“Go back to your mother,” the man ordered, shoving the suitcases out.
“Mum, stop calling him,” Emily set the mug down with a sigh. “Peters at workhes in a meeting.”
“Oh, hes at work, is he?” Margaret pursed her lips. “I know all about these meetings. Last night, he was at one too, wasnt he? Staggered in at midnight smelling of whisky.”
Emily rubbed her temples. Ever since she and Peter had moved in with her mother, every morning began like this. Just a couple of months, theyd agreeduntil their flat was finished being renovated. But now the second month was ending, and there was no sign of completion.
“Mum, please,” Emily kept her voice steady. “You promised not to interfere.”
“Im not interfering,” Margaret set her phone aside. “Just worried about you. You work like a dog while he gallivants about. What sort of man is that?”
“A good one,” Emily stood up. “And he doesnt gallivant. It was an important client meetingI told you.”
Margaret scoffed but didnt argue further. Emily knew that lookher mother didnt believe a word.
“Im off to work,” Emily said, grabbing her bag. “Back by eight.”
“What about lunch? Ive made soup.”
“Cant, Mum. Meeting at one, then a client after.”
“Youre always starving yourself,” Margaret shook her head. “No wonder youre not pregnant. What child thrives on an empty stomach?”
Emily exhaled. The topic of children was a sore one, yet her mother brought it up like clockwork. Five years married, and still no grandchildren. Unacceptable.
“See you tonight,” Emily kissed her mothers cheek. “Peter said hed be home earlywell have dinner together.”
“If he comes back at all,” Margaret muttered.
Emily stepped out, shutting the door behind her, and leaned against the damp hallway wall. The scent of mildew and catsonce familiar, comfortingnow only grated on her.
In the car, she called Peter first thing.
“Pete, did Mum ring you again?”
“Three times,” his voice was weary. “I ignored it.”
“Sorryshes just worried.”
“Worried?” Peter gave a bitter laugh. “She monitors my every move. Last night was an interrogationwhere was I, who was I drinking with, why so late? Im not a teenager, Em.”
“I know,” Emily started the engine. “Just a little longer. The builder said the bathrooms done this week, then its just the kitchen. Well be home soon.”
Peter was silent. When he spoke, his voice was hollow.
“What if I dont want to go back?”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. See you at work.”
He hung up. Emily stared at her phone, unease coiling in her gut. What did he mean? Not back to the flat? Ornot back to her?
Work dragged endlessly. Emily couldnt focus, fumbling numbers in the meeting and forgetting key contract points with the client. Peter wasnt theregone to a site visit, not returning till evening.
She got home past nine, delayed fixing her mistakes. The flat was quiet, just the murmur of the telly from the kitchen.
“Im home!” she called, kicking off her shoes.
No answer. Oddusually her mother would fuss, asking about her day. Emily walked in and froze.
At the table sat her mother and Peter, tension crackling between them. Margaret stared pointedly at the telly, ignoring him. Peter twisted a cold teacup in his hands.
“Whats going on?” Emily asked.
Peter looked up. His gaze was icy, unfamiliar.
“Ask your mother,” he said. “Shes been lecturing me for half an hour.”
“Margaret, what happened?”
Margaret sniffed.
“Nothing. Just told your husband a few home truths. That hes not a real mancant even provide properly. Living off his mother-in-law like a lodger.”
“Mum!” Emily snapped. “We have our own place!”
“Some placea one-bed in a tower block,” Margaret waved her off. “In my day, men built homes, supported families. And him? Some sort of manager”
“Im a project lead,” Peter gritted out. “And I earn enough. Were only here because of the renovation.”
“Five years together, and whatve you got?” Margaret barrelled on. “No kids, no proper home. Your wife slaves away while you”
“Mum, enough!” Emily raised her voice. “We agreedno pressure, no baby talk!”
Margaret pursed her lips.
“I only want whats best. Youre thirty-twotimes ticking.”
Emily sat beside Peter, took his hand. He didnt pull away, but neither did he squeeze back.
“Pete, Im sorry. Shes just concerned.”
“Concerned?” He laughed bitterly. “She thinks Im worthless. Always has, from the start.”
Emily didnt argue. Her mother had opposed their marriage from day one. *”No prospects,”* shed said. *”No money, no connections. Five years youngerstill green.”*
“Go to bed,” Margaret grumbled, standing. “Ive got my blood pressure check early, and you two bickering wont help.”
She shuffled off, slamming her door. Alone, Emily and Peter sat in silence.
“Sorry,” she said again.
