“You knew he was weak,” whispered Emily’s mother-in-law as he walked away.
“I dont see why we need so much meat,” grumbled Margaret, eyeing the fridge. “Half this amount would be enough for three adults.”
Lena kept chopping onions for the salad, tears rolling down her cheeksnot from the onions, but from the endless criticism about how she ran the household.
“And the potatoes are all soft,” Margaret went on. “Where on earth do you even buy these? Some dodgy corner shop?”
“From the market, Margaret,” Lena replied quietly. “Same place as always.”
“Oh, right. Fat lot of good that does. Money down the drain.”
Lena set the knife down and took a deep breath. Five years of marriage, and every day was the sameconstant nitpicking, dissatisfaction, complaints. And her husband, James, just stayed silent, pretending not to hear.
“James, lunch is ready!” she called towards the living room, where he was sprawled on the sofa scrolling through his phone.
“Just a minute,” he muttered, not looking up.
“What do you mean, *just a minute*?” Margaret huffed. “The foods getting cold, and hes glued to that screen. James, come to the table right now!”
Reluctantly, he put his phone down and shuffled into the kitchen, taking his usual seat next to his mother, opposite Lena.
“Whats for lunch?” he asked, unfolding his napkin.
“Beef stew and roast,” Lena said, ladling soup into bowls.
“Stew again?” Margaret wrinkled her nose. “Gives me heartburn. Lena, you know I cant handle anything acidic.”
“You can skip the gravy,” Lena offered. “I didnt add vinegar this time.”
“Doesnt matter. Still too sharp. And why so many carrots? You know James gets bloated from them.”
Lena glanced at her husband, waiting for him to say *something*. But James just slurped his soup like the conversation had nothing to do with him.
“Next time, Ill just make plain broth,” Lena gave in.
“About time. No need for all these fancy dishes. Back in my day, people were happy with simple cooking, and they were healthier for it.”
Lunch passed in the usual silenceMargaret picking apart every dish, James nodding along, and Lena counting the minutes until it was over.
Afterwards, Margaret retreated to her room for her afternoon telly, and Lena cleared the table. James tried to slip back to the sofa, but she stopped him.
“James, we need to talk.”
“About what?” He lingered in the doorway, irritated.
“Your mother. I cant live like this anymore.”
“Whats the problem? She doesnt mean any harm.”
Lena nearly dropped the plate she was holding. *No harm?*
“She criticizes *everything* I do! The food, the cleaning, the shopping. I feel like a servant in my own home.”
“Mums just used to being in charge. She ran the house her whole life.”
“Ran it? Then what am I? A bloody lodger?”
James rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Dont be dramatic, Lena. Shes set in her ways. Just give her time.”
“Ive given her *five years*! And she only gets worse.”
“What do you want me to do, eh? Kick my own mother out?”
“I want you to stand up to her. Tell her this is *my* home, *your wifes* home.”
James shook his head.
“I cant talk to her like that. She raised me.”
“And what am I, chopped liver? Were supposed to be family!”
“We are. But shes my *mother*.”
Lenas chest tightened. Every bloody time. His mother always came first.
“Fine,” she said, fighting back tears. “Got it.”
“Dont be like that. Youve got to be patient with older people.”
He reached to pat her shoulder, but she pulled away.
“Go on, then. Your mums probably missing you.”
James hesitated, then shrugged and left. Lena stayed behind, staring at the pile of dishes and the mess in her head.
—
Shed met James at uni. Hed seemed so steady, so calmnothing like her exes, all loudmouths and drama. James never raised his voice, always polite, always considerate. Too soft sometimes, but shed thought that was a good thing. After the shouting matches shed grown up with, quiet felt safe.
Shed only met Margaret at the wedding. Back then, shed seemed pleasanta bit stern, but kind. Said shed always wanted a daughter-in-law, that shed love Lena like her own.
The trouble started when they rented a flat near Margarets. Suddenly, she was popping round dailyfor sugar, for a chat, for some made-up errandwhile eyeing the place like a drill sergeant.
