crossed but erased.
When he finally woke, and I recounted the nocturnal visit as calmly as I could, he waved it off.
“Lottie, she meant well. She worries.”
“Paul, she came into our bedroom. At five in the morning.”
“So what? She wasnt naked. Shes my mother.”
That afternoon, I rang her myself. My hands shook, but resolve outweighed fear.
“Mrs. Barrow, good afternoon. I wanted to speak about this morning.”
“Yes, Lottie?” Not a hint of discomfort in her voice.
“Please dont come in unannounced again. Especially that early. Especially to our bedroom.”
A heavy silence. Then, cold and indignant:
“My dear, I dont understand your complaints. I raised my son, put money into this flatsavings from a lifetime. So mark this: I shall come in whenever I please. I have the keys.”
The line went dead.
I looked at Paul. Hed heard every word. But his eyes darted away.
“Have you nothing to say?” I asked when the dial tone grew unbearable.
He shrugged, studying the wallpaper.
“What do you want from me? You provoked her. Of course she reacted like that.”
“Provoked her? By asking her not to burst into my bedroom?”
“You couldve been gentler,” he said at last. His eyes held no supportonly weariness. “Youre never satisfied. She tries to help, and you…”
I didnt wait for the rest. I turned and shut the bedroom door firmly behind me.
That evening, a wall rose between us. He didnt follow, didnt apologise, didnt try to talk. Just slept on the sofa, sighing loudly.
A week passed. Mrs. Barrow stayed awaybut her presence lingered.
In the way Paul tensed when I suggested going out. In his long phone calls, answered curtly: “Just Mum.”
I felt a stranger in my own home.
On Wednesday, I fell illmy throat raw, my head splitting. I took the day off and decided a hot bath might help. Lavender salts, steaming waterI sank in, hoping warmth would drive out the ache.
I was nearly dozing when I heard it. The scrape of a key in the lock.
I froze. My heart plummeted. Paul? Nohe wouldnt be home for hours.
The door opened, closed. Rustling. A familiar yap.
“Now then, Pip, lets see how our Lottie keeps house,” she trilled. “Dust everywhere, no doubt.”
I sat in the bath, not daring to move. The water had gone cold, but I barely noticed. Her footsteps circled the flat. The fridge opened. A disapproving click of the tongue.
“Just as I thought. Nothing inside. What do they live on? Poor Paul must be starving.”
She was metres away, just beyond the thin door. I imagined it swinging openand terror seized me.
The helplessness was almost physical. This was meant to be my home, my fortress. And an invader had walked in while I lay defenceless.
When she drifted to the kitchen, I slipped out, wrapped myself in a robe, and crept forward.
She stood in the sitting room, examining my books.
“Oh, Lottie! Youre home?” No hint of shame. “Ive brought you chicken brothhealing, just what you need. Paul said you were poorly.”
She gestured to a jar on the coffee table.
“Thank you, but it wasnt necessary,” I rasped. “I did ask you to call first.”
“Goodness, must I be a stranger?” She flapped a hand. “I only wanted to help! Who else will look after you? Pauls at work, earning, while you lie about ill.”
She reached for my forehead. I flinched.
“Dont.”
That evening, when Paul returned, I was steeled for battle.
I told him everythingthe fear, the humiliation, the mocking jar of broth.
He listened in silence. Then:
“Lottie, I dont know whats got into you. Mum brought soup. She cares. Yet you only see the worst. Maybe the problem isnt herits you.”
I lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. Beside me, Paul snored softly. The man who should have been my shield. But hed made his choice.
And so I made mine.
The next morning, once hed left, I took out my phone. My hands were steady. I searched: “Emergency locksmith. 24/7.”
The man arrived within the hourburly, tired-eyed, efficient. The whir of the drill was music. Each screech a cry of freedom.
When he finished, he handed me two gleaming new keys.
“There you are, maam. Jobs done.”
I took them. Solid. Real. Keys to my fortress.
I paid, and the door closed behind him with a firm, final click. I turned the lock. Then again.
Perfect.
For the first time in months, I felt safe.
All day, I waited for Paul like a soldier bracing for assault. Made dinner. Tidied. Rehearsed my speech.
He came home weary, dropping his briefcase on a chair.
“Hello.”
“Hello.” I held out a key. “This is yours. Ive changed the locks.”
He stared at it, then at me.
“You what? Why?”
“Because I decided. I wont have anyone walking into our home uninvited. No one.”
His face darkened.
“Youyou did this behind my back? Youve locked out my mother?”
“Ive protected our family. Our home.”
“Youve torn it apart!” he shouted. “What do I tell her?”
“The truth. That her son is grown and has his own life.”
We shouted, and I didnt back down. I poured out every fear, every betrayal. He wouldnt hear. He ranted of duty, respect, my heartlessness.
Thena sound.
The scrape of a key. Frustrated, furious. Then pounding.
“Paul! Lottie! Open this door! Whats wrong with it?”
Paul froze. Looked at me, then at the door, where his mother raged. Trapped.
The banging grew fiercer.
“I know youre in there! Open up! Lottie, is this your doing?”
Paul exhaled deeply and walked to the door. I stood rooted, my heart still. This was the moment.
He opened it. Mrs. Barrow stormed in, wild-eyed, livid.
“What have you done?!” she shrieked, jabbing a finger at me. “Locking me out! After all I”
“Mum,” Paul said quietly.
She stopped, startled.
“What Mum? Cant you see what shes done?”
“I see,” he said, his voice steady but edged with steel. “I see my wife was forced to this because no one listened. Least of all me.”
He turned to her.
“This is our home. Mine and Lotties. And you will never set foot in it uninvited again. Understood?”
She gaped. Disbelieving.
“Paul, darling”
“None of that. Im a grown man. I decide who enters my home. Now please leave.”
Calm. Final. She recoiled. Shot me a venomous glare. Turned. Left.
Paul shut the door. The new lock clicked.
He faced me. Tears glistened.
“Forgive me,” he whispered. “I was blind.”
He pulled me into his arms. And I knewId won.
Not just the locks.
Id won back my husband. Defended our family.
And reclaimed our life.