“For what?” His voice was tired. “That your mother thinks Im trash? Or that you never stand up to her?”
“I do!”
“No, Em. You nod, agree, then tell me to *hang in there.* Five years hanging. Maybe enoughs enough.”
He stood, chair scraping.
“Where are you going?”
“Bed. Early start.”
Emily watched him leave, fists clenched. She glanced at her mothers doorlonging to storm in, scream, unleash all her frustration. But she never could.
Morning came, Peter gone before she woke. Margaret sat at the table, tea and pills before her.
“So, your prince ran off?” she said instead of greeting.
“Mum, stop,” Emily sighed. “Hes my husband. I love him. You need to respect that.”
“Respects earned,” Margaret said flatly. “Your father was a real man. Not a tap leakingneeding a plumber. Not a shelf needing the neighbours help. What use is he?”
Emily chewed her toast mechanically. Arguing was pointless. Her mother saw the world in black and whiteright and wrong. Unshakable.
Peter wasnt at workanother site visit. They exchanged terse messages about tasks, none about last night. Emily stayed late, dreading home, hoping her mother would be asleep.
But the flat blazed with light, voices sharp from the kitchen. Emily hurried in.
Peter and Margaret stood face-to-face. Her mothers face was red with rage; Peter eerily calm, jaw tight.
“Whats happening?” Emily asked.
“Your husband,” Margaret jabbed a finger, “decided to move out. Says hes got a flatleaving tomorrow.”
Emily paled. “Pete, is this true?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Found a decent place near work. Moving tomorrow.”
“What about me?”
“Your choice,” he met her eyes. “Come with me or stay. But I wont live like this anymore, Em. Hearing daily how worthless I am. Justifying every minute. This isnt living.”
Margaret snorted. “See? Hes ditching you! What did I say? Useless man!”
“Mum!” Emily whirled on her. “Stop it! Now!”
Margaret faltered, unaccustomed to her daughters sharpness.
“Im still your mother,” she said lowly. “And I see whats what. Let him go if he wants. Youre my daughterhes nothing.”
“Peter,” Emily turned back. “Lets talk. Maybe this is too”
“Ive said all I need to,” he cut in. “Im leaving. With or without youyour call.”
He walked out. Emily moved to follow, but her mother grabbed her arm.
“Dont grovel, love. If he goes, good riddance. Youll find better.”
Emily yanked free. “I dont want better! I love himunderstand? Love him!”
“Stop shouting,” Margaret grimaced. “Loves for novels. Life needs reliability. And your Peters spineless. Leaves today, leaves tomorrow when another skirt catches his eye.”
Emily staredsuddenly clear. Nothing would change. Ever. Her mother would dictate, criticise, suffocate. And Peter was rightthis wasnt life.
“Im going with him,” she said firmly. “Tomorrow.”
“What?!” Margarets hands flew up. “Madness! Youve got everything heresafety, food, care. And there? Some rented hovel with a man wholl toss you aside!”
“Better a hovel with love than a gilded cage.”
Margaret blanched.
“So my homes a cage? Im your jailer? I gave up everything for you! Raised you alone!”
“And youve held it over me ever since,” Emily said softly. “You wont let me go, Mum. Wont let me live. Build my own family.”
“What family?” Margaret scoffed. “Five yearsno kids, no proper home. Just work, work, work.”
“We waited to be stable before kids,” Emily explained. “And now… now Im just scared. Scared youll control them toocriticise, dictate.”
“I only want whats best!”
“I know. But your *best* is smothering us. Me, definitely.”
Emily left her mother standing, tears welling. In their roomher childhood bedroom, cramped with a double bedPeter sat staring at the wall.
“Im coming with you,” she said, sitting beside him. “Sorry I didnt see how hard this was.”
Peter pulled her close.
“I love you,” he whispered. “But I cant stay. Shes driving me mad.”
“Me too,” Emily admitted. “Only just realised.”
They lay in silence, listening to Margarets restless footstepspacing, clattering dishes, the telly flicking on and off.
Morning came, Peter already gone. Margaret sat at the table, untouched tea before her.
“Morning,” Emily said.
“Morning,” Margaret didnt look up. “Your man left early. Said hell fetch you and your things tonight.”
“Yes, we agreed.”
Margaret finally looked at hereyes dull, defeated.
“So youre abandoning me?”
“Mum, Im not. Im living with my husband,” Emily sat opposite. “Well visit, call.”
“Of course,” Margaret smiled bleakly. “Every weekend at first, then monthly, then just holidays. I know how this goes.”
“It wont,” Emily took her hand. “I love youyoure my family. But I love Pete too. And I choose him.”