“Lena, whys the floor so dull?” shed ask. “Youre using the wrong cleaner.”
Or:
“Your bedroom smells musty. You ought to air it more.”
Lena tried to ignore it, told herself Margaret was just protective. But the remarks got sharper.
Then James lost his job. Money got tight, and Margaret *graciously* offered them her spare room. Just until he got back on his feet.
That “just” turned into three years. James found work at a small firm, but the pay was rubbish. Moving out never happened. And Margaret stopped pretending Lena was good enough for her son.
“My friend Barbaras daughter-in-law is different,” shed say. “Thrifty, organised. House like a show home, knows how to handle money. And most importantly*respects* her husband.”
The message was clear: Lena didnt respect James if she dared disagree with him.
Now, after washing up, Lena went to the bathroom and caught her reflection. Thirty but looked forty. Stress and sleepless nights had taken their toll.
From the living room, the telly murmured, along with Margarets voice:
“That neighbours parked wrong again. Someone ought to tell her.”
“You should leave it, Mum,” James said. “Not worth the hassle.”
“Suppose youre right. No point arguing with fools.”
Lena knew that wasnt just about the neighbour. Margaret often implied Lena was in the same categoryonly James had already married this particular “fool,” so now he had to put up with her.
That evening, she tried talking to him again. Waited till Margaret was in bed and sat beside him on the sofa.
“James, Im serious. Im miserable here.”
“Not this again.”
“What, should I just suffer in silence forever?”
“Its not forever. Mums not getting any younger.”
Lena froze.
“So your solution is *wait for her to die*?”
“No! I just mean maybe we *will* move out soon.”
“With what money? Your salary wont even cover a bedsit.”
“Ill find something better.”
“Youve been saying that for three years.”
James exhaled sharply.
“Can we not do this now? Ive got a headache.”
“Oh, *youve* got a headache?”
“Lena, enough. Lets just watch something.”
He grabbed the remote. Conversation over.
Lena sat there a moment longer, then left.
In the bedroom, she dug out an old notebook from their first year marriedpages of plans, dreams, little notes to herself.
*”Want our own place. Kids running around. Deciding what to cook, how to cleanjust us.”*
Kids. Shed wanted them, but James always said *not yet*. Get stable first. Save up. Now there was no room, no money.
*”James is so patient, so kind. Never shouts. Hell be a brilliant dad.”*
For children theyd never havenot if they lived under Margarets roof till the end of days.
She shut the notebook. James came to bed late, careful not to wake her. She pretended to be asleep.
—
Next morning, Margaret announced over breakfast:
“Barbaras visiting today. Lena, give the place a proper cleanI wont have her thinking we live in a pigsty.”
“I clean every day, Margaret.”
“Not well enough. Dust everywhere.”
“Where?”
“Bookshelves, telly, hall mirrorfilthy.”
Lena checked. No dust. But she wiped everything again anyway.
Barbara arrived at noonloud, brassy, in a floral dress that clashed with the curtains.
“Maggie, darling! And this must be LenaMaggies told me all about you!”
Lena offered tea. The women settled at the table, gossiping.
“My Sarahs on her third husband,” Barbara declared. “Says the last one was spinelessno backbone at all.”
“Men these days,” Margaret sighed. “No grit in them.”
Lena pretended not to listen as she washed up.
“And your James? Still at that little firm?”
“Oh yes. Good boy, just too soft. Lets his wife walk all over him.”
Lena nearly dropped a mug.
“Really?” Barbara eyed Lena. “He seems so steady.”
“Steady, yes. But no spine. She snaps, he ducks. I tell him, *James, are you a man or a mouse?* And he says, *Mum, stay out of it.*”
Barbara tutted. “And the wife? Bossy, is she?”
Margaret lowered her voicebut not enough.
“Not bossy. Just doesnt respect him. A man should lead, not tiptoe round his woman.”
“And no kids?”
“None. Lenas all about her *career*. James wont push her, poor lamb.”
Lenas face burned. So this was how Margaret talked about herblaming *her* for everything, painting James as some henpecked victim.
