By evening she wont be here, James repeated, his voice thin and echoing, as if spoken through a hallway of mirrors.
Did you really say that? Emily asked, her words slipping back to him like a shy child.
James nodded, lifted the porcelain mug and took a sip of the steaming tea, his face folding into a sour line.
Exactly. My sister demanded that Mother transfer the twobed flat to her name and move out. She says Tom has proposed, and the young couple need somewhere to live, you see? He spoke in a high, sharp tone, mimicking his sisters accented confidence.
Emily stared, her ears refusing to believe the absurdity. Were they really asking parents to give up their home? To hand over a flat as casually as a borrowed coat?
What did Mother say? Emily asked cautiously.
James shook his head.
Theres no clear answer. But I know Mum. Shes smitten with Sarah. So anythings possible.
Could a daughter truly evict her own mother? Emily could never have imagined confronting her parents with such a demand. Shed never asked for a downpayment from them; shed saved, bought a house, paid off the mortgage before marriage, and wore that independence like a badge. That house was hers, her property.
James continued, eyes drifting to a distant wall, Mum sold the cottage last year to fund Sarahs tuition. And what happened? She dropped out in her second year. Turns out university does require studying, you know?
Emily snorted. Your sister never was one for sitting still.
James fell silent. Emily watched the tension in his shoulders, the clenched fingers around his mug. What could she say? What counsel could she offer? Family, after all, is a maze of knots.
Days turned into weeks. James phoned his mother a few times; the calls were terse, each word a thin thread of strain. Emily kept out of it, knowing this was his wound.
One weekend they decided to visit Jamess mother.
James unlocked the door with his key, and Emily froze on the threshold. The flat was a forest of cardboard boxes, suitcases, folded blanketsthings piled against the walls, on the sofa, on the table. The whole place throbbed with the chaos of a move.
Mum? James called, stepping inside.
Margaret Whitaker emerged, her face drawn, shadows under her eyes. Emily had never seen a motherinlaw look so exhausted.
James, Emily, come in, Margaret whispered.
James swept his gaze over the rooms and asked plainly, Are you giving the flat to Sarah?
Margaret sighed, sank onto the edge of the sofa, pushing a dishpan aside.
Itll be better this way, love. Young people need their own space. Toms a good lad, he works. They need a place and I can manage.
Emily stood at the side, her stomach tightening. How could anyone hand over the only flat they owned? Where would Margaret go?
What about you? James asked hoarsely. Where will you live?
Ill rent a room. My pensions modest, but itll be enough. Dont worry about me.
Emily watched James face blanch, his hands trembling, but she stayed silent. This battle wasnt hers.
Two months later Margaret lived in a rented flat in a different borough. James visited often, bringing groceries, medicine, helping with chores. Emily didnt object; she understood her husbands grief.
One evening James returned home, shoulders slumped, eyes vacant.
Whats wrong? Emily asked, sitting opposite him.
He lifted his gaze slowly. Mum cant cope. The pension doesnt cover rent and life. Shes barely getting by.
Emily frowned. Then she should move back into her flat.
The flats already in Sarahs name. She wont let Mum back in. She says theyre planning a renovation and Mum would be in the way.
Emily sensed where the conversation was heading. As if reading her thoughts, James said, We should take Mum in. We still have our twobed flat. Theres room.
His words rang like a bell in Emilys head. It was her twobed flat. It was her home. Yet she said nothing, letting him persuade himself while a quiet protest rose inside her. How could she refuse to let in the mother whod been cast out by her own daughter? It would be cruel.
Four days later Margaret moved in. At first she was a gentle dandelion, soft, apologetic, promising not to be a burden.
Emily convinced herself that everything would be fine. Theyd never argued with Margaret before; why would it start now?
But after a week, oddities began.
First, Emilys favourite blue mug with the daisy pattern vanished.
Margaret, have you seen my mug? Emily asked.
Oh dear, Emily, Im sorry. I dropped it while washing dishes. Ill buy you a new one, I promise, Margaret said, eyes darting.
Emily nodded, brushing it off.
The next day, the expensive hand cream Emily kept in the bathroom disappeared.
Margaret, have you seen my cream? Emily asked.
Ah, that one, Margaret replied, holding up an empty tin. I used it on my feet. The airs been dry, you know. Its a good cream.
Emily clenched her teeth, thinking she would simply replace it.
The final straw was the meat. Emily had bought a pricey fillet for a steak dinner. When she arrived home, the stovetop held a pan of greasy patties, the mince mixed with more breadcrumbs than beef.
Margaret, Emily said, trying to keep her voice level, this is an expensive cut of meat. Not for burgers, especially not like this.
Margaret turned from the stove. I always do it this way. The burgers turned out lovely, try them. Whats wrong?
James, sitting in the living room, pretended not to hear.
Weeks passed, and Margarets rules settled like a tide. Breakfast became oatmeal and boiled eggs. Every Saturday at eight, she led a housewide deep clean. Sleeping after nine was forbidden, even on weekends.
Emily paced the flat, anger simmering just beneath the surface. James tried to soothe her, asking for patience, promising to speak with Margaret. Nothing shifted.
At dinner, Emily spread cottage cheese on bread, placed a slice of tomato on top. She was tired from work, didnt feel like cooking.
Youve got no taste, Emily, Margaret snapped. Eating that nonsense.
Emily lifted her head slowly. Its enough for me.
Youre ruining my son with your habits, Margaret hissed, eyes blazing. James watches you, thinks its fine to be lazy, not to wash up straight away, not to iron his shirts. I raised him differently, taught him order. Youre tearing down my work.
Emilys patience snapped. Ive endured enough, she said, voice cold. I tried to respect your age, stayed silent while you broke my things, used my cosmetics, spoiled my food. But that ends now. If things are this bad, go back to the flat you signed over to your daughter. Dont stay in the house I bought with my own money.
Emily! James shouted, leaping up. What are you saying?
What I think! Emily turned to him. I have my own rules too, and the first is: your mother will not be in my house!
Margarets face turned ashen. James! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her!
Mother, Emily, lets calm down, James tried to mediate.
No! Emily stared at Margaret. She can pack and leave. I dont care where.
We cant evict my mother! James raised his voice. Do you realise what youre saying?
Emilys laugh was hoarse, bitter. You cant. But I can. By evening she wont be here.
James straightened, his face hard as stone. If she leaves, Ill go too.
Emily held Jamess gaze for a long moment. Oh, weve come to ultimatums? You forgot I asked you to calm your mother down. You asked for patience, and now you set conditions? Brilliant, James, a redcarpet welcome for your mothers exit.
Margaret burst into tears and fled down the corridor. James stood in the kitchen, stunned.
They began to pack, slowly, in silence. Emily didnt help; she sat by the window, watching the empty street, a cold, strange calm settling over her.
An hour later James and Margaret emerged into the hallway, suitcases and bags in hand. James opened the front door, letting Margaret step out first, then turned to Emily.
Emily, lets
Emily cut him off. If you still dont understand that your mother loves only her daughter and uses you, were done now, before she seeps into us completely.
She walked to the door and slammed it shut in Jamess face.
Taking Margaret in had been a mistake. Yet now Emily saw the truth: James could not stand up to his mother, and their marriage had no future.
The divorce was quiet. No children, no joint assets. James stared at her with sad eyes, begging forgiveness, promising never to drag his mother into their life again. Emily, however, was no longer one to hand out second chances.