“Youre choosing him over me,” Margaret said stubbornly. “Youll regret it. Mark my words.”
Emily exhaled. Here we go again. No reasoning with her.
“Im off to work,” she stood. “Ill pack tonight.”
“Go on, then,” Margaret nodded. “Everyone leaves me. Your dad left, now you. Just an old woman dying alone.”
Emily closed her eyes. The guilt-tripa childhood classic. And it always worked.
“Mum, youre not old. Fifty-sixyoure vibrant. Maybe… find someone yourself? Its been years”
“Whod want me?” Margaret waved her off. “Go on, dont be late.”
Work was a blur. Emily thought only of her mothers loneliness, heart aching with pity and guilt. Maybe they were rushing? Maybe wait till the renovation finished?
Peter texted the new flats addressphotos of a bright two-bed, spacious kitchen. Emily stared, realising she felt no joy. Only dread.
That evening, she returned early to pack before Peter arrived. Her key turned in the lockand she froze. Two large suitcases stood in the hall. Hers. Already packed.
“Mum?” Emily called. “You here?”
Margaret emergedface stern, eyes red.
“Packed your things,” she said flatly. “All I found. Forgot something? Fetch it later.”
“Why?” Emily whispered, staring at the bags.
“What else could I do?” Margaret shrugged. “Youve made your choice. No point dragging it out.”
Emily stepped closer. “Mum, Im not leaving forever. Just living apart, like normal families. Well visit”
“Go back to your mother,” Peters voice cut in. Emily turnedhe stood in the doorway, glowering at Margaret.
“Pete, whats wrong?”
“Go back to your mother,” he repeated coldly. “If shes packed your bags, its decided.”
“Nothings decided,” Emily protested. “Mum was just helping”
“Helping?” Peter laughed bitterly. “Shes kicking you out. Packed your things, left them by the door. Thats an eviction.”
“No, Pete, you dont understa”
Margaret burst into loud, wrenching sobshands over her face. Emily rushed to her.
“Mum, please! Im not going anywhere!”
“Go to him,” Margaret wailed. “Leave me. I get it. Im nothing to you now.”
Emily held her, rocking gently. Peter watched, stony-faced.
“Choose, Em,” he said quietly. “Come with me or stay. But if you stay, its for good. Im done with these games.”
“What games?”
“She manipulates you,” Peter nodded at Margaret. “Always has. And you fall for it. You will, as long as youre under her roof.”
Margaret lifted her tear-streaked face.
“See, love? See what he is? Wants to tear us apart. Steal you from me.”
Emily looked between themher two anchors, waiting for her decision. For the first time, she didnt know.
“I cant choose now,” she whispered. “I need time.”
“There is none,” Peter said flatly. “Ive paid the rent. We go now, or I go alone. Forever.”
“Dont bully her in my home,” Margaret snapped. “Shes my daughter! Mine, not yours! Hers to decide!”
“Shes my wife,” Peter said coldly. “And Ill fight for my family.”
Emily stepped back, breathing deep. Through the fog, one clear thought: this never ends. If she stayed, her mother would rule her life. If she left, Peter would never accept Margaret.
“Im staying,” she said softly.
Peter flinched like struck.
“What?”
“Im staying, Pete,” she repeated. “Mums alone. She needs me. We… we can wait till the renovations done.”
Margaret shot Peter a triumphant look.
“See? A daughter chooses her mother.”
“Go back to your mother,” Peter shoved the suitcases onto the landing. “Live with her, if shes more family than me. But dont wait for me. Im gone.”
He turned, footsteps echoing down the stairs. Emily lunged after him, but Margaret yanked her back.
“Let him go. Hell cool off. If notgood riddance. Weve managed without before.”
Emily stared at the closed door, her world crumbling. The choice was made. Right or wrongtime would tell.
Two weeks later, divorce papers arrived by post. Emily signed without reading. Margaret said nothing, lips tight when told.
The renovation finished a month later. The flat stood emptyEmily couldnt bear to enter. She listed it for rent instead.
Found a new jobfar from Peters workplace. Took walks, cinema trips, theatre. Sometimes even with Margaretwho, oddly, had softened. Fear of losing her, perhaps.
Some nights, Emily cried for Peter. Wonderedwhat if shed chosen differently? Gone with him? Would they be happy?
But life doesnt rewrite itself. The choice was made, the path taken. And Emily walked it, day by day, adjusting to a new reality. Learning to live without love. Learning not to blame her mother, her husband, or herself.
What came nextonly time would tell.