Barbara left by evening. James came home exhausted.
“Tea ready?”
“Ill heat it up.”
Over dinner, Margaret chatted about Barbaras visitconveniently skipping the personal bits.
“Lovely to catch up. Shame we dont see her more.”
James nodded, shovelling food in. Lena seethed. By tomorrow, Barbara would be telling half the neighbourhood about “poor James” and his “bossy wife.”
Later, when Margaret was glued to the telly, Lena cornered James in the kitchen.
“Your mum spent all afternoon slagging us off to Barbara.”
“What? No she didnt.”
“She called you *spineless*. Said I dont respect you.”
James frowned.
“Probably just womens chat. Doesnt mean anything.”
“It means *everything*! Thats our marriage shes gossiping about!”
“Lena, relax. People talk.”
“Fine. Then *Ill* talk to her tomorrow.”
“Dont start a row.”
“Or what? You wont defend us, so I have to!”
James stood.
“Im knackered. Well talk tomorrow.”
But “tomorrow” never came.
—
Next morning, James left early*big meeting*. Once hed gone, Lena sat Margaret down.
“We need to talk. About what you said to Barbara.”
Margaret sipped her tea.
“What about it?”
“You discussed *our* marriage. Told her James is weak, that I dont respect him.”
“And?” Margaret set her cup down. “Friends talk.”
“About private things? You called your own son *spineless*.”
“Isnt he?” Margaret said coolly. “Look at him. Thirty-three and still mummys boy. Cant say boo to you.”
Lenas hands clenched.
“He *trusts* me. Thats not weakness.”
“Trusts one thing. Letting a woman lead? Thats not a man.”
Lena stood. “You think I *want* to lead? I just want a partner!”
Margaret rose too, slow and deliberate.
“This is *my* house. James is *my* son. Youre just passing through.”
Lenas legs wobbled.
“Passing through? Weve been married five years!”
“Paperwork means nothing. If you dont fit, youll be gone.”
“You *want* me gone?”
“I want my son happy. With you, hes not.”
“Has he *said* that?”
“He doesnt have to. I see it. He was cheerful once. Now? Worn down by your nagging.”
“*My* nagging? Hes worn down by *you*!”
Margaret smirked. “Tell yourself that.”
Lena stormed out, locked herself in the bedroom, and cried properly for the first time in years.
James came home late, grumbling about work.
“Bad day. Boss reneged on my bonus.”
“Im sorry. We need to talk.”
“Not now. Shattered.”
He showered and passed out. Lena lay awake, wondering*was* James unhappy? Was he hiding it?
Next morning, she asked outright.
“James, be honestare you happy with me?”
He blinked.
“Course I am.”
“Your mum thinks otherwise.”
He sighed.
“She worries. Thinks we argue too much.”
“We argue *because of her*!”
“Lena, drop it. Im late for work.”
But that evening, he dodged her againhid in the bathroom, let Margaret monopolise him.
The avoidance *was* his answer.
—
Next morning, after James left, Lena packed a suitcase. Not muchjust essentials.
Margaret spotted it in the hall.
“Going somewhere?”
“A friends. For a while.”
“How long?”
“Dunno yet.”
Margaret nodded.
“Probably for the best. James could use a break.”
Lena grabbed her keys.
“Tell him if he wants me back, he comes alone. Without you.”
Margaret smiled. “Well see if he bothers.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Outside, the sun was bright, the air crisp. Lena breathed deepand for the first time in years, felt something like relief.
That evening, James rang.
“Mum said you left. When are you coming back?”
“Maybe never.”
“But were *married*.”
“On paper.”
He went quiet.
“James, heres the dealwe live apart from your mum, or we divorce.”
“Dont do this.”
“Then *choose*.”
Silence.
And in that silence, she had her answer.
“Fine,” she whispered. “Ill choose for us.”
She hung up, slipped the phone into her bag, and walked. No idea where yet.
But with every step, the weight got lighter. Not because it was easybut because, for the first time, she was choosing *herself*.
And no one could take that away.
